#its also important that he always just stumbled into all the things that get him street cred

[science-lings]

Something that I think about a lot is how Phoenix's reputation evolves, because he starts out as the kid with no friends who would stand up to him, to the puppylike college student who got acquitted of the murder of another student and immediately changed the course of his life to become a lawyer, to the guy who interns under one of the greatest defense attorneys since Gregory Edgeworth, to the guy who took over her practice and defeated the demon prosecutor in one fell swoop, the guy who took down the powerful CEO guy who literally blackmailed a bunch of people to suicide and killed a woman with his own hands to keep the truth from getting out and Phoenix went after him in his first case that he took by himself.

The guy who confronted the mafia (twice?) and was the one defense attorney to take the case of said demon prosecutor to go against another unbeatable unethical prosecutor and he did it with a parrot and a single piece of evidence. He defended the chief prosecutor and took down the corrupt chief of police and that's just the first game.

Imagine the press following this guy. You know when you attend a trial where Phoenix is the defense there's going to be some Crazy Shit going on. He will leave his current trial to interrupt another trial and he gets popular enough that someone impersonates him and to the point where an assassin blackmails him into taking a case and this motherfucker still tricks them into incriminating themselves. He exorcises a ghost who has a personal vendetta against him in court and by the end of the trilogy is really well known for the most mindblowing crazy shit and then it all comes crumbling down like two months later.

The most sensational defense attorney is dethroned and adopts his disappearing defendant's daughter and I like to think that when he gets involved with underground poker and starts toeing the line between the criminal world and the one he knows he discovers that he has a reputation there already too. You cannot tell me guy who kind of made friends with Viola Cadaverini is not on the mafia's radar at least somewhat. He got Dee Vasquez arrested and was the one guy not afraid to poke at people associated with Cadaverini, who the entire police force won't dare touch.

it just wouldn't be surprising to me if he unknowingly garnered some street cred, especially if he's seen around Kristoph and Edgeworth, a guy who calmly makes sure he never loses his cases and someone who literally has a reputation as a demon. I just think it would be so funny if people were a little afraid of beanix, just because of what he's heard about him. He's never been violent or anything, but he's dangerous in much less tangible ways. He builds a vibe around him that makes him seem kinda threatening even if there's no proof that he's ever retaliated against anyone.

He stays calm even when he's being put on trial for a murder and in the courtroom there's a feeling that everything is being played like a game to him. He should be in the most vulnerable position but he's entirely in control. He's been an undefeated poker player for seven years and no one but his daughter can even guess about what he's thinking.

Just... the outward mysterious act and infamous reputation that grows beyond Phoenix's control that makes it when he gets back into law kind of hilarious when you think about it. The guy everyone was a little nervous around in the basement of a russian bar/restaurant is now a lawyer again and the first thing he does is defend an orca. The publicity around this guy has to be insane in combination with the whispers in the shadows. It is simply funny to me.

[bloggerspam]

Fic of a Fic: Caroline meets Ellie

This is a direct homage to @clockwayswrites Caroline from their fic A Hill to Die on.

Ya'll can blame @deathlysilent13 for this.

Disclaimer: I am not super familiar with alters or systems, and in this AU Tim isn't thinking about it/stumbled into it--please do not take this an accurate experience in any way! It's just for fun :)

===

"You're pretty. Do you like boys?"

Caroline blinks. looking to her left and right, trying to find the source of the chipper voice.

It's 3am in the morning, she's just spent the last 5 hours dancing in heels���she can be forgiven for taking a little long to realize that the voice is coming from slightly below her sight line.

When she finally (blearily) looks down, a girl of maybe 7 or 8 is looking up at her with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Thank you." Caroline huffs a confused laugh, smiling as she leans down and braces on her knees to be a little closer and meet the little girls height. "You're quite the darling yourself you know."

"Thank you, I got it from my brother." The little girl blushes, apples of her cheeks truly working hard to turn the same shade as its namesake, but her wide-eyed curiosity is still not abated. "Do you like boys?"

"Yes, I do." Caroline tilts her head, biting her lip against a laugh. "But most boys don't like me."

"Well most boys are stupid." The little girl scrunches up her face in distaste, which is honestly too much cuteness for Caroline to handle right now. The Tim part of her is starting to wake up, albeit sluggishly, in the face of a possible lost child. "But my big brother isn't stupid! He's the best, actually."

"Oh?" Caroline looks around exaggeratedly, though she does scan the area the way Tim would. Nothing in particular to note. Weirdly empty for Gotham, but otherwise… "And where is this so-called best big brother? Little girl like you shouldn't be out and about so early."

The little girl looks shifty then, fiddling with her fingers and kicking up dust, mumbling. "He's still sleeping at his desk."

"His desk?" Caroline is a little worried now, truly. How far can a little kid walk? Caroline searches through her memories, but realizes that Tim's knowledge on such things would be heavily skewed and probably incorrect. Damian isn't the best example, and Tim used to stalk Batman. So.

"He fell asleep working." The little girl explains, before the beans truly spill out. "I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I wanted some milk, but Danny didn't have a blanket so I got him a blanket, and then I figured maybe he'd like some hot chocolate when he woke up, 'cause he always makes me hot chocolate when I can't sleep, or had a nightmare, but we didn't have any hot chocolate at home so I thought maybe I could get some hot chocolate, but the bodega's closed."

Caroline watches bemusedly as the little girl gesticulates her story, walking back and forth and presenting her case as if Caroline is the one who has the issue.

"And then I saw you, and you're like, really pretty, and I definitely think my brother would like you," The little girl beams up at her, as if she's done something great. "Jazzy said that Danny's been lonely, taking care of me all by himself. So I thought, if I can't give him hot chocolate, I can at least let him meet a pretty lady!"

Caroline laughs, she can't help it anymore, trying her best to stifle it in the echoes of the night. "Well now, that's very sweet of you!"

"Thank you!" The little girl wiggles in her happiness. "If you want to meet my brother, I think he'll be happy. We don't have to go if you don't want to though, Danny said consent is important."

"He's right." Caroline wipes a tear and smiles widely down at the little girl. "I'm also pretty sure he's going to be worried out of his mind when he wakes up and finds you gone, so how about we get you home, okay?"

"So you'll meet him???" The little girl jumps up and down in excitement, cheering, "He'll be soooo happy to meet a pretty lady like you!"

"That's very nice of you to say, darling." Caroline's eyes go half lidded in exhaustion, yawning as her smile quirks a little differently, Tim blinking a little more in the forefront. "But I'm afraid I'm not a lady most of the time. Most times, I'm a boy."

The little girl doesn't even hesitate. "Danny likes pretty boys too!" She reaches up a hand, as if waiting for Caroline, no, Tim? to take her hand and lead her home. "He'll be extra happy that you can be both!"

Tim doesn't know what to say to that—his skirt is starting to feel a little too tight, and his feet are killing him. Heels were a mistake, but at least his tights and sweater keeps him warm, even if it's off the shoulder and cropped. The sweater paws are appreciated at least.

"That's very equal opportunity of him." Tim decides to say, drawing it out as if unsure. It's very typical of Caroline to leaving Tim to clean up her messes. "But I'm not sure Danny wouldn't like a random stranger showing up on his doorstep with his little sister."

"Oh!" The little girl jolts, straightening up and putting her hand out for a handshake instead. "My name is Ellie Nightingale, I'm 8 years old, and I love my brothers and sister very much!"

"Hello, Ellie." Tim shakes her hand, deliberating before deciding fuck it. "My name is usually Caroline in this outfit."

Ellie eyes him up and down, scrutinizing him as she twists their clasped hands into a different hold and leading them seemingly towards her home. "But you're not Caroline now."

"I am not." Tim agrees, adjusting his gait into an awkward walk. His feet still hurt, but he's had worse as Red Robin. "Well, I am. But not. She went to…bed, I guess. So now I'm awake."

"What's your name now that you've woken up?" Ellie asks, stopping them at a crosswalk and looking both ways even though it's as empty as Gotham could ever get. Tim thinks on this for a moment, before again, deciding fuck it.

"It's Tim." He replies. "Caroline had a long night, and she thinks I'm better with children."

Ellie gives him a look for that. "I liked Caroline better."

Tim honks out a laugh, quickly covering it up with his free hand. "Sometimes I like Caroline better too."

"That's kind of sad." Ellie reaches up to pat Tim on his hip, the easiest place she can reach. "It's okay, Danny can like Tim better."

Tim feels his face hurt with how wide he's smiling. Kids are a riot. "Sometimes, when I'm a boy-boy, my name is Alvin."

Ellie shrugs. "Is he mean? If he's mean Dante might like him."

Tim, with a wobbly voice from holding in laughter, tries his best to answer. "He's sometimes a little mean."

"Dante can be mean with him. He's not as nice as Danny, but he's just as good of a brother." Ellie chirps, swinging their arms back and forth as she skips. "Do you have another name that Jazzy can like?"

"…I guess I was Todd Richards, once." Tim hums, swinging his arm with her and using his free hand to rub at his chin in thought. "Though he didn't stay long."

"Jazz doesn't like deadbeat men who leave." Ellie primly states, sticking her nose up. "Jazz deserves better."

"…Are you setting me up with all of your siblings?" Tim hesitantly asks, unsure how to explain that they're all monogamous, but like to share? He's never figured it out.

"No, just Danny." Ellie slants an offended look. "You have lotsa names but you're one person right?"

Tim feels lighter than a feather, and he's not sure how to explain that, so he settles for a nervous smile and nod. He's never actually sat down and thought through this whole identity thing in the first place—method acting gone wrong? Right?

Doesn't matter. Ellie's chill with it, so Tim's chill with it. Logic.

Take that, Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. And—

"It's okay to have a buncha names. I used to have a different name." Ellie continues over Tim's righteous thoughts, this time leading the way through a side alley. Tim is actually surprised how empty it is. "My creator was a dickbag though, and Jazzy said it's important for my i-den-ti-ty to have a proper one."

"Language." Tim bites his lip from snorting, noting the peculiar wording Ellie uses. "Creator?"

"Dante said it's okay if it's true." Ellie bites her lip, side-eyeing Tim as she pinches the fabric of her jeans. "And Danny says it's okay as long as Jazzy doesn't hear."

"Is that so?" Tim chuckles, subtly eyeing her fingers.

"It is so." Ellie sniffs, pinching the fabric of her jeans again. "Danny's the best like that." No pinching this time.

A tell. Tim hides his grin with a little cough. "Of course." Ellie seems to be pleased with Tim's agreeable actions.

They're just exiting the alley, coming around the bend, when the door to an apartment complex across the road swings forcefully open. A man, shirtless and NASA patterned pajama pants at barely cling to his hips shoots out, grabbing the before it slams against the wall, forcing it closed as gently as he can so that the security system locks engage. He's handsome even though his hair is a mess, with crease lines Tim can still see from all the way over here that indicate he was just asleep on possible pencil, maybe a screwdriver.

There are. Abs. And arms. Holy shit, those sure are arms.

Ellie perks up, zooming towards the man and dragging Tim with him. "Danny!"

"Ellie!" Danny's head whips up in their direction, the man running towards them with zero hesitation to scoop Ellie up into a hug. "Bug, you worried me, I woke up and you weren't there!"

Oh, shit, even his voice is nice, deep and raspy from sleep even through the sheer relief. Tim tries to focus on the conversation as Ellie recounts her obviously genius and completely founded (to her) reasoning on why she just had to leave the apartment, but ultimately fails.

Did he mention abs? And arms??

The man is taller than Tim by a good couple inches, and bulkier in the shoulders. He's robust, even with that shoulder to waist ratio that Tim (and Caroline) kind of want to aggressively bite at. Deliciously hunky, as Steph would say. He has a unique undercut that's all white, though the stop part of his hair is black as night.

His eyes almost glow green in the dinky streetlights, and Tim's kind of losing it at the soft helpless look the other man's giving his little sister once she's finished her explanation. He's got her sitting on one arm, holding her up so that their faces are level, with Ellie bracing her tiny hands on his shoulder and chest.

Tim kind of wants to cry.

"I know that—" Danny sighs, pinching his brow in a way only exasperated older brothers can. Tim knows, because Dick does it all the time. "I know that you're used to going out alone, but I thought we established that once you started living with me you'd tell me?"

Ellie purses her lips in what seems to be both guilt and indignation. "I did okay before. Nothing happened and I can take care of any bad guys!"

Danny's face crumples a bit for a flash of a moment, stabbing Tim in the heart like thirty million times. "Ellie, it's not that I don't trust you, it's that I care. What happened before…" Danny sighs looking a little distressed and at a loss for words.

Ellie reaches over, smooths a tiny hand over Danny's furrowed brow. "Ok. M'sorry Danny. I love you."

Danny smiles then, once more helpless, "I love you too squirt." Then, as if finally noticing Tim, Danny coughs and turns abruptly red. Like, super concernedly red, actually. Tim's worried he might feint.

"Oh, Ancients, sorry," Danny adjusts Ellie to put her down, but she clings to him, still a little upset. Danny smoothly straightens back up, patting her on the back as she nuzzles into his neck.

Seriously, Tim might die.

"Thanks for bringing her back to me." Danny reaches a hand out, "My name's Danny. Is there any way I can repay you for finding her?"

Tim almost says please date me but thankfully, Bat-training has him calm, collected, and in total control of his mouth.

"It's no problem," Tim smiles his best smile—a little awkward in Caroline's fit, but Tim's no stranger to women's clothing. "And I didn't exactly find her." Tim chuckles as he darts a glance at a now perked up Ellie.

"I found them Danny!" Ellie proudly pronounces, wiggling in place in her excitement again before scrunching her face. "Well. I found Caroline. For you!"

"For me?" Danny confusedly tilts his head, even pointing a finger at himself. "Why would you—"

"Jazzy said you're lonely." Ellie whispers loudly into his ear, Tim trying to stifle his laughter as he bites his lips. "And Dante said that you need to find a friend to have sleepovers with."

Danny's face goes alarmingly red again, slapping a hand to cover his eyes as he groans in embarrassment.

"I'm going to kill them—nosey older—" Danny grumbles, before huffing and smiling apologetically at Tim. "I'm really sorry about this Miss Caroline—"

"He's Tim right now!" Ellie interrupts, yanking at Danny's ear and causing him to yelp. "Caroline went to bed. I like Caroline more, 'cause she's so pretty, see?"

Ellie points at all of Tim, which causes him to smile shyly. He notices that Danny follows where Ellie points, gulping when he meets Tim's eyes again. "Y-yeah, I see that squirt but—"

"But Tim's been really nice, he treats me like a proper person! Most people just think I'm a dumb kid."

"You're not dumb." Tim and Danny say in unison, which makes both of them squeak embarrassingly. So much for Bat-training.

"See! So I thought Tim could be for you, and I could play with Caroline sometimes, and Dante could play with Alvin—"

"Alvin?" Danny asks quietly, to which Tim flashes three fingers, before pointing to his head. Danny nods understandingly before focusing back on Ellie. The quick understanding and no reaction makes all sorts of butterflies bloom in Tim's gut. Like a little mosh pit of bugs. Maybe he needs coffee.

"—and so I said that Jazz deserves better than that, right Danny?" Ellie smooshes Danny's cheeks, making him look all sorts of ridiculous and cute. "Maybe we can even share Caroline!"

"-at's right squirt. S-he does." Danny says through his squished face. He scrunches his nose up—which makes their relation seem so very clear, Ellie's the spitting image of him—before bopping his forehead onto hers and making her giggle as she lets go of his face.

"So, uh. this is all very nice of you, Ellie. I, uhm." Danny glances at Tim, wincing a little, "I love that you did something so nice for me, but you can't gift people, so we're gonna let uh, Tim get on their way okay?"

Ellie pouts, wriggling out of Danny's grip to hide behind Tim and grab at his skirt. "But, but you like pretty ladies! And pretty boys!"

"Where did you even get this information?" Danny's voice cracks, frantically looking back and forth between Tim and Ellie as if he's not sure whether to be embarrassed or indignant.

"Sam said you like pretty ladies that look like they can beat you up." Ellie ticks a finger up, looking up as she recalls this info, "and Tucker said you like guys who look like they need to be taked care of."

Danny groans, head in his hands and hunching his shoulders up to scrunch up as small as he can even as Ellie steamrolls over the noise, "And Jazzy and Dante said that you need somebody that can be weird with you."

Danny jolts up, straightening as if he's found some kind of salvation. "Hey, that's right, and I'm sure Tim is a perfectly awesome guy, uh, girl?" Danny looks at Tim in distress, making Tim chuckle.

"Right now I'm a guy." Tim tries to keep his voice soft and low, smiling a little shyly. Distantly, he wonders if he's smudged Caroline's lipstick.

"Right!" Danny coughs, red again, "Right, so he's a perfectly normal guy and totally not weird, Okay, Ellie? C'mon, let's not take up more of Tim's night, okay?"

"I like weird." Tim nonchalantly says, innocent as he lays a hand on Ellie's back. "I mean, I've got at least three people sharing space in my noggin. Sort of." She beams up at him and snuggles closer to his leg, a warm line of comfort and affection. "We can be weird together, I think."

Danny flaps his mouth open and closed, at a loss for words. Tim's not about to explain this whole method acting turned stress relief gender euphoria turned alternate identity thing, so he plows on.

"I'm sometimes a lady—" Ellie interrupts him with an adamant pretty! "—a pretty lady that can definitely put you in your place." Tim does a slow up and down, Caroline peeking through in body memory even if she's not fully forefront.

It makes Danny do that cute little squeak again—-That's three times now, and Tim wants to know if he can manage a fourth. It also makes Danny remember how shirtless he is, making the other man twitch as if he might cover his chest but doesn't want to bring more attention to this fact so he restrains himself.

Tim licks his lips, staring at his pecs and—there's that fourth squeak and arms crossing over that delicious chest.

"And y'know," Tim goes a little shy now, scratching at the back of his neck, "I sometimes forget to sleep and eat." He shrugs with a little moue of distaste as the words he's about to say, "My family says I'm kind of a workaholic and need taking care of."

"Oh!" Ellie bounces up and down, tugging at Tim's skirt again, flashing a little hip that makes Danny eep and slap his hands over his eyes. Big guy like him should not be this freaking cute, seriously. "Oh! Jazzy says Danny's a work-a-ho-lic too!"

"Yeah?" Tim says to Ellie, even as he keeps eye contact with Danny as he's peeking through his fingers, "Guess that means I gotta at least give it a shot, right?"

Tim's not sure where this confidence is coming from: remnants of Caroline, being so free with his other…roommates, Ellie, or Danny's reactions, but it's bolstering him up.

It makes him bold, and kinda reckless. Mr. Sarcastic would approve.

"Yeah!" Ellie agrees, tugging Tim's hand into hers. She pulls him towards Danny, who obliging gives her his hand when she asks for it wordlessly with her own. "You gotta at least try. Jazzy said you give up too much for me!" Ellie makes the saddest, most pathetic looking pout Tim's ever seen. "I don't wanna be the reason you're sad and alone Danny!"

Danny bites his lip, looking at Tim for a long moment. Tim tries to smile reassuredly, to convey that he's totally on board for at least one date. (For maybe many many dates?) His shoulders slump, but his blush is still rampant. It's crawling down his neck, up his cheeks and bleeding into his ears.

He's the cutest thing Tim's ever seen at 4am in the morning.

"O-okay, uhm." Danny fumbles with his phone, "I-I could give you my number?"

"Sounds great." Tim shyly smiles as they exchange numbers, Ellie keeping both their hands hostage as if they might run away the second she lets go. Good thing Tim's ambidextrous. "I'll call you, maybe set something up this weekend?"

"It's a date." Danny smiles, Ellie squealing in excitement and cheering as she finally lets go to jump around.

Just as they get ready to part ways, Ellie tugs at Tim's skirt again, cupping her hands in a bid for Tim to crouch down and lend an ear. He does so obligingly.

"Can Caroline wake up for a second so I can say goodbye?" She whispers loudly. Tim smirks a little, rummaging up the vestiges of Caroline and sort of��blinks.

"Goodnight darling." Caroline does a sly little smile, kissing Ellie on the cheek and winking up at Danny. "And you were right! Your brother is the best."

Ellie beams, giving her a kiss on the cheek back. "Good night, Caroline!"

[grandline-fics]

Hi I'm so in love w your blog I love your writings 💙 n e ways I was wondering if you would write a small multiple character fic w luffy and zoro when you hide an injury💙 tyyy

DESCRIPTION: You hide an injury

WARNINGS:  light injury description but nothing bad

CHARACTERS: Zoro, Luffy

WORDS: 1,268

A/N: I'm so glad you like my writing and thank you for the request. I hope this was to your liking!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

————————

ZORO

He’d told you not to push yourself. He warned you the dangerous of training beyond your limits so soon after a battle. Zoro told you to listen to your body and like a fool you wanted to prove to him you were strong, that you could do it. You should have listened because when you made the next rep in your training you felt the pull in your back and the pain jolted through you to the point your eyes blurred with tears, the air was slammed out of your lungs. The weight dropped out of your hand loudly and you stumbled back to the window seat closest to you, shuddering out slow, shallow breaths as you tried to calm yourself from the initial shock. By the time the hatch opened and Zoro’s head appeared you’d managed to control your expression. “What happened?”

“N-nothing.” You insisted, still breathless that you hoped you could just pass off as tiredness from the training. “Was getting tired and the weight slipped. Just catching my breath.” Zoro watched you carefully as he entered the Crow’s Nest fully and approached you, his keen stare never moving from your face. You met his gaze as much as you could and tried to seem as relaxed as possible even though the pain was still spasming in your back. Yes, you’d endured harsher injuries in countless battles and you would recover from this without any issue. All you needed to do was take it slow and easy and rest. The only problem was managing to keep it hidden from Zoro to avoid him getting smug about you not listening to him.

“Looks like you’ve caught your breath, you going to start up again?” Zoro asked casually, jerking his head back towards the weight on the ground. “Seems like you weren’t finished.”

“Uhh I would continue but that’s a heavier weight than I’m used to. Better to quit while I’m ahead right? Last thing we need is an injury.” You forced out with a tight smile, stiffly getting to your feet and heading towards the hatch. It wasn’t until you were nearly there that you realised you’d have to stoop down to lift it open and make the climb down and you felt like crying or cursing. Just as you prepared to do what would bring you more pain, Zoro’s arm wrapped around your waist gently to keep you upright. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Stopping you from hurting yourself anymore than you already have.” You tensed at that and let your eyes slide closed in slight annoyance that he already knew. Zoro had a talent of seeming laid-back and unobservant when really he was taking everything in, you hated that about him but also admired him for it. For now though your pride was wounded along with your back and you couldn’t help but pout when Zoro crouched down to open the hatch before lifting you gently but securely into his hold with one arm before using the other to carry you down the mast. 

When you were safely in your shared room you let out a groan when you lay on the bed. A sigh of relief followed when Zoro’s hand went straight to where the pain was at its worst, applying just the right amount of pressure and care to help your back. It got so good that you could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep but Zoro’s voice saying your name got your attention. Softly you let out a hum to show you were listening. “I told you so.”

LUFFY

You loved Luffy, you truly did. You loved how energetic and fierce he was, how he always had a smile and a laugh for nearly any situation. You loved how serious he got in a fight and how no one, no matter how much bigger they were or how important they were he still faced them head on if they did something to bring his fury on them. What you didn’t like was that sometimes that energy and that fightable spirit remained even when he was asleep. For the most part you managed to get used to it, jumping awake some nights when he let out a yell that he’d kick his dream opponents ass. Other times you’d wake to him bolting upright in the bed, his fist reeled back to throw a punch only for his body to flop back down against the mattress, his sleep undisturbed. 

One night however was one were Luffy’s dream fighting struck hard and more intense than you’d experienced before. When he bolted upright in the bed and yelled out you were tossed onto your back blinking wildly in the dark as you adjusted to being violently woken and trying to make out Luffy’s form. You waited patiently for him to start to make his attack and flop back onto the bed again but this time it didn’t play out the way it usually did. 

Over and over Luffy punched the air, sleepily grunting out attacks and insults. You knew not to wake anyone if they sleep-walked but you weren’t fully sure on those that sleep-fought. You gasped and managed to avoid Luffy’s arm whipping back, hitting the pillow where your head had been mere seconds ago. Cautiously you sat up in the bed and scrambled to think of something, anything to soothe him. Then you did the only thing you could think of.

“Luffy! You won!” You cheered out, loud enough to reach Luffy’s ears but not too loud to wake the others on the ship. You sighed in relief to see the broad grin stretch out across his face and with a sleepy laugh he threw himself backwards. You settled against the pillows and prepared to fall asleep again when Luffy let out a cheer, arms and legs kicking out in celebration. With your eyes closed you didn’t see it coming and you were hit hard with enough force to be knocked awkwardly and painfully onto the floor. On impact you felt your wrist spike with pain and you bit back the urge to cry out. Thankfully you hitting the floor didn’t wake Luffy and you were able to slip back into bed.

When morning came you woke first and were able to change into your clothes for the day, picking a shirt that hid your bruised wrist and forearm from view. You knew nothing was broken and it would heal, it just looked worse than what it was. If anything you were lucky that this was your only injury for facing Luffy. You were prepared to keep a low profile for the day but unexpectedly Luffy appeared behind you so fast and cheer out an excited good morning to you. With a startled yell you spun and put your hand on your chest, the action slipping your sleeve down just enough to show the beginning of the bruise. Luffy’s eyes widened and he reached out to take you hand. “What happened?!”

“Uhh…” You glanced at your hand in his hold and sighed. You couldn’t lie to him. “You pushed me out of bed, hit it on the floor. I’m fi-” You were cut off with a yelp when Luffy lifted you immediately. “Luffy! I’m fine, it’s a bruise.”

“No! You’re taking it easy if you’re injured!”

“It’s just my hand, I can still walk.”

“No! I’m your legs and arms today.” Luffy insisted before grinning at you when you laughed and shook your head in resignation. How could you argue with the Captain when he looked at you like that?

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[lurochar]

Before It All (Pt. 3)

Warnings: Obsessive Alastor

Part 1 + Part 2

---------------------------------

It really was you.

His nameless Doe.

You seemed tense, clearly uneasy by the static he emitted and his presence alone by the looks of your erect ears and puffed fur of your tail.

(How cute, you had your clothes altered for your tail. A shame he hadn’t noticed it back when he had summoned you).

Alastor was now used to fellow demons being unnerved and frightened in his presence and so they should be, but you – there was no reason for you to be so anxious in his company, though he supposed he could understand it somewhat.

The power dynamics were completely turned around.

You had no advantage over him, he wasn’t that weak human anymore.

But still, Alastor didn’t like the fact you were so wary of him, so he needed to lighten the mood, break the tense atmosphere, and there was no better way than reminding you of your encounter with him when he was the weaker one, when you had the power over him, was there?

“How I’ve missed your wonderful ears, my nameless Doe.”

Alastor always did find your ears fascinating.

He may have his own pair of deer ears now and they had their uses – his auditory senses were vastly superior when compared to his human self, so much so, it took a week or two for him to adjust to sensory overload. They also gave any would-be attackers a false sense of security, he was just a deer demon, so he had to be weak.

Ripping those sorts to shreds felt much more satisfying.

But his ears were so damn sensitive to touch that Alastor had no idea how you didn’t just melt into a trembling mess when you allowed him to stroke your ears all those years ago.

He needed to move on from these thoughts before–

You blinked at his odd greeting, your body relaxing slightly from its earlier tensed position that had been poised to flee at any given second.

You blinked again.

And then you let out a loud yelp of surprise, springing forward when you felt icy cold hands playfully tug on your ears from behind. 

–before his shadow acted upon them.

You reeled around to see what had touched you, not expecting to see a grin right up in your face and you stumbled back a bit, happy enough that you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the Radio Demon/Alastor by letting out some sort of pitiful sound like a scream or shriek.

“I do hope you can excuse my shadow’s behaviour. The poor thing can hardly contain itself, seeing it is a reflection of me.” Alastor gestured the shadow away, which it did after giving you a last glance before it vanished. “Well then, should we do now what we should have done twenty-four years ago?”

You’re unsure what he is talking about.

“Introductions, my nameless Doe! Unless you prefer that name over your real one.” Alastor bows in a flashy way. “Alastor Hartfelt! But you already knew that, correct?” He stood up straight and eyed you expectantly.

“It’s nothing special, it’s just Y/N.” You shrug before eyeing Alastor intently and you hope you don’t get killed or worse for your question. “You just seemed like a miserable boy brought up in a miserable situation, so I gave you a pass. I thought if I got rid of your main problem, maybe you could live the rest of your life normally. You didn’t even make it to forty. What happened?”

Alastor hummed. “It would turn out that my father was only a drop in the bucket. After that wretch was gone from our lives, my Mama instilled in me the importance and value of women. Women are not second-class citizens nor are they property, but this way of thinking was uncommon and misogyny was everywhere.”

You think you can guess where this is heading to…

“I killed men, men like my father. Men who see no problem in beating their wife. Degenerates that stalked the alleyways for their next rape victim. For over a decade, I was the ‘Bayou Butcher’. It’s only due to the incompetence of a hunter that I am here now.” The expression on his face was that of delight. “I have no remorse. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Oh.

It’s… it’s not what you wanted for Alastor, but you remembered that sheer hatred in his eyes. Something that deeply rooted wasn’t so easily erased, even if the main cause was taken out of the situation.

Unfortunately, you were not wrong in guessing Alastor would eventually condemn himself to Hell.

Fortunately, you had held onto Hartfelt for the past twenty some years.

You do have another question, but you know better than to ask.

Some demons don't care, but some demons can get quite offended if asked about their appearance and why they ended up looking the way they do. It’s personal, tied to their sins in life and their manner of death.

Asking Alastor why he ended up as a deer demon, a prey-based demon, could get you killed or maybe worse.

“I was mistaken for a deer by an inept hunter who took a shot before bothering to confirm what he was shooting at.” Alastor answers easily and casually, as if reading your mind and knowing what you want to ask. “Do not be afraid to ask me anything, my lovely Doe. I assume you heard my message on one of my broadcasts, yes? I meant every word of what I said.”

Lovely Doe?

‘I told him my name…’ You decided it didn’t matter too much as it wasn’t demeaning or degrading. You’ve been called much, much worse and on a regular basis by Hartfelt, so hearing an affectionate(?) nickname was a bit of refreshing change–

Should you be thinking that way?

Your ears dropped.

“Listen, Alastor,” you noticed his eyes seemed to glow brighter from you simply saying his name, “I messed up that day. I… I shouldn’t have touched you, let alone hug you. There are countless reasons why most demons don’t have free access to the human world. Contact with demons tends to screw humans up. Even just one night with a Succubus or an Incubus can fuck up humans for months and they’re low-class demons.”

Alastor simply tilted his head.

“I’m mid-class and… and I should have known better.” You sighed. “I think I messed you up in some way by touching you and letting you touch me.”

You were taken back when Alastor started to laugh and your ears flattened completely, slightly bothered by his reaction to your words.

Did you say something amusing?

“Oh dear me, you have twisted it all around in your worrisome mind, haven’t you?” Alastor chuckled. “So you have yet to realize you saved me and my Mama from that piece of scum I had to call ‘father’? My life even? Had you not killed that man for me, I would have made a clumsy attempt to murder that man, whether I succeeded or not. Such a thing would have cost me my life much earlier. I would not have been able to pursue my career and take good care of my Mama until her final days.”

You flustered, not sure what to say back.

“I lived my life the way I wished to because you freed me from that man. I am here in Hell purely of my own actions, though perhaps a little earlier than expected. You are very much downplaying what you are to me and I cannot say I care much for it.” Alastor couldn’t help the loudening crackle of his static.

“...okay…”

“Pardon?” Alastor’s ears twitched at the mumble of your voice, though he heard you just fine. He wanted you to clarify what ‘okay’ meant and look him in the eyes as you did so. He wouldn’t trap you in a contract like the fools whose souls he owned, but with his guaranteed protection for nothing more than just staying at his side and within his sight, how could you refuse?

(Though, if you wanted to give him your soul, he certainly wouldn’t turn it down).

“Okay! Maybe I didn’t fuck you up! Maybe you were… a little ‘different’ from the start!” You weren’t sure how to say ‘psychopathic’ in a nice way. “I still felt guilty about it this entire time. I hoped differently, but I knew you would probably end up in Hell.” You admitted, huffing when Alastor let out another chuckle. “So I did something to try to make up for it in case I did mess with your mind somehow.”

“Hmm, and what is that, my lovely Doe?” Alastor’s smile seemed to widen and it may be hidden from view, his tail wagged in excitement. “You thought of me, even before I landed myself in Hell? I must say, I’m quite flattered!”

“I looked for him as soon as I got back from the human world and found him before he understood how… things worked around here.” You didn’t feel bad in the least. “So I tricked him into making a deal with me. Shelter, food, simple basics for his soul. He didn’t seem used to living on the streets, so he took it right away. He didn’t understand what it actually meant to give your soul away.”

“Well done! What a delightful little tidbit! I had no idea if you would be interested in the art of deal-making. I would be more than happy to guide you. Why, I already own a great number of souls myself.” Alastor’s smile turned a little more sinister and he felt his blood heat at the thought of watching you trick some desperate fool into giving you their soul.

He would slaughter an entire district just to see that.

“I’ve… never really thought about it? I just do what I can to get by. Prey and livestock-based demons don’t have it easy in Hell.” You were sought out for your meat after all. “Anyway, I thought I’d make it up to you by – well, that demon whose soul I own is your father’s.”

The static around Alastor went completely silent.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I always intended on giving you ownership of his soul whenever you ended up here, if you ended up in Hell. You can do anything you want to him, I have no intention of interfering if you… wanted to broadcast his torment or something.”

Shit, why was Alastor staring at you like that?

Was it the wrong choice? Did he want nothing to do with his father?

“W-WAH!” It was the most pitiful fucking noise you could probably make, worse than that earlier yelp when Alastor seemed to melt into the floor through a void of shadows and then reappear right in your personal space before you comprehended what happened. That was not the reason you let out a damn bleat before you could help it, though.

Alastor was stroking your ears just as he had done twenty-four years prior.

“A gift from you is always welcome, but this – I never imagined one that would bring me such… joy. Truly, you were always meant for me, my lovely Doe.”

“S-so, I take it you want ownership of his soul?” You struggled to get the words out, feeling your vision blur for a moment. You let out a breath of relief when Alastor reluctantly released your ears, but he didn’t step away from your personal space.

“Yes. I’m more than willing to give you a soul – ten even, in return. Mama may disapprove of it, but I will pay back a thousandfold and more for what that man put her through. He will suffer the worst torture I can possibly think of.” To your amazement, Alastor’s pupils spun into a shape that resembled radio dials before returning to normal.

“It’s a gift. You don’t need to give me anything back in return.” You blinked in surprise when Alastor poked your cheek, pinching it playfully before tutting at you. “What was that?!”

“You have been here longer than me, but it seems I must teach you a few good lessons.” Alastor held out his hand invitingly. “Before this transaction, would you like a tour of my radio tower?”

You placed your hand in his. “You’re going to have to explain it like you would to a child how this radio stuff actually works. I can turn my radio on and change the station, that’s about it.”

Alastor felt that chill that followed him all his life leave him and his smile felt genuine for very few times that it was as he felt your hand wrap around his.

He may be dead and in Hell, but his (after)life was looking rather bright – he still could enjoy his passion for radio and he no longer had to hide his true sadistic nature and homicidal thoughts. Better yet, he could combine the two and broadcast tortured screams for denizens of Hell to hear!

He was powerful and feared, toppling Overlords to become himself in an extremely short period of time and he owned multiple souls to do his bidding whenever and whatever he wanted – and soon, he could add his miserable wretch of a father to his collection to torment all he likes.

Best of all, he finally found you, the demon who made this all possible for him and now that he had you in his grasp, there was no conceivable way he would ever let you elude him. He could certainly give you the illusion of freedom and space if that’s what you wanted.

He was charming, he knew that, it’s all he needed to win you over.

Perhaps it would take a little time and patience, but he would get what he wanted in the end like he always did.

His lovely Doe. His new wife.

It was a dream that Alastor was going to turn into his reality.

----------------------------------------------------------

I hope this ending was satisfying

Tags: @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @godsent69 @eris-norwega @catticora @tayraedoll @michi-keinz @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @everwolf-20 @yui-onnero

[writella]

Daryl Dixon Kissing Daydreams— A little look inside Daryl’s memories of kissing his favorite person in the world.

Details: Daryl Dixon x reader (no pronouns are used but there is one instance that I use the word princess), suggestive but overall, just some lovely sweetness! wc: 2k, slightly proofread— my apologies about any misspells, I just really want to get this out and get back to writing!!!

A/N: Let’s get back into things. ♡ I hope you’re all doing well. With love from writella. ♡

Daryl Dixon loves kissing.

He’d never admit it though— albeit that is a weird thing to admit out of nowhere— and he’s never said it out loud— albeit that is a weird thing to say out loud in most normal instances as well— but either way, he does. He really, really does.

Ironically, it’s his fifth favorite form of affection.

The first is acts of service. He doesn’t call it that though. He probably doesn’t even know the phrase. To him, it’s just being useful. Helping, or as he’d pronounce it, helpin’, or jus helpin’ awut.

This includes hunting to feed others, preparing food (even though he’s awful at it other than roasting things on a fire, so everyone agrees, just hunting), remembering things you like and getting them when and if he can find them, thoughtful gifts that remind him of you— basically any stones or trinkets he finds on his journeys, finding shelter if need be, keeping you safe and warm— even at the expense of himself, fixing things, taking the time to teaching you survival skills you want to learn, the sort.

The second is beating the shit out of people in his loved ones honor. Walkers, “Saviors,” men named Negan, basically, anyone out to kill you. He didn’t like seeing people hurt his friends, but he does enjoy when he gets to fuck people up in case it happens. To that, a subconscious part of Daryl’s brain says thank god there are no therapists in town; or, that they are either too scared to speak to him or have not gotten the chance to speak to him so he doesn’t have to reckon with the fact that his not-so-secret thirst for punching and shooting arrows at people might be just a little too high.

The third is listening. He didn’t know he was good at this until you told him. He doesn’t interrupt and he is not quick to judge, you had said, “or really you just know how to keep the mean things to yourself.” He smiled at that. He realized that yes, he is a silent judger, but he’s also pretty open-minded. He liked that about himself, and he found out because of you. It made him feel nice.

Also, if you were wondering, yes, you may have noticed that these three forms of affection can all be argued as kinds of acts of service, but again, Daryl doesn’t know phrases like that, and even if he did or if he was classifying any of his interests or skills, beating people up and shooting things with arrows would always be in its category.

The fourth is hugging– another one he wouldn’t admit out loud. He’d never say he needed a hug, but wouldn’t deny a friend one, and they became more meaningful to him after moments he’d thought he’d never see them again, or see you again. Hugs became incredibly important then. It made him realize that hugging was also the first form of intimate, physical touch that he ever felt comfortable with. He obviously didn’t grow up in an affectionate home, but he was at least used to getting a pat on the back from Meryl when he caught something good to eat, said something Meryl thought was funny, or did whatever Meryl told him to do “right the first time.” Seldomly though, if Meryl was in one of his good moods, he’d give Daryl an actual hug, one of those nice, brotherly ones. Maybe Meryl was laughing with his friends when saw Daryl, beckoning him over, hugging him by the side saying, “Hey little brother,” as he tussles Daryl’s hair; or at night, when Meryl stumbles in as a sleepy-go-lucky-drunk, lazily throwing his chest and arms around Daryl, telling him, “I love you.” He knew never to take it that seriously in those moments, but he did, he couldn’t help it even if he was good at making it look like he didn’t from the outside. The only other time Meryl would do or say that is when one or both of them got it from their dad. Nevermore did they feel closer, as if they were one half of the other, than in moments like those. Daryl felt almost bad for liking it. He used to have to earn affection, he realized. He’s almost ready to talk about it. With you. You give him so much so freely. He’s shocked and sometimes terrified by it. But your helping, your saving, your listening, your hugging– it made him feel ready to speak. It is what also helped him learn his last favorite form of affection, the one mentioned above and only saved for you, the fifth–

–kissing.

One of his favorite places to kiss you is by your fireplace. You two would sit on the rug and you’d ask him to drag the coffee table to where you sat. The two of you ate dinner there sometimes, near the fire on a cold winter evening, or you used it as a place to set down your drinks and whatever game you two were playing, or to use as a resting spot for your elbows as he listened to you talk for what felt like an enchanting forever.

He never tired of your voice as you spoke about your old favorite tv shows and movies and books that he had never watched or read, listening with no interruption– as he always does– or waiting for moments to ask you questions or follow-up questions about this character or that and you’d answer with as much as your memory recalled. You’d make yourself laugh with how silly and passionate you got over these things and he would smile softly, blue eyes glowing in the firelight because he liked hearing you speak, he liked everything you had to say.

It’s moments like this when your smiles catch one another’s and your eyes lock a few seconds longer than before because there is nothing else left to place your gaze on that Daryl places his hand on yours or on your leg and you know that means he wants you closer. His hand moves to your face and his thumb gently swipes and caresses your jaw and you both stay there for a moment, looking at each other. You move in slowly and you kiss him so soft and and tender and tentatively like a princess. His princess. The one who made everything so lovely and magical to what he thought of as his weird and jagged gremlin self.

Daryl gets excited during the times you decide to initiate. It makes him feel courageous when you’re courageous. He grabs you by the waist, pulling you closer, taking control as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You sigh, warmth and happiness surrounding you as you allow him to take control. Grabbing your head as gently as his rough hands would allow, he sets you on the rug, giving you pecks before looking down at you one last time, seeing the fire illuminate your face with red and orange— the colors of his heart and mind when he’s around you— and then, finally, places himself atop of you and goes back to kissing you. Once again, he slides his tongue in your mouth, wordlessly telling you how much he loves you and how much he loves this. His hands trail down from your waist to your neck as you grab his and play with his hair as you kiss into the night until your mouths are sore.

Daryl also remembers your first kiss. You were angry with him, or at least that’s what he thought. But it was more so frustration, a tinge of disappointment. You were falling for him, desperately so whether you wanted to admit it or not, but it’s so hard to fall for someone not willing to open their heart— you can only be so patient. So, uncharacteristically, at least when it came to him, you got in his face, you got loud, you told him how you felt. Not that you loved him, no, not yet. You told him he’s closed off, that you couldn’t take it anymore, that you wanted him to be honest, to be real, to just say how he felt anytime, all the time, whenever he wanted. You never took him as fearful, but still, thoughtlessly, as your faces almost touched, you asked, “What are you so afraid of, Daryl? It’s only me.”

And then, he kissed you. Because it’s not “only” you, it’s because of you. You were everything. So despite bubbling anxiety that rises in his throat, he did it, he put his lips to yours and did it accidently so much more harshly than he should have, but he did it. He was honest. He was real. Because even if he didn’t say it yet, he loved you too. You almost cried when it happened. Nothing ever felt that right. As he lets go, you have so much to say but you’re speechless. All you could do is take the chance he gave you— you kissed him back, again and again.

Another one of his favorite places to kiss is behind houses Kisses behind houses were for a quick session or during the moments he’d be leaving for a trip. Sometimes the things he had to do meant there was a possibility of him dying, and while there were times that you’d journey with him, there were other times when you were needed elsewhere whether at home or on a journey of your own. This meant goodbye kisses. Passionate but bittersweet.

These are the moments he wishes more than ever that fucked you— he means had sex with you– he’s a gentleman— the night before, just in case he didn’t come back. Most of the time he cannot even think about kids. This world is crazy, and he enjoyed his freedom far too much, but there were moments, like when he thought about how he couldn’t see life without you that he did wonder about legacy, about a domestic life with you, or, if he did die, to at least leave you with a piece of him and the love you build together. But then other times he thinks, fuck, no; he always comes back and he’d never want to leave you to do something as big as raise a child on your own– you liked your freedom too, and he liked being an uncle. Either way, it was a fleeting feeling anyhow, but it did make him feel like a gross guy sometimes. Not only because he had never spoken to you about the future yet and didn’t know what you want, but especially during the times where he thinks, damn, he should have turned you over onto your stomach last night, give you something you’d really remember him by, but truly, if one likes sex, these thoughts are that one has sometimes… no one can blame him, he’s just a 40-something-year old girl, after all.

Daryl also likes taking you into the woods for a hunt or taking you on his motorcycle to find a good place to kiss. He is obsessed with privacy. He wants to feel free to be himself. And even though he does feel like he can with the core group, the real him around them is not the same as when he is the real him around you– the one who is your boyfriend and partner, the him who can also be a romantic and sexual being when you two are alone. Almost no one knows him like that and he’s never been in a rush to share or talk about his experiences. He’s not like Rick, he feels, that kind of effortless shifting between roles Rick has about him, not afraid to be open, communicative, affectionate about different areas of his life with friends. In some ways he will always still feel new to all this romance stuff, therefore, he likes to keep it to himself. So yes, sometimes since the group thinks they all have the right to walk into each other’s houses whenever they feel like it— (Daryl is actually the main culprit of this since he has had free dinners and slept in most of their couches and basements than anyone else, but we wont talk about that now)—you have made out or had sex in quite a few different places.

Moving back to the sweeter stuff, Daryl also loves forehead kisses. Giving them and reviving them. But if he was receiving he only liked it when you two were alone. In fact, he likes any kissing only when you’re alone anyway, but especially so to any kissing or affection that look super domestic. Daryl doesn’t try to look cool, but he also doesn’t need the public to know he has more emotions and ways of nurturing that people in town don’t need to know of. He doesn’t consciously consider himself a mysterious person but, ever since most people started generally liking him and talking to him– which he equally found as both pretty nice and weird– he realized he covets the fact that there are still some people who were shy, confused, or on edge by his presence. He doesn’t totally get it and sometimes he’s confused by other people’s confusion but he likes that it means he has some sort of control. You think about how people treat him versus how he is with Rick or the kids in town, or you are hilarious. People think he’s the guy who gets it done or that he’s domineering or both, and he is those things, but he’s also just a massive teddy bear that likes caring for people while also not liking people. It's the most interesting paradox.

Lastly, here is Daryl’s favorite kiss. It was one you had given him. He said it. He finally told you. You had told him a story of how someone left you, how much it hurt, how hard it is to know you’ll never get to talk to them again, to settle things, to let go the proper way now that you’re in this new world. So, in return, to make you feel less alone and to finally get it out, he told you that sometimes Meryl only ever told him he loved him when he got hurt. He told you that it felt like Meryl picked the times that cared for him, cared for him like brother should and not just sidekick or accomplice, that it was those instances and others things that had happened to him in his past with his dad or with the group in the beginning of all of this, is what made him feel he was unlovable. So many other things came out after that and even through the shock, you could see everything he said happening to him, it made sense, and your heart broke for him.

This time, you move your hand to his, you beckon him closer. Your fingers trail down his face after placing a piece of his hair to the side, caressing his. You tell him, “I’ve never had a friend like you. I’ve never had a love like you. I love you all the time. You’re always worthy.” And with that, you seal your words with a kiss.

That was when he truly knew he liked kissing. He learned what it could actually mean and feel like when it happens with someone so perfect for you— the true peace and romance of it all. He had never experienced something more beautiful.

[gatorbites-imagines]

hey Gator

I was wondering if you could do something with Scott Summers I haven’t really found many good ones with him he deserves more attention

and if its not too much to ask could you make the reader like Music Meister from the Batman Brave and Bold show? He’s one of my favorite villains of all time

-lots of love

Scott Summers x Male Reader

Headcanons

Reader isn’t a hero, but hes also not a villain, he’s a secret third thing. He pulled a bad bitch (scott) by being goofy.

How you and Scott start dating would be a mystery. It would depend on where your powers originated from. If youre a mutant, then you might have run-ins with the x-men or the league of evil mutants. But if they come from something else, then you two met in some other goofy way.

Maybe you just happened to want to rob the same place as Magneto, maybe they had a vault for whatever crazy item Magneto was after, and another vault for the money and instruments you were after.

Imagine the leagues and x-mens surprise when they see all the guards dancing and singing like its high school music, loading the items into the back of a vehicle shaped like a music note. Its one of those situations where both heroes and villains look at each other like “you seeing this?”

When you dance out of the warehouse, the guards do a whole routine to lead you to your vehicle, it all makes more sense. Your entire outfit is based on music in some way, even your glasses have music notes on them.

In the end you help the x-men out, even if its mostly on accident. One of the mutants Magneto sent try to attack you, so of course you immediately put them under your control too, which makes the rest of the baddies attack, which has the same result.

You end up helping put them away, and when the x-men turn to arrest you too for stealing, you make a quick escape with a song and a dance, literally, and leave in a cloud of smoke as they do the macarena.

Somehow, in some confusing way, you keep meeting up with them, or more specifically Scott. It’s never on purpose, but you always end up in the same place.

But you two most likely first started dating outside of costumes. Maybe Scott goes out to a bar or something like that, and the place just happens to be having a karaoke night where he immediately recognizes your voice.

He would immediately become tense, getting ready to fight against your mind control, only to realize you aren’t putting any of your powers into it. You’re just singing and having a great time.

Since you’ve never really hurt anybody on purpose, Scott would just decide to sit back for now and let you enjoy the evening. Plus, you sing really well, something he’s always been too busy fighting mind control to realize.

One thing leads to another and you two start flirting, somehow pass numbers and start texting. For a good while that’s the only thing between you two. Meeting up for karaoke night and flirting, sending some music back and forth, nothing extreme.

Over time, extremely slowly, you two get closer. Like most criminals, you have reasons for doing what you do, but with Scotts’ help your kleptomania becomes less extreme. And it’s not like he’s gonna stop you stealing from the government, since he hates them more than the average guy.

Putting a title on what you are takes even longer. For a long time, it’s just you two kinda becoming official, not flirting with other people, sharing drinks and leaning against each other.

Scott realizes around this time that you start sputtering and giggling when he kisses and compliments you, which always makes you stumble over your words and breaks up any attempt at mind control you might be doing.

Whether you are a mutant or not would also have some importance in the way of the x-men. If your power is from the X-gene, then I could see you becoming a member of the x-men, after some vetting, and giving the school a music teacher.

If its not a mutation but something else, then your place in the x-men isn’t a thing. You would still show up and help them out, you just aren’t an official member. I could see the younger members claim you’re a member of honor, mainly because you bagged Scott.

A lot of the people on the team have darker pasts or have done things they are ashamed of, so you won’t be judged on that front. Instead, some might even think you are pretty cool for messing with the government so damn much.

On team bonding nights, games like sing it are banned because you always win, no exceptions, even when they try giving you challenges, like not using the s sound. You always demand (cutely request) a kiss from Scott as a reward.

If you aren’t an X-men, I could see your “super cool super villain” lair becoming the new hangout spot. You are super comfy in the way you set stuff up, even if it’s all music based.

All the albums and different instruments you have also curry you some favor from the younger heroes, especially when you excitedly agree to teach them to play different things. So, even if you aren’t a mutant, you still get to teach some stuff.

If you and Scott marry, you pretty much become a fixture of the X-men even if you aren’t one. You might even be able to help out in the political sector, if you just… put away the music themed outfit every now and then.

Scott would also with time become mostly immune to your powers, since you sing literally all the time, and you’ll accidentally use your powers. He even catches himself humming and singing more with time.

[wafywaify]

im so tired but i want to get this out before i forget. this might end up uncomprehensible byt whatever. anyways.

shen qingqiu. shizun. shen yuan, right? that guy. for some reason i have this really strange itch that just- a singer shen yuan au would cure. like im thinking barbie princess and the pauper type singer au. like he was transmigrated a bit after uh binghes blakening ig. maybe he just got out of the abyss, right? on his way to go torture his shizun and all that gof stuff.

shen yuan was just placed into this npc type guy, not relevant to the plot really. maybe hes a brother to uh one of bingges future wife? but anyways, his family's pretty poor so they do all they can to make a few extra coins. he finds out he has a pretty nice voice from um, singing his little sister to sleep? something sweet like that. his family urges him to give it a try, telling him everyone would love his voice. after getting over his embarrassment, he gives it a shot. I imagine he like tries to remember certain songs from yknow. barbie.. barbie songs. i love Barbie.

and hes all like "well no ones gonna recognize it ill just say i wrote it its fineeee" and then that kind of backfires on him when airplane stumbles upon a random dude singing "i need to know" from the hit barbie movie babrie as the island princess. (im just like you, youre just like me!!) actually it'd be funny if he only sung barbie songs. like theyre just melted into his brain after all the times his little sister had forced him to watch them with her. anyways, they hit it off.. in more ways then one. that sounds like a sex joke, its not. im implying he beat bro up. pidw author and all.

anways uh maybe airplane like helps him out and like they get shen yuan to start performing for like important things. idk. uh. good entertainment for the richer ppl yknow. hes become pretty popular now. its hard to book him, with all the requests hes getting now. now this is where bingge comes in. bro needs a performer for an upcoming.. wedding? i guess? he needs to entertain guests so he books the most popular guy right? shen yuan, upon realizing binghe, the heavenly demon emperor, wants to hire him, absolutely freaks out.

he doesnt want anything to do with the protagonist!! he was living a pretty good life!! and every man that comes into contact with binghe either ends in a gruesome death or are thrown into cellars! thats just how pidw was written!! so obviously, the best course of action is to ignore it! ignore everything! uhhh.. bad idea, really. he basically just sends a letter back saying "haha sorry cant, busy!!!"

and binghe.. binghe does not take that all too well. who would've thought. not shen yuan. who dared ignore the literal emperor!? conqueror of realms??!! and so, he sets out to go see for himself how "busy" this lowly singer is!! que dramatic scene where binghe walks into a pub and theres like at least 50 or so people crowded to the back. hes confused at first, before he hears this almost angelic voice. it seems to wash over the entire pub, entrancing its residents. like a siren calling out.

there isnt exactly a "stage" in this pub, so he cant really see whos singing. he quickly makes his way towards the crowd and pushed his way through. after the people realize who he is, its easy enough. his eyes land on one of the most beautiful humans he's ever seen. his eyes are almost crystal clear in this lighting. a warmish brown, almost orange. his auburn brown hair is fully down, embellished with golden jewels and hair tinsel. a strange look.. but it works on him. and his skin..

before he can ogle anymore, the angelic mans voice tapers off, leaving the crowd disappointed. binghe looks up to see the other staring at him, eyes wide.

might continue this tmr or like fix it up a bit.. but yeah.. singer shen yuan save me.. please i need him so badly. also i love fics that have bingge and shen yuan bickering theyre always so good. i love them being silly in strange ways. part 2!!!

[jinuaei]

Cleaning up

Yandere! Husband! Alastor x Fallen Angel! Accidental Spouse! Reader

Part 1 --- Additional art

Maybe it was a bad idea to be married to this man. You thought as you saw other demons run away and cower from him, you would have also ran with them if only the person that everyone is so terrified of wasn't holding your arm hostage. 

It would have been embarrassing getting dragged around by this tall deer if it wasn't the fact that you're also pissing yourself sacred. But the good thing is he actually believes that you are his ‘spouse’, so you don't think you'll be hurt…much. Besides, he’s such a gentleman that he gave you his coat to cover up your wings so that it wouldn't be exposed to any more harm.

After a while of trying not to trip, actually stumbling, and Alastor dragging you up again and again, you manage to notice the change of scenery, from tall depressing buildings to smaller, more quaint establishments. The demons that also frequent the streets changed from shark demons, to red imps, and finally to black eyed demons with sharp teeth. 

Well, at least they look friendly.

“This place here is the cannibal town! We’ll be visiting a good friend of mine, I’m sure she’ll be able to clean you up in no time!” your ‘husband’ exclaimed. 

I reclaim that statement.

The town is charming, and rather calming in contrast to that chaotic, overstimulating city you crashed landed in. Despite being in hell, there were flowers growing here, clearly being taken care of wonderfully by the citizens of this town. Vintage cars roam around the road and you see children playing in the parks you've passed through. It’s almost identical to what you see in heaven, but more demonic and nobody uses cars because well, everybody has wings. When you are reminded about the wings, yours twitches in response, rubbing against the deer’s coat. Because of that, feathers, still stained with blood, fall off. Alastor’s shadow tendril grabs it midair and pockets it into his trousers.

Finally, the radio demon abruptly stops, giving you enough time to stabilize yourself properly. With a wave of his hand he shows off to you a building named ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium’, and you notice on the side there is a huge line of people waiting to enter. Whatever they sell here must be quite popular. Now that you think about it, it might be related to the ‘cannibalism’ part of the town.

Alastor must be important here because people moved away from him as he waltzed through the entrance and into the door. As soon as you both step in, an exclamation of his name catches both of you and your ‘husbands’ attention.

“Oh Alastor! It's always a delight when you come to visit the Emporium, how have you been? And oh! Who is this adorable birdie? Though they look absolutely filthy,” the demon steps into the view, a sweet looking lady with a polite smile who gingerly holds your hands.

“Rosie, meet mon cher, sent by the heavens to become my beloved spouse,” the radio demon lifts up your chin with his fingers, moving your head side to side as if to show you off to Rosie, “Also, would you be a dear and help them clean up? I expect my spouse to be absolutely pristine considering they're married to the greatest radio host of all time!”

“Well, I’ll be delighted to play dress-up with the sweet thing, maybe you can run to the tailors real quick and find them new clothes too.” 

Agreeing to that, Alastor waves you goodbye and leaves, Rosie then ushers you to follow her while shouting at Franklin to man the store while she's out. You both emerge to a room above the shop, Rosie leading you to a spare bedroom with an en suite bathroom. It's quite homey, with mostly red as its main colour, other than that, nothing stands out to you.

“You can stay here for the time being as you wait for your husband, bathrooms over there, and there should be bandages and such under the sink. I will be down below to help Franklin with the customers, just find me if you need help!” Rosie closes the door to the room and leaves you to your lonesome. It's time to clean up, you think.

Stepping into the normal looking bathroom, a bathtub greeted you, thankfully it's big enough to fit you and your broken wings. You absentmindedly fill up the tub as you think back to before you fell, trying to determine what happened to cause you to fall from heaven's graces. Nothing comes to mind and eventually the tub fills up. 

Shrugging off your ripped clothes and Alastor's coat, you sink into the water, seeping into the open wounds on your body. As much as you want to climb out the tub, it's important to rid yourself first from the golden blood and debris that cover you. You look over your whole body under the tainted water, you are covered in cuts and bruises but other than that, there's no concerning wounds to be found. Well, other than the numbing pain of your wings. Now that you think about it, your halo has been missing the whole trip. You can sense that it's there, but you cannot feel it above you, nor do you see it illuminate the room.

Maybe it's just hidden? 

As you think that, the halo starts to manifest just above you, the glow weaker and flickering just slightly as if it's a broken bulb. You frown at the sheer difference from when you were in heaven, when it was incredibly bright, the other angels would tease you for being a walking lighthouse sometimes. When you lift up your hand to touch the halo, you notice a mark on your ring finger. Looking closer, it seems like a tattoo, of two snakes twisting into something akin to chains. How odd.

A knock pulls you out from your thoughts and a voice from the other room calls out to you.

“I’ll be leaving out your clothes on the bed my dear, Rosie will come by in a moment to help you with your hair!” 

You quickly finish the bath and stumble in front of the mirror. Eyes darting to your mirrored self, you gaze upon the broken wings and dim halo, you are ashamed to see what you are now. Though you have done nothing to cause the fall, you still feel the undeserved guilt of being wrong. Ingrained to you during your time alive and dead, but you yourself know you've been good, so why berate yourself over other people's definition of good and evil?

Still, you try to will away the angelic limbs attached to you, and are successful in hiding it, leaving only red patches of burned skin on your back. Thankfully, you were able to soothe the irritated skin and patch up the area fairly well. 

You close the door behind you and check out the clothes Alastor got for you, it's similar to his in design but also suited to you. How he was able to get your size right you're not sure. Regardless, it fits you perfectly, and there's even an opening at the back for your wings, though you've already willed it away, still you appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you done honey?” a knock reverberates in the room and you answer with a ‘come in!’. Rosie does and is pleasantly surprised at the lack of wings on your back. You remember the coat left in the bathroom and grab it, shrugging it on to cover the exposed skin and bandages. 

The cannibal guides you to the vanity, starting to brush your hair.

 “So you're Al’s little angel hm? How’d he manage to catch such a cutie pie?” The woman's Boston accent grabs your attention from the various tools in front of you.

“Well… As he said earlier I’ve been assigned to him as his spouse haha…” you laugh awkwardly,”but enough about me! How about Alastor…What is he like?”

“Oh! He’s such a sweetheart! Well he is an Overlord, he eats other demons, and kills for fun, but don't you worry about that! You're his darling, he wouldn't do anything to harm you. You're in good claws sweetie.”

“Sorry, what???”

“Hm?” 

Rosie just smiles at you before finishing up your look. And might you say, looking at the mirror you look absolutely breathtaking. Coming out of the room, you find Alastor in the kitchen cooking. The smell wafting around the house is magnificent, you are reminded how hungry you are after falling from heaven.

“There you are my dear, I made some Jambalaya for you! My momma always said once I got my own cherie I should always provide for them for the rest of our days. So, expect more of this dear,” the man hums an upbeat tune as he gives you a plate of the food. 

Adorably, he wears a yellow apron that says ‘Deer-est cook’ at the front, you also notice that he had his hair up with a ribbon in a low ponytail.

You were excited to consume the meal right in front of you but then you remember where in hell you are now.

“...Did you put demon meat in the Jambalaya…?”,eyes glancing up at him, the question lingers in the air as he catches your eyes and stares back, still smiling. A few unnerving seconds pass before he answers with a ‘of course not!’

You breathe out in relief and trust your so-called ‘husband’.

Or maybe I shouldn't trust what he says, but he's still staring, what if he gets angry that I won't eat it?? Oh heavens, please forgive me.

With closed eyes, you finally bite down on the food. Praying to all things holy, hoping that you did not do anything blasphemous by accidentally eating demon meat, you find yourself pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. You almost forget proper etiquette when you start ravenously gulping down the rest of the food. 

The demon before you chuckles in delight at the sight of you enjoying your food. As much as he would like to feed you his exotic diet, he would rather not force you to do anything you don't want to. And oh…the pleased shiver that ran down his spine at the trust you've shown him by not questioning him any further regarding the meal was truly delicious.

Dear angel… MY dear angel. How perfect you are… I'll never let you go. After all, you were made for me weren't you?

“I forgot to tell you how absolutely darling you are in that outfit! I must say I have quite the taste! Haha!” he laughs at his joke,“might I ask where your wings are? I could’ve sworn it was there when I left! Unless you cut it off? You should’ve asked me though, I’m sure your wings would be a delicacy…”

“I was able to hide it, I don’t want to be a walking target you know? An angel down in hell seems like a bad thing to be.”

“Oh don’t worry about being a target! I’ll kill whoever tries to even look at you wrongly,” crooning at you, he brushes away invisible dust on his coat, “also you may keep my coat dear, it’ll be a good way to show people that you belong to me now, that is until I can find a ring worthy enough to be worn by you!”

“I-uh thank you…” 

Crap. If I don't escape soon I'll be officially married to him. Then again…if he keeps cooking me good food I guess it won't be too bad…

With that in mind, you hope your future will be brighter than your descent to hell.

A/N GODDD THAT TOOK SO LONG. Honestly, the more people kept asking for part 2 the less inclined I was to actually make one but here I am.

That being said, I will be making more fics at my own pace. Finals is coming up so please do not expect new parts for this fic. Truth is ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS! It was merely an idea I had while I was in an art block. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it :DD

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[manicpixiefelix]

all this, and love too (will ruin us)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: The night of Oliver's party and both yours and Felix's moods are ruined upon finding out Oliver had been lying to you both for your entire friendship. While sticking with Felix all night to make sure he doesn't maim Oliver, Felix realises he doesn't like sharing you anymore. You're more than okay with this, but Oliver doesn't seem to be okay with sharing Felix, even if he has no say anymore. Canon tries to happen, but you get there first, so you kill the problem at it's source.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: MAZE SCENE; death, murder, violence, nongraphic smut, dominant felix, bathroom blowjob, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader being incredibly manipulative back at him, heavy drinking and drug use, You VIOLENTLY Murder Oliver Quick In The Maze.

A/N: 6074 words. oh god these oneshots are only getting longer and longer. whoops. but also PLEASE heed the warnings. this is the Reader Kills Oliver oneshot (first of two) that i was talking about. not sure how i feel about it. its very unedited.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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On the drive back from his parents' house, Oliver sits in the back. Like a scolded child he keeps his gaze low and voice even lower. None of you speak the entire drive back; you try and focus on the wind in your hair and the hum of the car and not how your stomach is turning. In your mind you see the connections as they light up, small things you'd missed, things that are starting to make a lot more sense.

You wonder what other lies you could have gotten ahead of if Oliver hadn't been so nervous about you going through his file at Oxford.

Every single thing about him was designed specifically to be appealing, to you, of course, but more importantly to Felix. It was meant to be you who knew it all, could see the full board and all the pieces the people around you moved; it was meant to be you who could plan well enough and see far enough out to keep Felix out of situations exactly like this.

Felix is curt and swift the moment he's out of the car, trying to escape Oliver who rushes after him, his desperation echoing through the halls. You're several steps behind Oliver, silent, watching the exchange, watching Oliver cling to an ever-dwindling hope for even friendship, as Felix calls out the weirdness of his ongoing lies, tearing that hope asunder.

"I just wanted to be your friend," is all Oliver can say when pressed about his lies. It's genuine, it breaks your heart, but it doesn't make it better. For a moment, you see conflict as it flashes across Felix's face, but he clearly can't do this right now, needing at least the night, but promising not to tell his family.

As you go to leave, go to follow him, Oliver catches your sleeve, holds it too tight for just a moment -

"I thought you knew," his voice wobbles, but there's something like alarm bells in the back of your mind. Everything about Oliver is purposeful, even now. But you know him, you know how he likes to play.

"No you didn't," you look at his fingers still coiled in your sweater, watch him drop them, "you knew I trusted you." You wouldn't let him shift this blame; the faint dismay you can see in his eyes behind the hurt gives him away. He knew Felix had more emotions than sense, but somewhere along the way he seemed to have forgotten that you were so much more than another adoring fan in Felix's shadow.

"'m sorry," stumbles from his mouth almost like a reaction to the look in your eyes, "for hurting Felix with all this, I- I never wanted that," he shakes his head, dropping his gaze, "or hurt you," tacked on as an afterthought. Both of you know where he was placing the importance of that apology. Everything Oliver Quick does is with purpose.

"I know you are, Oliver," you tell him, standing tall and unflinching as you left him alone.

"If you leave my side tonight I'm going to maim him," is how Felix greets you when you enter your room. Sitting on his bed, you see a little, ornate box open in front of him, and you recognise it as one of the few stashes he had around the estate for desperate times. This one, if you recall correctly, was shoved well beneath Henry the Eighth's bed, and had a decent amount of coke that you'd left here after last Christmas.

"Can't fucking believe- I can't fucking believe him!" He rants, cutting up lines of coke on the little hand mirror Venetia had donated to this particular stash box. Mind working a million miles a minute, you're quiet, letting him rant. Running on autopilot, you begin to strip down to your underwear, pulling out your costume for the night, frowning at it in the afternoon light.

"How complicated is your costume?" Felix asks, finally looking up, gazing over at you and the sheer, shimmering thing in your hands. Without a word, but with a vague shrug, you turn it to him.

The base was like something you'd see at a rave, little more than green underwear, with straps, and beading, and jewels, and loops of green and purple pearls by your hips that would bounce while you walked. The overcoat, though it was far to generous to call it that, was pure gossamer, sheer and green, with hand-stitched silk leaves making up the hem that fell perfectly to your ankles, and intricate, hand embroidery of vines that extended across both shoulders, and both arms, ending with little, purple flowers embroidered by your wrists.

There's large, brown boots with a bit of a hell and some large buckles, and a belt that's half a skirt that hit just below your knee to give you some coverage, at least on your left, sewn to look like it was covered in leaves. Plus a leather thigh harness and flask that Farleigh had gotten you made for your last birthday.

Leaning back, Felix reaches out to feel the gossamer between his fingers, frowning for a beat.

"Don't be precious about it."

For a moment, you frown in confusion. Despite your entire outfit being exquisitely and perfectly tailored, you knew you could afford to not be precious about pretty much anything, even this. But that's never been an outright request he's made.

"I'm not?"

Quiet follows, the soft rustle of your garments as you begin to get dressed, and Felix quickly snorting a line of coke.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind tonight," he mumbles. Even though you're half dressed, you still lean over his shoulder automatically as he lifts the mirror and the rolled bill up to you like an offering, holding the mirror steady for you.

"I need a drink," you groaned, to which Felix immediately agreed.

"God, why don't we stash anything in here?" He lamented, laying back and watching you head to the door once more while you're trying to do up your belt to hold up your partial leaf skirt, still without your overcoat.

"Because that's tacky and we're not alcoholics." Even with your explanation, Felix pouted. Still, it's a quick trip to the Blue Room and the bottle of rum you're glad Venetia hadn't found in the broken piano.

The night gets blurrier, gets better, with half a bottle of liquor in your veins before the sun even sets. As you're making yourself dreamy and ethereal with glitter and gems and makeup in the mirror, Felix drapes himself over your shoulders, pouting again. The drinks and drugs are already hitting you both and you can hear the revelry beginning outside.

"It's not going to last," he says pointedly, and you're confused until you see him trying to poke at the iridescent eyeliner that wasn't quite dry. Rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away. So he makes his point again, adding, "I'm going to get glitter all over me."

You smirked at him in the mirror, tipping your head against his.

"Don't be precious about it."

A spirit amongst the fairies, you greet your college friends with open arms and boundless enthusiasm, always keeping Felix close at hand. He was more subdued than you, more subdued than many of your friends were used to. Whenever you looked at him, it seemed like his gaze was searching, his expression drawn unless someone had caught his attention, and he wore a smile that seemed to convince them.

"Need a drink," his hand around your wrist and no time to protest, Felix dictated your night and it's pace. Frustration and apprehension keep him tense, even as he tries to loosen up; you feel every time that tension spikes, even if you don't know it's cause. His nails dig into you, wherever he's holding you, shoulder, thigh, arm -

In the bathroom, doing lines with India and some guys who claim to be friends of friends of the Cattons, you're leaning against the sink until you Felix nudge your knee with his own. Looking to the door, you see Oliver in white, taking up it's space. Felix only has to gently tap your thigh for you to shift, sitting in his lap.

"You can't ignore me forever," Oliver tells him, watching you both, watching the way Felix wraps an arm around your middle to hold you close and secure on him.

"I can try," Felix practically sings, his nails sinking into your stomach. With his free hand, he offers you his cigarette, raising it to your lips. You drop your gaze as you inhale, trying to only focus on keeping Felix secure in this moment.

"Felix we need to talk," Oliver insists, "Felix, come on man -"

"Look, man, I tried to be nice -" Felix started, and though you tried to gently warn him, pressing against him with Fi on your lips like you hope he won't say something he'll regret, he just holds you tighter and continues on, "but can you fuck off and bother somebody else?"

India half snorts with laughter in the middle of a line of coke, the others all judging Oliver the longer he lingers in the doorway, but Felix drops his gaze. His lips are on your shoulder to keep from saying anything else.

One of guys whose names you don't know asks who Oliver even was, but Felix can't answer; tension again, maybe anxiety or frustration, but his mouth moves from the gossamer and embroidery on your shoulder to your bare skin above the neckline, where your collar meets your throat. His teeth sting. His nails still sting. He swears under his breath before he lets go.

"Sorry," he mumbles finally, sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him it's okay, voice fond, but when you lean over to do another line of coke, you meet India's reproachful gaze. It takes you a long few seconds to connect the dots, to realise what was going on in her head. You're so fucking over everything tonight.

"You know Farleigh was lying to you about us, right?" You say casually, taking your line and sitting back up. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, "I know you think we're all gross and cousin-incest-y -" you hear Felix's faint laughter behind you, and feel him nudge you with his thigh, silently asking you to get up. Both of you do, and Felix manages his first proper smile of the night, even if it is smug.

"But we're not related," he tells her, "thank fucking god," and smacks your ass as the two of you exit, as if to just prove a point.

You're on your knees in a different bathroom when you hear everyone else start to sing happy birthday, but Felix's voice is a low growl of don't you dare stop, and his hands in your hair. Nothing else matters to you in this state of mind, blurry, pliant, desperate to follow his every command. It's as if you've forgotten what exists outside of Felix's hands on you.

The night becomes lights that are too bright, and music too loud, and laughter and glitter and the warmth of the people dancing around you. After a few hours you feel yourself starting to come down from your high, starting to come back to yourself, still on the dance floor. Venetia's dancing with a blonde boy, looking so pretty, like she's having a genuinely fun night, but when you point it out, Felix takes your hand.

"Don't look at Ven," there's that hunger in his eyes, that firm tone he'd been using all night, "don't touch Ven, don't -" he cuts himself off, wets his lips. Looking around for a moment, he spots something in the crowd that makes him scowl. Just a moment, as you follow his gaze, you see Oliver. The moment your eyes lock with his, however, Felix has his lips on your jaw.

"Fucking mine."

There's half a second where you and Oliver are still locked in this moment, you watch the way his expression starts to shift, jaw tensing, something like anger flickering in his eyes. But you can't bring yourself to give a shit about Oliver as Felix has his arms around you, kissing down your throat with a feverish, almost lewd intensity in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Prove it," and you let him drag you from the house, heading towards the place that had always felt a little special for you both, almost a little magical.

"I'm being selfish," Felix announced as you finally hit the tree line just before the maze, "I don't fucking care anymore, I'm being selfish, about you -!" He turns to look at you, only to see you gazing up at him with starry-eyes, hanging on his every word. He breaks into a sheepish grin momentarily, shaking his head as his voice drops for a moment, "oh, you're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"I want you so bad right now it's actually embarrassing," you agreed with a wide grin, unable to contain your laughter, despite how genuine the feeling was.

"I'm being selfish," he said once more, muttering it this time, though as you entered the maze and the moonlight peaked down upon you, you could see the blush still upon his cheeks, "I don't want anyone else to fucking touch you again, you hear me?" This time, when he looks at you, he thinks he can see hearts in your eyes; your overwhelming love and acceptance, even for this -especially for this- is making it very hard to keep the stern act up, except -

"Anything you say," you tell him, breathless as you approach the centre of the maze, voice edging on desperate, "anything at all." And you see it hits him just where it had needed to, to hear you wanting and wanton and offering yourself to him -

The gossamer overcoat is ruined, scratched all up the back where you're pinned against the statue, half sitting on the base with your legs around Felix's, your fancy green undergarments around one ankle. His nails scratch down the bare skin of your back, fucking into you with furious intent to match.

"You've always been mine," he groans into your ear.

"Felix -" you whimpered. Immediately he was grinning, lips inches from yours, gazing at you through his lashes.

"How's that proving anything?" He teases, low and knowing, and as his hips snap up to meet yours, you take the hint, his name getting louder and louder on your lips as you almost chant it, till his hand is between you both, helping get you off, and you're close and all but screaming his name and -

"Felix." Not from you. Oliver.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Felix immediately looks murderous, and not in a fun, sexy way. Oliver's demanding to talk to him while you struggle to pull your underwear back on.

"Could hear you out there," Oliver mumbles, half stumbling over his words, unable to look at you, focused on the dirt by your feet instead.

"Kind of the point, Ollie," you snapped, frustrated and now unsatisfied, but dressed once more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver?" Felix demanded. Oliver advances on him, presses into his space with desperate eyes and a bottle clutched to his chest. He doesn't look at you, he can't fucking look at you, you don't matter. It's Felix and his emotions who lead every situation the two of you share; it's Felix he has to win back over.

But he should have expected you not to leave, should have expected that when Felix pushed him away, shouted for him to get the fuck away, that you would try and step in.

"He's already got you on a leash, can I just have this one fucking moment?!" He snaps at you; he doesn't hit you but you recoil like he has, and Felix's gaze grows cold. Oliver seems to sense this before he even turns back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just- they already have everything -"

"Back off." Felix warns sharply, but Oliver can't help himself, won't listen.

"I just gave you what you wanted!" Oliver throws himself at Felix, pins him to the statue, their bodies flush and Oliver rambling, "like everyone else does! Everyone puts on a show for Felix..." his voice drops, childish and weak and wanting, and you watch him press himself closer as he turns gentle, "so I'm... I'm sorry if my performance wasn't good enough..."

"I think..." some part of it was working on Felix, his voice soft and placating, "I think you need to see somebody," or maybe he knows by now exactly how Oliver wants him to act; his eyes never leave Oliver's face, even when he doesn't let him go, "you need help okay, seriously -"

"No, no, I don't," Oliver's voice is rising again, "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you," a tremble in his voice, sounding so raw, so needy, "you're the only friend I ever had, Felix." The manipulation is so blatant it almost hurts; you don't matter to him in this moment, all that matters is saying exactly whatever Felix needs to believe.

"I mean, doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you?" That hope, that dangerous, heartbreaking note of hope that's going to make your skin crawl. But you're not leaving without Felix, and he's not leaving this moment it seemed, "I'm still the same person, yeah? I'm still the same person," he insisted.

A long few moments pass, Felix's gaze searching Oliver's face for something beyond you. But then, finally, his gaze slips to you. All you can do is shake your head.

"Don't-" Oliver murmurs faintly, tipping his head to try and block you from Felix's line of sight, but Felix turns his attention back, expression helpless.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes, "but I do know you; you make my fucking blood run cold."

The fight drains out of Oliver, as does every last drop of hope. He lets Felix push his hands away, makes himself give Felix space to breathe. After a beat, he looks back at you, unsteady on his feet, pain in his eyes, but then he lurches, quickly shoves his half-finished bottle into Felix's hands, and rushes away to be sick.

Oliver is doubled over, retching, when you get to Felix. Before he can raise Oliver's bottle to his lips, you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap him up in a hug. He's trembling, but you feel the bottle against your back. Felix tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tears unspilled, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Better?" You ask forlornly once Ollie had gone quiet.

"Fuck off," he spits, finally coming back around. You watch him over Felix's shoulder, and the glare he levels at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand is almost surprising. Still, you try and show the same compassion you knew Felix would in this moment.

"Wash the taste out of your mouth," you try and tell Ollie gently, moving carefully out of Felix's arms, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle he'd brought with him, "I think you should go to bed after." Oliver doesn't even reach for the bottle, but he does stop, looking between it, and then between you and Felix.

"Please," Felix sighs, head bent and bottle clasped tightly in his hand, "I need this."

"We can get another," you tell him quietly, calmly. Felix's gaze flicks to yours, imploring for just a moment, but dropping again when you don't relent. Felix sighs, once more, but finally relents, handing you over the bottle. Which Oliver has kept his focus on, brow now furrowing.

"I gave you everything else of mine, my drink's not even good enough for you anymore, like the rest of me?" He sneers, reaching unsteadily for the bottle in your hands, though his eyes and their focus betray him. Something lights up in the back of your mind, like one of those memories that made far more sense once Oliver's lie had been revealed. Alarm bells once again.

Felix stumbles to a halt -

"Fucking fine -" but as he tries to reach for the bottle again you step out of his range, beginning to see red as you got closer to Oliver, prickling with suspicion, "what is your problem, Y/N," Felix sounds so fucking tired, but all you can see is the deer of a boy before you growing wide eyed as he looks into yours.

"It's Oliver's," trying with all your might to not jump to conclusions, you hold the bottle out, desperately hoping that you'd connected the wrong dots, that Oliver was just drunk and as helpless as he appeared, that he couldn't be this malicious or vindictive-

"You want me to be sick again?" He tries to stand up to you, bottle pressed to his chest and refusing to step back even as you continue to crowd his space, "fuck off." He's seeming more sober, more alert, more with himself with each minute that passes. The distant noise of the party rings in your ears and all you can think about is the cold bottle between you and how Felix had almost -

"Leave him alone," Felix called out, footsteps in the grass sounding as though he was making his way back to the maze, "he's not worth it."

"He's pathetic," you spit, nose to nose with Oliver now, face heating up as hot, angry tears begin to close your vision. Still, you can see in Oliver's eyes that he's finding fewer and fewer ways to escape the situation.

"I don't care what either of youse think of me anymore," Oliver's lip curls as it quivers, trying to play distraught and callous all at once, "go fuck each other to feel like you're not just a fucking waste of space, vapid cunts -" he can see he's touched a nerve by the way your expression lights up with malevolent fury.

"Fi," there's a shake in your voice that you can't even fight, "please leave."

"Can you please come with me," Felix sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and when you turn, he's reaching for you, his hand shaking, "please can we go?" He begs.

An angel. Your best friend. Your everything. Your Felix.

Seeing him like this, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oliver's greed and jealousy would rather see Felix hurt than not in love with him, you couldn't let him get away with it. Finally you start to cry, even if you hadn't meant to, and the sight of it has Felix begging for you to leave with him. Oliver starts pushing, demanding that you both fuck off.

"Give me a minute, My Felix," you tell him, trying to smile, trying to reassure him, "I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't want you to see this," you turn back to Oliver with newfound resolution. He's stepped back, leaning himself against the statue, doubled over, head in his hands.

"See what?" Felix asks dubiously, and Oliver looks up, sees the way you're approaching him, and scrambles to straighten his posture.

"Ollie's going to have a little drink," you offer him the bottle again.

"Tryna make me sick again?" He snarls.

"Then use it to wash your mouth out, then swallow," you order coldly, "and repeat until the bottle's empty."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's just as perfectly fine as when you handed it to Felix," you hissed, voice low enough that Felix himself couldn't properly hear. Oliver narrowed his eyes, matching your tone.

"If I don't?"

"What I will do to you, Oliver Quick, will be much worse than whatever you've put in that bottle, so you'll drink it all up," you leaned in, whispering close and menacing, "and if you do throw it up, I will have you on your belly, like the worm you are, sucking your own sick off of the fucking ground."

"What the fuck is going on?" Felix demanded, and you turned, taking a deep breath and hopefully giving a much more convincing, determined smile.

"He made you cry."

Felix's expression immediately changed. All soft and fragile but understanding, he just asks that you don't be long. You promise not to be. Both you and Oliver watching him go.

Once in the clear, you turn back to your captive audience, keeping your voice low.

"I'm not going to make you drink it," you admit, and though Oliver's confused and on edge, he seems to relax, just a little.

"The fuck do you want from me then?"

"I just need to hear you say it," you step back from him, give him space, even step around to place the bottle at the foot of the statue and lean your forehead against the cool stone.

"Say what -?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Ollie," you groaned, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes, "you think I could hurt you? I ruin lives behind the scenes, I couldn't -" you flail your hands awkwardly, rocking back on your heels, turning to him properly once more. It appears to work, however, as Oliver is now only regarding you warily, instead of seeming actively cautious. "I was... hurt," you admitted, "I know why you said it, but I was hurt to hear you say Felix was your only friend."

"That's not -" he tried, defences lowering further as he attempted to defend himself.

"No, I get it; I've done terrible things because I love Fi, I couldn't imagine," you cast a pitying, apologetic look to Oliver, "him not loving me back."

And it works. He cracks, little by little. The tears begin to form, the lip starts to tremble.

"It's not fucking fair," it already sounds like there's a lump in his throat, "why do you deserve his love?" He scowls, "why can't I? I can be like you, I can be good -" he babbles, sniffling harshly amongst his defiantly sharp tone, "I know I could be," you gently wrap an arm around him and he fists a hand to tightly in your overcoat that it tears, "I was everything he wanted me to be -"

"I know, Ollie, I know," you carefully remove his antlers, holding them in one hand as you coax him in close, running a comforting hand through his hair.

"I wanted him to love me, I wanted- I never wanted him hurt, but wanted him dead so it wasn't my fault if he didn't love me; he couldn't love anyone -" he breaks down into furious tears, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I hate you, I hate that he loves you without you even trying -" there's no apology in his distress, even as he lets you hold him close, and you, for a few more moments, whisper reassuring nonsense. "I never wanted to hurt him," he mumbled softly, "but I wanted to kill him. I could never hurt him," there's anger and guilt in his eyes as he looks up at you, tear soaked and helpless, "but I wanted to hurt you." What you give him in return is pity, is sweetness and apology, but your blood is burning through your veins.

"You would have regretted it."

"I know..."

"Are you lying?"

"I think I am."

You have what you need, the confession, the intention; validation for your motivation. Hook, line and sinker.

"Hey, Ollie, Ollie, darling look at me, I know, okay, I know-" you try, taking his face in your free hand.

"No you fucking don't!" Oliver insists, but you keep insisting, "don't fucking take that tone, I just told you I was trying to kill Felix to hurt you -!" He thrashes, but your gentleness is unrelenting in this moment. You will give Oliver Quick what he deserves.

"Ollie, look at me, okay? Look me in the eyes, please -" you begged, and finally he did, despair and anger all there amongst the tears, "keep looking me in the eyes," you tell him gently, and firmly, and he does, too curious for his own good and wanting to see where this was going -

"Everything," you give him the faintest, reassuring smile, one hand on his face, shaking, messily wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb as he keeps your gaze, "is going to be -"

- and you ram one of his antlers into his soft, exposed belly with all your strength. Surprise and pain hit him all at once and suddenly he's scrambling, trying to get your hands off of the headpiece. But he's winded, and suddenly in overwhelming pain.

"- fine," you breathe out, shaking with adrenaline. You have him pinned against the statue, just like he'd had Felix only minutes ago.

"Eyes, Oliver," you ordered coldly, while making sure to keep smiling, even as fresh traitorous tears were gathering and already spilling down your cheeks. Hand in his hair coming to grip him tightly, keeping his gaze level with yours, "what did I say? I want you to look me in the eyes -" and you rip the antlers out before plunging them back into his gut. Lips twisting into an animalistic snarl involuntarily, Oliver splutters and fights and squirms but everything is becoming slippery, and warm, and slick with his blood. The antlers, your hands, and his; hard to get a grip like the firm one you had on your weapon of choice.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" he chokes out helplessly, bloody hands moving up, trying to grip your arms, your shoulders, your face, "how -fuck- why -?"

"Whatever you had in that bottle is too good for you; you tried to kill Felix, you said so yourself."

As his strength begins to fail, the way he holds your face turns tender, almost gentle, before his hands fall back to rest on yours, both gripping the bloody antler. Oliver's weight rests on the statue, watching you with despair and helpless, pained moans. Cheeks wet with tears, you can't even fathom how you're doing this, or who you will be once it's done.

"You are not the minotaur of this maze," you grit your teeth, leaning your weight on the headdress, driving it into his guts until the bloody antler snapped clean off of the headdress, you still can't bring yourself to stop. It doesn't feel like enough. He tried to kill Felix. So you took the other antler in hand, unable to stop yourself, shaking with rage and tears, "you are the dear in my fucking headlights; you tried to hurt Felix, you tried to kill Felix! You are nothing, nothing, nothing," you punctuate each nothing with another bloody, unnecessary jab until you can't keep going. The second antler collapses to the ground, and you stumble back, hands shaking.

"Didn't want to hurt him," Oliver insists weakly.

"You were someone we loved," you can see the first antler still jutting out of him, stemming the blood flow but undoubtedly causing excruciating pain. But you spare him no sympathy, only a look of absolute loathing, finally taking in what you've done, the blood your fury had shed. "Someone I loved!" Burst from you, raw brutal betrayal scraping its way from your throat, face hot and wet with tears, falling to your knees, looking up at him with an exhausted fury, "you will never hurt him again. I will never give you that chance."

But Oliver's quickly unfocusing gaze slips from you, rising to a point beyond you, out into the maze. A weak, faint, but somehow still triumphant smile works it's way across his lips.

"Him?"

Like in a horror movie, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. You hear when Oliver finally gives out, stop holding himself up on the statue and fall to the ground, but all you can see is Felix at the edge of the maze.

And that look in his eyes.

Oh god, what have you done?

"Felix," tears start welling in your eyes again, and finally he looks away from Oliver's body, his own antler protruding from him, slowly bleeding out, to you. From here, he can't see the blood on your hands, the blood that's all over you, but he can see it all over Oliver, "Fi, please, you need to -" but he's stepping towards you, almost automatically; he looks ill. You have to look away, can't bear for him to see what your rage has brought about.

"I'm not," his words are robotic, still a bit slurred, and he keeps looking at Oliver, "going without you. 'said that." But he stops behind you. Eyes closed, you wait, you can't bear to even look at him. Then, slowly, he moves. When you breathe, it makes you shake, but you slowly open your eyes.

Felix approaches Oliver. You watch the faint, far away smile wears as he sees Felix up close once more.

"Fe-lix," he sighs faintly, reaching out with weak, shaking, bloody hands, feather light finger tips leaving red streaks along Felix's cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Felix's head dips in close, into Oliver's aching touch, his forehead resting against Oliver's in this moment.

"You were going to fucking kill me, Ollie?" Felix whispered through clenched teeth, on the edge of tears.

"'m sorry," Ollie mumbled weakly, shock and blood loss catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, "didn't want to hurt you."

"You wanted to kill me -"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"It would have hurt them!" Felix grabbed him by the collar with one hand, wrenching the dying boy up enough to see him pointing at you, still kneeling on the ground, second bloody antler laying in front of you. All Oliver could do was make a pained whimper, and Felix dropped him back to the ground, "and you said it yourself-" his voice is venomous, but your breath catches as you realise just how much he must have heard to know that, "and even having a thought like that," he snarls, hatred burning in his eyes, "means you don't fucking know me at all."

Felix is by your side in the very next moment, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the base of the sculpture. You're sobbing into your bloody hands, nothing else to do or say. Even as he's shaking, as he's crying too, Felix doesn't let you go, doesn't let you feel anything but secure with him.

"You saw it all, didn't you?" You whispered finally, and feel him nod.

"I said I wouldn't leave without you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -" and while he tells you that you don't have to be, the words, the fears, the desperate justifications and rationalisations pour out of you, "he said he was trying to kill you, Fi, and I couldn't- I should have walked away, just gotten him kicked out or taken away or- or- but I couldn't," you gasped, "I couldn't let him ever have that kind of chance again, I couldn't risk that, my mind wouldn't let me -"

"I know, I love you," Felix murmurs weakly, his forehead against your shoulder once more, "dad and Duncan will know what to do, they'll take care of it tomorrow," he sounds so young in this moment, so tired and fragile. You nod quietly, leaning into him. When his hands find yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tightly, Oliver's blood is still sticky on your skin. Neither of you seems to care.

"How did you know something was so wrong?" Felix finally asked, the air cooler and quieter now. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it sounds as though the party was winding down. Oliver's party.

"He wasn't that drunk," you said after a long moment of deliberation, "could see it in his eyes," taking a deep breath, you cast your gaze to the guest of honour, completely still, chest no longer shifting with shallow, frantic breathes, "if he wasn't drunk, why was he sick?" Sighing, you leaned into Felix. You felt so hollow; "everything Oliver Quick did, he did with purpose."

[achilles-rage]

Addicted

summary: you're hicks' adopted daughter, and when visiting your dad's work, you catch rocker's eye. when you meet at a bar one night, a relationship begins, and it stays a secret until your dad walks in on you very close to rocker.

word count: 3.2k

request: anon- Can I request, Donovan Rocker and Hicks daughter, and Hicks finding out they're dating.

A/N: i know the request said hicks daughter, but i made the reader his adopted daughter so it could be race inclusive, i hope you don't mind! enjoy<33

warnings: none, no use of y/n, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

He’s seen you here ever since he started working with Hicks. You come in every now and then to drop off your adopted dad’s lunch, or to just say hi, knowing his job can be stressful. He’s always careful to make sure he doesn’t stare for too long, taking in the way your tummy moves when you laugh, the way your thighs jiggle when you walk. 

He’s never said more than a few words to you; only speaking when Hicks had introduced you to some of the people around that didn’t know you when you came in one day. He only ever seems to see you when your eyes are on someone else, and he kind of loves that. He gets to see the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you fidget with your fingers when your dad introduces you to someone new. Either way, he thinks you’re gorgeous, and he can’t help the small smirk that makes its way onto his face when he imagines you coming to visit him at work, instead of your dad. You’re quiet, and sweet, and he finds himself wishing you would come in every day.

What he doesn’t know is that your eyes find him whenever he’s not looking at you. You remember his name from when your dad introduced you, but you’re too scared to ask your dad anything about him, in fear of him figuring out your feelings for the man. You’re also too scared to actually talk to Rocker yourself. He’s attractive, and tall, and muscular, which makes you nervous anyway, but your dad is his boss. You’re a little afraid that if he found out you liked him, he wouldn't let you come around as often.

One day, you’re visiting your dad at work when Hondo comes barging into his office, telling him that he needs him urgently. You stand up quickly, giving Hondo a small smile as he apologizes to you, but you wave him off. You know their work is important. You hug Hicks goodbye and follow him out of his office before parting ways, walking down the hall and towards the exit. As you walk down the hall, someone comes out of the doorway you pass, and you don’t have enough time to move out of the way. You run into a solid chest, stumbling slightly as you back away from the person, which causes the person to put their arms on your upper arms to steady you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” your sentence stops short when you look up and realize you’ve just bumped into none other than Donovan Rocker. He smirks down at you when he sees the embarrassed look on your face and the way your breath hitches in your throat. He can’t believe his luck; he didn’t even know you were here, and now he finally gets the chance to talk to you. 

“All good, sweetheart. It was my fault.” His low tone almost makes you weak at the knees as you try to hold the strong eye contact. After a moment you look down, stepping away from him, feeling your heart race as you feel the heat of his palms on your arms. He takes his hands off your arms, frowning slightly as you take a small step back; he liked how close you were to him.

“Where are you running off to in such a hurry?” he asks, closing his fists as he resists the urge to put his hands on your wide hips and pull you in. He wants to keep you here with him as long as possible. You look back up at him, licking your lips as you feel your mouth go dry. Looking at him from across a room is one thing, but with having him so close, you can barely make out a sentence. 

“Hondo came in and said he needed my dad. Said it was urgent.” you say, voice just above a whisper as you shrug, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. 

Rocker’s face changes from a smirk to one of annoyance. He doesn’t wanna leave you yet, but he knows he should probably go see what Hondo needed Hicks for. They’ll probably come find him soon anyway, and he’d rather not be caught with you alone by your father. As innocent as your encounter was, the thoughts currently filling his mind are anything but.

“I should probably go see what’s up,” he tells you, smirk disappearing as he rolls his eyes. “You want me to walk you out?” 

You shake your head, giving him a small smile.

“No, I know where I’m going. Thank you, though.” The smirk makes its way back onto his face as he looks down at you, giving you a nod. 

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” he says, taking the chance to scan your body now that he’s so close to you. He feels a little bad as his eyes stop on your chest for a moment, but he can’t help it. If you weren’t who you were, he would’ve already asked you out.

You nod, his nickname for you making it impossible for you to do anything else. You turn on your heel, walking away from him and out the door, completely unaware of him staying put for a moment, eyes glued to you, watching the slight sway of your hips as you walk.

After a moment he clears his throat, letting out a long breath before making his way to see Hondo and Hicks to get caught up. He tries to keep his thoughts on what they’re saying as they explain the case to him, but he can’t help but think of your shy demeanour and pretty face. 

Almost a week later, your two friends invite you to go out with them, and you all decide on a small bar close to you. When you get there, you find a small table near the back and settle there. After about an hour, you all need another refill, so you offer to go get them. 

As you’re standing near the bar, waiting for the bartender to be finished with another customer, you feel someone slide up beside you. You choose to ignore them, but you furrow your brows when you hear a deep voice speak from beside you. You know that voice, you think, but it can’t be.

“Hey, sweetheart,” You turn your head slowly, meeting Rocker’s blue eyes. You let out a shaky breath, smiling softly as you greet him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just out with some friends.” you explain, gesturing to your friends at the table, too busy talking to each other to notice the man that had approached you. He nods, smirking as his eyes trail down your body quickly. You don’t miss this, and it makes your breath quicken as you stand up straighter, unsure what to do under his intense stare.

“You want a drink?” he asks, looking over at the bartender, who finally walks over to you two. 

“Oh, um, no that’s okay. I was just getting refills.” you explain softly, giving the bartender your orders. He orders his drink after you, before adding: “And put her drinks on my tab.”

“No, you really don’t have to do that, these aren’t all my drinks.” you tell him, shaking your head quickly. You appreciate the gesture; it makes your stomach flip, but you can’t let him pay for you and your friends.

“It’s the least I can do for making them wait for their drinks. I wanna get to know you, sweetheart.” He smirks, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he steps closer to you, mostly so he can hear you better over the music and chatter from the bar, but also because he loves the way you squirm when he does.

“Why?” you ask softly, brows furrowed. You can’t understand why he wants to talk to you so badly, and you feel a little bad. You’re supposed to be here with your friends, who have now noticed the handsome man you’re talking to, you don’t want to ditch them. His presence also makes you very nervous, scared you’ll say the wrong thing, or he’ll somehow realize that some of your thoughts of him are definitely not appropriate. The bartender brings your drinks over, and you both thank him softly.

“Well, you’re gorgeous, first of all. And I also wanna get some dirt on Hicks, just for fun.” He tries to ease your nerves slightly, seeing the way you fidget with the rings on your finger and are trying so hard to keep eye contact. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat at his words, and you grab your drink to take a sip, buying yourself some time to slow your stammering heart.

“Well, I don’t have much of that, unfortunately,” you respond after a moment. “So, you’re out of luck.” He chuckles at your words, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t say that. I still get to talk to a beautiful woman. I’d say that’s pretty lucky.” You almost choke on your drink at his compliment. You lower your drink, keeping your eyes on the ice in your drink as you let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you.” you get out after a moment, unsure of what else to say. He has your brain so clouded with nervousness and lust, that any smart remark you may have been able to think of is out the window. He has you a stuttering mess, and he loves it.

You’re not sure how long you talk to him. Long enough for your friends to finally slip up beside you and get their drinks, giving you knowing smiles as they walk back to the table you were all at. Long enough for you to loosen up a little, slowly coming out of your shell and flirting back as you felt the alcohol flowing through you.

You aren’t sure how, but your night ends with your back being pushed up against Rocker’s front door as soon as you got back to his house, one of his hands on your hips as the other angling your head up into a rough kiss. 

You let out a soft moan as his lips move down your neck, nipping and sucking gently. Your hands find their way to his hair as his move down to the back of your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you against the wall again. You both know you shouldn’t be doing this, but with the way your soft body feels pressed against his, and the way your thick thighs are wrapped around his waist, he’s not sure he can stop. He's addicted to you.

This goes on for a couple months, and eventually, it turns into something more. You haven’t really had the talk; you’re too nervous to bring it up, scared it’ll snap him back to reality and he’ll realize sleeping with his boss’s daughter is a bad idea. You rarely go out with him, instead opting to stay in the safety of either your apartment or his house, but he has called you his girl a few times while he’s buried deep inside of you, so you’re content with the situation for now.

A few months into your relationship with Rocker, you’re visiting your dad at work again, bringing him some lunch. Before you can make it to his office, Rocker’s arm is wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into one of the empty offices.

You squeal softly as he pulls you in, but his hand is over your mouth immediately, shushing you softly before talking his hand away and kissing you passionately. You hum softly and stand up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him back, the container of food dangling loosely in your hand behind his head. 

You whisper his name against his lips after a moment, moving your free hand down to his chest and pushing him away gently. He groans softly as he feels you pushing him away, pulling back reluctantly, but not before he gives you one more quick peck.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, giggling as you move your arm back up to rest over his shoulder, tilting your head to the side as you look up at him.

“Wanna kiss my girl for visiting me at work.” he teases softly, loving the way you give him that sweet little smile. If you weren’t at his work right now, with your dad down the hall, he’d have you bent over the desk with your dress around your waist. He licks his lips at the thought, looking down at you hungrily.

“I wish I really was doing that.” you tell him softly, running your empty hand through the hair on the back of his head, which causes him to smile. 

“I know,” he starts sadly, leaning down to kiss you again. “But I can dream.” he states once he pulls away, squeezing your hips gently.

“You look gorgeous today, sweetheart. You know that?” he says after a moment. You feel your face heat up at his words, laughing softly. After months, you’re still not sure how to react when he compliments you, it makes your stomach fill with butterflies every time.

“And you look handsome.” His smile turns to a smirk at your words, and one hand trails from your hip down to your thigh, slowly lifting your dress up as his hand travels up your thigh.

“You wanna show me how handsome you think I am?” he teases softly, hand reaching your panties and trailing across your waistband.

“Maybe not in an empty office.” you say softly, giggling. You bite your lip as his hand gets closer to where you want him, and you know you should tell him to stop, but you can’t find the words.

Just as his hand dips below your waistband, just barely grazing you, you hear footsteps out the door. Both your eyes widen, and Rocker pulls his hand away quickly and smooths your dress back down before whoever it is comes in.

When the door opens, you’re face to face with your father, who looks between the two of you with a surprised look on his face. Rocker takes a step away from you, making it somehow even more obvious that you weren’t just talking in here.

“Sir.” Rocker cuts the silence, crossing his arms over his chest as a stoic expression makes its way onto his face. You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek nervously as you step towards your dad.

“Hi dad.” you say softly, hoping to lessen the angry look on his face.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Hicks asks sharply, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares at Rocker. “I thought we were past this. Sneaking around like you’re sixteen.” he says, eyes lowering to you, giving you a disappointed look.

“I didn’t know what to say.” you say softly, looking down, embarrassment filling every inch of your body. It’s bad enough that he caught you like this, even if he didn’t actually see anything, but you feel bad for lying to him for so long.

“Why not? I can’t dictate who you date, as much as I want to. You’re not a kid anymore.” he says, sighing, his shoulders relaxing slightly. You nod, looking over at Rocker, who meets your gaze and steps closer to you.

“Sir, I really do like your daughter. She’s my girlfriend, I really don’t wanna do anything to hurt her. I hope you’re okay with that.” he tells your dad, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. Your eyes widen slightly at the word girlfriend, and you turn your head to look up at him standing beside you with a small smile.

“I think I’d be more okay with it if I didn’t just find you alone in an empty office together.” he says, slightly joking, but his voice is still laced with anger.

“I brought you lunch, though.” you say, shrugging as you hand the container out to him with an awkward smile. Your dads’ eyes trail down to the container, pursing his lips as he slowly reaches out for it. 

“Is that your homemade pasta sauce?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowed. You nod, smiling softly as you give it to him. You know how much he loves your pasta. He hums softly, looking down at the container in his hands for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to you.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he tells you sternly, and you nod, laughing softly at how quickly he caved for your cooking. “And I’ll talk to you later too.” he tells Rocker, a finger pointed at his chest. Rocker nods, jaw clenched as he holds back a smile. This went better than he thought it might, he thinks.  

“Yes sir.” he responds quickly, knowing he’ll probably get an earful later, when you’re not there to soften the blow, but right now, he feels good. It feels like you're finally his, and you don't have to sneak around anymore.

“Aren’t you gonna come visit me?” he asks you sarcastically, turning to walk out the door.

“I’ll be right there.” you call out after him, turning to Rocker and laughing softly when your dad grumbles something about having two minutes.

“Girlfriend?” you ask softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again and tilting your head to the side. 

“Isn’t that what you are?” he replies, tilting his head the same way as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“You never asked me.” you tell him sheepishly, looking down at his chest and smoothing his shirt out. He raises his brows, trying to think over the last few months, and he realizes you’re right. He hadn’t asked, and now he feels like an idiot.

“I guess it slipped my mind. It felt like you already were, so I guess I never saw a point.” he explains, blushing slightly as tilts your head back up to meet his gaze, slightly embarrassed that he never asked.

“It’s okay. I was happy with whatever we were.” you say sincerely, leaning up to kiss him softly. He hums against your lips, kissing you back for a moment until he pulls back, brows furrowed.

“But, you’re okay with being my girlfriend too, right?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone, but you see the nervousness in his eyes as he waits for your response.

“Of course. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” he tells him, laughing softly. He lets out a breath, chuckling softly. God, he’s so whipped, he thinks.

“Good to know.” he says seductively, leaning in to kiss you again, trailing his hands to your hips and pulling you flush against him. He leans back after a moment and runs a thumb against your bottom lip, taking in your pretty features.

“You should go. I think that was two minutes.” he teases, moving a hand to your jaw and bringing you back in for one last quick peck.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you ask softly, taking a step back from him. He nods eyes trailing down your body as you back up towards the door. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll see you tonight.”

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[croxxbow13]

The Sweet One - Part One

Warnings: language, mentions of violence and mild adult thoughts.

Takes place during Alexandria era. Just some musings as you’re trying to adjust to this new, impossible way of life… and trying to make sense of Daryl’s intoxicating presence.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Honestly, I’m not sure what this is. I just opened my notes app and just started putting words down. Will do a part 2 if theres any interest.

Please be gentle with me, its my first time.

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

-

It’d been three weeks since our group had stumbled into the walls of Alexandria, dirty, dehydrated and half starved.

Everyone had done the best they could to settle in, though it still felt like most of us were still holding our breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Places like this didn’t exist anymore.

At least, not for long.

We all slept in the same house, hell the same room for the first few nights, not wanting to let our guard down. The floor a patchwork of arms and legs and blankets, while the beds lay empty in their vaulted ceiling bedrooms.

After the things we’d experienced on the road, how could we not? Cannibals, rapist, psychopaths that tried to take us down, slaughtering their whole communities in the process without so much as a flicker of remorse.

I remember one night on the road, everyone sitting around the fire, Daryl said that the world really hadn’t changed all that much. People had always been shit. Now they were just more open about it. There was no reason they could see to keep those terrible things inside.

No reason to fear hell when we’re already there.

And now, to look into these strange smiling faces offering promises of food, walls, shelter… hot showers?

I stuck close to Carol for a while, trying to keep a low profile, putting on a nice face, but all the while keeping my ears tuned to the low whispers, the quiet conversations in adjoining rooms, listening, waiting for someone to slip up. To show the other side of the coin, but they never did.

It didn’t take long working in the small confines of the kitchen and pantry to feel like the walls were closing in on me. The daily droning of bored housewives going on about their ridiculous reasons to be at odds with their husbands, or gossiping about this person or that person… cackling together like a bunch of restless hens.

It reminded me too much of the old world. And I’d rather use an ice pick as a q-tip.

But thankfully, after some convincing - and maybe a little bit of begging - Aaron finally agreed to let me help with scavenging. He said that he, Daryl, Glenn and a few of the Alexandrians were going to be checking out a warehouse tomorrow a few towns over. Something about an old cargo depot.

I couldn’t give a shit less, as long as it gets me outside these walls for a little while.

I never thought it would be hard to transition back into some semblance of normalcy… but I feel like we’re all just kind of playing house. The people in this community have just as many dirty secrets as the people out there. The only difference is theirs is hidden behind neatly manicured hedges and eggshell tinted semi-gloss paint.

-

I’m sitting on the steps of Carol’s house when she returns home from another’s day work.

I say Carol’s house, but I guess it’s also mine and also Daryl’s. Though I’m pretty sure his residence here was just a given whereas I actually asked Carol if she minded that I stayed here.

Rick and Michonne have their whole family dynamic thing going on with Carl and Judith, so I would just feel like a fifth wheel.

Abraham and Rosita had room… but after being on the road with them and realizing how obnoxiously loud they are during sex… and don’t even get me started with fucking Eugene. I swear to God, when he starts rambling off at the mouth with his overinflated self importance. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve imagined cutting off that ratty ass mullet and gagging him with it. My luck though that would just add more material to his mental spank bank that he would recall as he’s beatin’ one out watching his compadres going at it.

I hate that I think about these things, and I hate that I have a vivid imagination because I immediately feel the bile rise in my throat, taste the acidic disgust on the back of my tongue.

I must’ve made a face because Carol stops and looks at me before she makes it to the steps.

“Well I’m glad to see you too.” She says, fighting back a sarcastic laugh.

I shake my head, trying to be reassuring while I’m still fighting the churn of my stomach.

“I’m sorry, just been a long day.” I say, giving her a lopsided smile. She puts a steadying hand on my knee as she swings around and takes the space on the step beside me.

She unbuttons her muted green sweater, or should I say her chosen costume of the day, and pushes up the sleeves. Usually she waits until she’s made it into the front door before she goes through her “becoming Carol” ritual that Daryl and I tease her about most nights.

We give her shit, but I gotta give it to her. She’s smart.

Seeing her now, It’s crazy to think of the transformation she’s undergone since I first met her back at the quarry. Back then she was so… small. And quiet. And just scared all the time. And I get it. Being beaten day in and day out by the person who should be your biggest sense of security will do that to you. Hell, the end of the world was probably the best thing that ever happened to her.

Daryl, too. Granted, he doesn’t talk much about his life before. But from witnessing his toxic ass relationship with his brother, I can only imagine that home for him was never really much of a home. And I’ve seen the scars. At least some of them. He didn’t get those from learning to ride a bike.

Dad was probably a drinker with no outlet for his anger. And Merle was probably old enough and big enough to at least get away from him eventually. I don’t know how much younger Daryl is, or was than Merle. But if I had to guess there was probably a solid 10 years that Daryl would’ve had to fend for himself. And Merle said it…

He was always the sweet one, my baby brother…

It’d made me so angry how he had said it so condescendingly. Like it was something to be shameful about. Like it was a weakness that should be hidden away. Because “real” men don’t show emotion.

Fuck him. I’ve literally watched Daryl rip out vocal cords with his bare fucking hands. And his arms… jesus christ, his arms.

Apparently I just sighed because now Carol has turned her attention towards me again. I clear my throat brushing non-existent dirt off the knees of my jeans.

“Want me to start on dinner?” I ask her, hoping the flush I feel creeping up my neck isn’t obvious.

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s ok, I ate a little something before I left work. Daryl might be hungry when he gets in though, if you’re wanting to make something. I think we’ve still got stuff for some spaghetti.”

And then as if conjured up from the depths, Daryl turns onto the street from the way of the front gate, the sounds of his boots thudding lightly against the pavement.

Daryl didn’t walk, it was more a saunter if anything. That one hand always gripping the strap of his crossbow that laid across his chest, the other swinging by his side, always a little wider than necessary.

I wonder sometimes if he’s aware of how much space he takes up at any given moment. Though I could never bring myself to ask him, because then he’d want to know what I meant. And I had no intention of letting him know how small he made rooms feel when I’m in one with him.

He’d probably take it the wrong way and go brood in the woods for a few days.

That sweet baby brother.

I’m self admittedly pretty terrible at recognizing when someone’s flirting with me.

But Daryl… Daryl. Fucking. Dixon. Takes the cake with that one.

At times I wonder if he’s actually had any kind of intimate interaction whatsoever. And, oh to have been a fly on the wall…

Doesn’t mean I can’t try though, right?

I mean, it can’t be completely one sided. I’ve caught him stealing glances when he thinks he’s out of my line of sight. I mean, christ, we live in the same house together.

And god so help me, for as long as I live I will never forget the look on his face when I came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel because he’d come back from a run early. I had my face down, trying to towel dry the rest of my hair and he rounded the corner as I was stepping into the hallway and I basically face planted his chest. It took him about three syllables worth of his sentence, his hands gripping my arms to keep me from stumbling backwards, before he realized that that single layer of cotton that hit just a little too high on my thighs was the only thing saving us from an even more awkward situation.

His eyes went wide as he’d snatched his hands away like he’d been burned. And the color that immediately flushed his cheeks made me want to sink my teeth into the vein that pulsed too quickly in the side of his throat as he dropped his head and retreated out the front door.

Damn… Im starting to sound like one of them.

“Perfect timing! Your ears must’ve been burning!” Carol’s chipper tone pulls me once again from my thoughts, though this time it’s not as welcome. Daryl’s boots scuff against the sidewalk as he comes to a stop in front of us.

“What d’ya mean?” He says, his voice gruff as his gaze bounces between the two of us. I’m still fighting off visuals of lips and teeth and tongues, so I just raise my eyebrows and shake my head, doing my best to avoid meeting his eyes.

“We were talking about dinner, you hungry?” Thanks, Carol.

Daryl shakes his head and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Nah. Not really.”

“Alright, well I’m going to go shower, that way you can get yours whenever you get ready.” Carol stood and turned for the door, giving me a small pat on the shoulder as she crossed the porch and disappeared into the house.

I looked at him then, and thankfully his attention was somewhere down the street.

The sharp orange streaks of light from the setting sun highlighted the beads of sweat on his brow, and judging by the dirt that clung to his arms and clothes, they’d had an eventful day.

Good. He always seemed to be in a better mood those days.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, as he always did when he was working a thought over in his mind. And I figure its as good a time as any to snap him out of it. Before he turns and I’m just staring at him like a fucking weirdo.

“Aaron’s letting me come with you guys tomorrow. Said that it’d be a good time for me to come along and see how you guys work together.”

He nodded slowly before he turned his eyes to me. “Yeah, he told me.” He slid his crossbow over his head and leaned it against the step railings before sitting down on the landing next to me.

And true enough, it now felt half the size as when Carol was sitting there.

“It’ll be good for ya,” he said, pulling at a string that hung loose on his glove. “Get out there an outta here for a while.” As he said it, his eyes scanned the other houses in the neighborhood… still looking for the cracks. For the slip of the stage props.

Maybe we’re not so different.

My eyes follow his gaze. And when I speak, it’s lower… only meant for us.

“You’re still looking for it too.” I say. It’s not a question. He turns his head and looks at me now. The dirt smudge across his cheek brings out the blue in his eyes.

His response is more of a grunt than a word. He wants to know what I’m talking about. Even though he already knows what I’m talking about. He just wants to hear me say it.

“You’re looking for the strings. For the wizard behind the curtain. This place can’t be as perfect as it looks from the outside. There’s something… there’s gotta be.”

He slowly nods and I know that he’s starting to realize the same thing…

Maybe we’re not so different.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon. I can only tell because that first faintly cool breeze that precedes the darkness is creeping between the houses now. And thanks to it, I’m now aware of the heat I feel radiating off of him. I didn’t realize that my arm was that close to his. Even through his jeans I can feel the warmth of his legs on the steps beside mine.

Why are my fucking ears hot?

And why do I have to fight the urge to lean over and lick the sweat off his neck.

Can you imagine the look on his face?

Stop. Stop.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to get up and go inside before I embarrass myself and just have to go knock on the door of the love nest and ask if I can big spoon Eugene.

Fuck that.

And then he bumps his shoulder against mine and suddenly I have no escape plan. I actually don’t plan on going anywhere. I actually would probably have to be pried off this step.

“Come on, we’ve got an early day tomorrow.” He says, and I can feel the words vibrate through my chest. He stands and grabs his crossbow, but he doesn’t sling it across his back like he usually does. He just holds it by his side, stretching out his other hand to offer me help up.

Sweet little baby brother

Naturally I go against my better judgment. Of course I do. I reach up and grab his hand and with little effort, he hauls me up and I’m now even more aware of how effortless he could just pick me up and snap me in half.

Or pin me against a wall.

Stop.

We’re toe to toe, though on different steps, which only adds to the way he’s towering over me. But I can feel his warmth. I can smell the sweet tanginess of his sweat that’s saturated his shirt. The earthy smell of the dirt.

He takes a step back, which part of me is thankful for. As I should be.

I know that if I ever genuinely made a pass at him. And it wasn’t reciprocated, things would probably never be the same between us. I wouldn’t be able to look at him. And he would probably never put himself in a position to be within arms reach of me again. Be it from fear or embarrassment or just the typical, awkward Daryl.

And I don’t want that.

But god damned, I want him.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

(Read part 2 here)

[sugar-grigri]

Comedy in CSM is the most important thing to analyze

I accept that the last arc can be read as comic, but you have to push the analysis further; every situation, every comic spring, pursues a theme: identity.

While it had been raised, questioned, it's in this arc that Fujimoto announces that this time we're in the dissection phase.

Denji is accompanied by characters of different narrative rank to enable this operation: a former enemy (still current, but belonging to part 1), a current enemy (introduced in part 2), a potential lover, a guy who idolizes part of his identity, and someone a little more out of touch with everything that's going on.

Everything is there to talk about identity, from the fact that Asa's high-school girl outfit is an advantage for going unnoticed, to the fact that she's stumbling.

Because this way of portraying Asa isn't the right one, since she's a teenager who's always resisted fitting in at her high school.

The guillotine is not insignificant either. It's not to be analyzed as something innocuous - there were plenty of potential demons - but Fujimoto chose ultra-symbolism.

For the guillotine has been manipulated by men of all political persuasions, and is also the symbol of a France seeking to redefine itself.

Above all, it's a symbol of a changing world.

And the rules of the world into which the characters fit are changing.

Fami's struggle against death is one of the first cogs in this change.

Stripping the guards of their clothing is also a way of removing their authority through their uniforms.

The high school girls' uniforms, on the other hand, had the advantage of symbolizing innocence and candor, and of not drawing attention to themselves.

The guards' uniforms contained their authority, so undressing them is enough.

Finding Denji cut up also heralds what's to come, as all the characters help him to literally rebuild his life.

If Asa learns who Chainsaw Man is from Denji's severed head, it's also Fujimoto's way of punishing his main characters.

Asa had always conceived of Chainsaw Man as an evil symbol, a demon for whom she felt no respect or consideration.

So, presenting her with a severed head is always reminiscent of the guillotine: the guilty party's head, presented to the people.

Because Chainsaw Man, before being a hero, is a culprit.

Just as the greatest revolutionaries glorified by the early revolutionaries ended up on the guillotine.

Above all, Fujimoto punishes Denji, because Denji's dream, the only thing he had about his identity - the power to reveal himself - has been taken away from him.

Denji didn't present himself, he was presented as a hunted beast

If Yoru and Katana Man are trying to help Chainsaw Man, it's because without the bloody, invincible enemy that is Chainsaw Man, they lose their objective.

The way they both present themselves from the start is through a desire for revenge

If the beast that would allow them to savor this vengeance is not in state, then all falls away.

What you're witnessing is not a humorous transition arc, but a pause in the work's own narrative.

Because its main character no longer accepts pretending to be Chainsaw Man

So the work stops and starts again from the beginning

What does Denji want to eat?

And what could he have eaten already?

The most obvious response to a Denji who refuses to rebuild himself as the person he used to be, and to whom he no longer wishes to resemble, is to grant him what he desires, since what defines this life before is precisely the fact that he doesn't get what he wants, that he stagnates, and that everything is denied to him, even his own identity.

Sex is something Denji is banking on, basing all his hopes on, since what he's experiencing doesn't please him, so surely the answer must lie in what he hasn't experienced, right? His reasoning is as simple as that. If sex is the foundation of existence, then it also settles existential problems.

It's a disillusionment, an obsession for a teenager, who has been denied the status of child so much and is now obsessed with this """"passage to adulthood"""" because everything would make everything so much more coherent.

Sex is also an element of incessant blackmail, but one for which Denji is willing to put himself at risk because it's his only hope, yet another unknown physical sensation, yet another need to be satisfied.

Denji takes up this objective knowing full well that what he's missing once again is someone, a loved one, to protect. For the old Denji loves, tries to protect, is trapped in Chainsaw Man's infernal cycle of suffering. If he is to return to the way he was, then he must also learn to love again, and to love others.

But love isn't visible; Denji only expresses himself in terms of needs.

The need to be loved and the need to have sex are two different needs. Denji doesn't seek one through the other, he only grasps one.

This conclusion on sex sums up this arc a little, this pretext for making Denji out to be an idiotic character, obsessed with sex as a poorly-written character with subversive aims. It's not about falling into the pitfall of a puppy looking for love.

It's about a boy who has long since stopped accepting that he has to go on living, and who projects himself through his non-experience to find meaning in it.

Not having a mother is part of his non-experience.

[leighsartworks216]

... Oops

Harvey x gn!Farmer

Had this thought when I remembered I had to take my meds tonight. I just think it would be nice to have someone who takes care of you when you're a bit stupid and forget to take very important meds 👉👈

Also, Baja Blast is the actual name of my blue chicken lmao

Also also, this is written in third person POV instead of my usual second person POV

Warnings: swearing, dizziness, anxiety, possibly OOC Harvey

Word Count: 1,592

Masterlist

AO3

Harvey rubbed at his eyes as he slipped out of bed, glancing absentmindedly at the empty space beside him. The farmer was already up, of course. He worried for them when he realized how early they woke up each day, but it couldn't be helped if they wanted to take care of their farm all in one day.

He adjusted his glasses on his face as he shuffled to the kitchen. A cup of hot coffee sat on the counter waiting for him, as it always was. He smiled to himself. Fresh coffee from beans they grew themselves always tasted better than anything Gus could ever dream of making. It was perfectly bitter and smooth as he gulped it down.

He looked out the window of the cabin that overlooked the field left to the farmer by their grandfather. There weren't any unwanted stumps, logs or boulders anymore. Fences penned in the animals as they meandered about, munching on fresh grass. The crops were already watered. The scarecrows teetered slightly in the breeze, the fabric of their gloves almost appearing to wave back at him. He always enjoyed the one that resembled an animated movie character - the farmer had been so proud of it when they stuck it into the ground.

His eyes scanned the paths and fences, searching for his partner.

Hm, they must be in one of the barns.

He stared out a while longer, hoping to catch a glimpse as they came out. A concerned frown etched its way onto his face, but he tried writing off the anxiety swarming in his gut. They're probably just refilling the feeders or refilling their kegs or... Really, it's nothing to get worried about. They knew what they were doing! As long as they stayed out of those damn mines, he had nothing to worry about.

He sighed, shaking his head to remove the flood of worried thoughts in his head. Downing the last of the coffee and placing the mug in the sink, he went off to the bathroom to get ready for a day in the clinic.

He peeked out the window again after he got out of the shower. A blue chicken - a gift from Shane the farmer had named Baja Blast - clucked cheerily as it walked out of the open gate. The farmer usually kept the gates closed, always worrying about coyotes or foxes coming to eat their precious hens. It was unusual for them to keep it open, even if they were inside the coop.

He bustled about in a slight rush to get dressed and gather his things for work, namely a giant thermos of coffee and a lunch prepared for him waiting in the fridge, before slipping out of the cabin. He set it all down on a rocking chair sitting on the porch, creaking in the wind.

Baja Blast clucked up at him as he scooped her into his arms. “C’mon, you shouldn’t be out here. All your food is in here,” he says to the chicken as he steps through the gate and closes it behind him. With a cursory glance back, it didn’t seem like any other chickens got out. He couldn’t remember how many his partner had anymore. He had no idea how in the world they kept up with chickens, ducks, goats, sheep, cows, and pigs on one farm alone. It made his head spin trying to guess how they kept their head on straight with so much to do.

He set Baja Blast down with a white chicken, Madame Clucks. She went back right to pecking away at the grass.

Harvey set his hands on his hips as he looked around. Even out here, he couldn’t see the farmer. Okay, how he was worried. His hands fidgeted anxiously as he stumbled in his loafers through the soft dirt to the coop door. If they weren’t in here, he’d have to check the other barns. And if they weren’t in the barns, he’d have to call Marnie or Shane, or, Yoba forbid, Marlon at the Adventurer’s Guild, just in case they really had slipped off to the mines without telling him. But what if they weren’t in the mines? He’d have to call- Yoba, who could he call? Everyone? Ask if they’ve seen the farmer around today? It wasn’t even 8am, nobody would be up and about to know if they’d gone through town.

He pushed open the door, a bit harder than he meant to as some chickens lingering inside bawk’d and spooked away, leaving feathers in their wake. He couldn’t even focus on that. His eyes immediately landed on the figure sitting on the chest by the mayonnaise machine. They were hunched over and holding their head.

“Farmer!” Harvey rushed forward, all the old anxiety quickly replaced with a thousand more fears. He knelt down by them and rested a hand on their shoulder, looking at them with wide eyes. From this angle he could see their eyes were closed, face pinched in discomfort. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

They shook their head. “‘M just lightheaded. I bent down to grab the eggs and I got really dizzy.”

He pressed the back of his hand to their forehead, brushing back some hair as he pulled away. “You’re not running a fever.” He let out a hesitant breath of relief. “Do you think you can stand?”

After a moment, they nodded. Harvey stood up and supported them as they stood. They wobbled on their feet, but he wrapped an arm around their waist to steady them.

“Easy now. Let’s get you back inside.”

“What about-”

“Don’t you dare put your farm over your own wellbeing,” he warned. “I can call Shane and see if he’ll take over for the day.”

The farmer sighed, relenting. He knew how much peace they found tending to everything themselves, despite how overwhelming it seemed on the outside. They had a whole process for everything, and they’d explained before just how much of the simpler tasks they’d automated with sprinklers and some of Maru’s machines. Still, he was absolutely not about to let them go right back to work when they can barely stand up without a light breeze threatening to knock them over.

Harvey opened the gate and helped them through, shooing Baja Blast back inside as he shut the gate again. His partner gave an undignified snort at the offended squawk she let out. “At least you feel well enough to laugh.”

“Like I said, Harv, I’m just dizzy.” They leaned heavily into him as he led them along the paths to the cabin. Their feet hung up on uneven stones and the stairs leading to the door more than once.

“Dizziness is a symptom of something else. I just want to make sure it really is nothing serious.”

“I know you do.” They offered him a slight smile, but it quickly soured to a frown as they shut their eyes again with a frown. “Yoba, it feels like the whole world is spinning.”

“We’re almost there.” The line would have been less out of place if this wasn’t their home that they knew as well as they knew the names of all their animals, but they were too out of it to point it out and Harvey was too in his own head to notice it. So they stumbled together through the house to the large two-person bed.

The farmer laid down with a whine, pressing the balls of their hands to their eyes. “How is this worse somehow?” they groaned.

Harvey pressed a comforting hand to their shoulder. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” They hummed affirmatively with a nod. “When did you get back home last night?”

“Like… 1? 1:40?”

He sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb. That was a conversation for later. “Did you take your meds?”

The silence was deafening. They covered their whole face with their hands with a muffled, “Fuck, I’m stupid.”

“So you didn’t take your iron?”

They shook their head but regretted it immediately after, uncovering their face with a grimace. Their hands plopped pathetically to the bed beside them. “No, I completely forgot. I was trying to run back from the beach after fishing all night - I must have been so tired it just slipped my mind.”

He let out a long sigh. “At least it’s nothing serious. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘M sorry, Harvey.”

“It’s…” He frowned at the idea of saying ‘okay’. As a doctor, he really couldn’t brush off not taking prescribed medication, especially with a partner with such a severe case of anemia. He’d protest against them running a farm at all if they weren’t so determined. “We’ll figure out a better system, okay? We can put them in a pill-minder and keep them on your nightstand.”

They nodded. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to their forehead, his mustache scratching their skin in a familiar way. “Of course - that is my job after all. Now sit tight, I’ll grab your supplements and call Shane. Anything he needs to know about?”

“Just make sure he pets all of the animals. They deserve daily pats.”

“I’ll make sure he knows,” he chuckled fondly as his footsteps began their retreat from the bedroom to the house beyond.

“I love you!”

His warm laugh rang out again, echoed against the wood Robin nailed together and the photos on the walls. “I love you, too!”

[tracistars]

SUMMER SONG

⸻ ୨ৎ DARYL DIXONXYOUNG!READER ୨ৎ-

reader is like 18-19. very massive age gap just for fair warning due to Daryl legit being in his late 40s-50s. Cigarette burns, rude daryl, gets his nasty fingers in your panties, spitting, dubcon, very extreme kink/fetish, eating you out. ( btw i haven't watched twd since ancient times, so I apologize if I haven't gotten any of this right. I'm currently rewatching it, also don't mind if daryl is ooc this is js a silly diddle. Also not proof read! )

Daryl was a man you were quite fond of. He was always closed off... rude... or just quiet. You guys never really talked unless it was important. His most active times were during the night, usually smoking fresh cigarettes he'd find in some walkers' pants, or overall people, but most times she found him smoking old butted out cigarettes that had been butted out for a good decade or so, loosing all the flavor and buzz to the small little cancer filled sticks.

Weeks had passed, and they were sent out to go look for certain supplies. It wasn't a big thing, so they sent you and daryl out. It was a quiet trip, the occasional flicks of his lighters, grunts were the entirety of the noises made the whole trip to the destination they needed to be... of course nature took its part making the awkward tension between you too not so awkward with the rustling of leaves, twigs snapping, of course the fleshy noises of killing walkers. God you hated walkers.. the scent of decay and fermented blood always burned your nose... you covered your noise as you watched daryl take out the walkers much quicker than you'd ever be able too.

As blood splattered against his bruised knuckles decorating the cigarette burns against his wrists... couldn't help stare. You were quickly pulled out of your questions and head when daryl yelled at you to pay fucking attention, you jumped realizing a walker was alittle to close for comfort.. you tried to reach for your hunting knife but dropped it. Stumbling back feeling the zombie trip over you, panicked trying to push the dead weight off you.. trying your hardest to avoid the foul smelling mouth. With a quick movement of daryl pulling the walker off you watching how he didn't hesitate to stomp in the walkers skull.. you screamed feeling the unnaturally cold foul smelling blood splattered against your face.. chunks of thin rotting skin decorated your hair and forehead. You trembled, stumbling upwards.

" fucking idiot! Watch your goddamn surroundings! you knew there was gonna be walkers... "

He scowled... feeling yourself shiver his thick southern accent loud in your ears... his voice bounced off the forest.. and you stood there.. clenching your fists.. you didn't say anything, you didn't understand why.. nor did you understand why you stayed silent taking his bullshit... but you did... staring at him like a hurt puppy. He shook his head.

" your damn glad I was near you... for fucks sakes... let's get going... "

a few hours had passed eventually you made it to the destination Carol had sent you two. You looked around.. already trying to see if there was anything of value or use. Daryl on the other hand just stood there, watching you pick up things and throw them in your bag.. he'd help you eventually, but he needed a damn cigarette from your idiocy earlier. Flick... flick.. flick.. his lighter finally came to a start, lighting his cigarette, daryl inhaled deeply the burn hitting his throat as he quickly blew the smoke out his nose.. he kept it in his mouth as he began to look around himself. following behind you, he couldn't help but take a glance at you a few times. He couldn't deny you were attractive.. as sick as it was.. you were a damn attractive young lady. The way you'd never noticed, he could see the lining of your off-white lacey underwear over your low rised dirtied flared jeans.

God what was he thinkin? Thinking about a young lady like you in a awful light.. you were damn young and here he was.. a fucking fossil of a man, thirsting and craving a young woman like you... he wasn't even sure if your virginity had been taken, you'd never talk to guys.. you stayed alone most of the time, unless you were with Carol or maggie.. you clung on them.. but whenever you were with a guy - you became.. awkward and weird .. he noticed. As he continued to puff on his cigarette.. the way your thighs rubbed together in those tight jeans, whenever you bent down to pick something up, and how he could see your soft breasts being barely held in the over worn black bra ... in that stupid white tank top carol forced him to give to you... due to your lack of clothing. He shook his head.. a small grunt of a approval escaping his lips. Grabbing your wrists yanking you upwards.. he could see the slight fear in those big exhausted eyes of yours.

" i think that's more than enough supplies.. "

You looked up at him, and he towered you.. you pulled back your wrist slightly.. nodding.

on your way back from this little supply run, you noticed how daryl walked behind you rather than behind or beside you.. whenever you looked behind you to see if he was still behind you or not, but you noticed how he only seemed to be staring at your ass rather than you. You shifted uncomfortably... not because you felt unsafe you just felt... weird he didn't ask? Cause you were totally interested in him, but you've always thought you were way to young for him, scared ya might make him weirded out with you. You cursed internally, you've always had a thing for older guys, and daryl was fucking perfect in your old guy department.

The way his muscles would be visible underneath that black long-sleeve of his, his usual greasy hair.. his whole entire dirtied look was so attractive to her.. even his scent made her crazy. He reeked of cigarettes that foul scent of decay and fermented blood from walkers, and occasionally, when she was lucky, he'd smell like Irish spring... she guessed that's when he actually took a damn bath.

You must've been standing around for a while. It wasn't until Daryl shoved your shoulder slightly pinning you slightly against the bark of a tree... you blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

" Pay attention, kid... what did I tell you? "

You blinked at him like he was an idiot before you nodded.' You're right.. you're right, sorry. ' You spoke, shaking your head before moving forward again... Jesus... she needed to get it through her hair she shouldn't be feeling all these things, thinking all these things about him! Shit he was twice her age. She cursed herself out internally as she now followed daryl, walking slow behind him. There was that awkward silence again... the only noises being crickets and nocturnal animals moving around hunting for prey.. or prey trying to survive. Occasionally, there would be a walker or two. She always stood back.. watching how daryl took it out quickly, he didn't even bother to use his crossbow... just using her own hunting knife skillfully, getting them down to their knees.. before smashing there heads in.. which was much quicker than using his own cross bow. The way his muscles clenched, the way his hands would hold on tightly against her very poorly treated end, and how he managed to stab them no problem despite the blade on her knife being dull and used, how he kept the almost same expression with killing each zombie as if he grew numb and cold to the blood.. the smell the overall decay. You felt yourself bite your lip almost... your crooked teeth grazing over your bottom chapped lip, your fists squeezing as he glanced up at you, his face bloodied from zombies he shook his head.

When you had come back, giving all the stuff to Carol, she smiled, hugging you, patting your shoulder before sending you off... of course her and daryl spoke.. walking around the heavily guarded place.. you... well, you returned to where you were sleeping. Luckily, you were able to get your own place to sleep. As you began to rip off your clothes.. the dirtied and bloodied clothes all landing into the pile that had built in your room, you groaned running a hand through your hair now standing in your off white panties which were stained with dried blood from your fingers.. you cursed under your breath as you looked at the sticky dried blood stuck under your nails, rolling your eyes. Your hands now rested on your side. You stood there bare chested, standing over her messy bed.. in the very dimly lit room.

Gosh... you needed his dirty fingers all over you.. you don't care if you sounded sick or not, you wanted them to grab your thighs.. forcing them open, and stuffing his face deep between your thighs... in your cunt. You held back a moan at the thought.. your fingers running and grazing over your stomach. Just as your fingers were at the hem of your panties.. a large hand grabbed your hip.. grabbing your much smaller hand and forcing his fingers under the hem of your panties along with yours, you were about to scream.. but you smelt a freshly burning cigarette... and immediately almost melted into Daryl's touch. His face deep into the nape of your neck.. sniffing and inhaling your sweet scent. His other hand ran up your side, grabbing your breast his fingers catching onto your nipple, pulling and twisting at it.. forcing tiny noises out of you as you grabbed his arm.. feeling the soft hairs against his forearm.

" this all for me? All pretty.. standing here... waiting for me... teasing me all day.. such a alittle idiot you are, youve got such smooth skin... be a damn shame if i ruined it"

His words were like little sweet nothings running through your brain.. you let out a breathy giggle.. you watched him give one last puff to his cigarette. You honestly thought he was joking on the last part... but as he reached up to grab his dying cigarette, he gave you one glance.. a tiny smirk. Tsss... you gasped in pain.. grabbing onto his arm tightly as you tried to pull away from his grasp, right around your nipple.. for such a small little thing.. it was painful. He quickly let the butt of the cigarette fall against the floor.. now looking at his mark.. your tainted skin. Fucking beautiful.

Just as you about to yell at him for being such a jerk, his fingers began to move in a circular motion.. around your clit..you let out a whine as you realized how needy your cunt was for him. Dripping with juices, all from a damn burn... you arched against him. Groans and whines escaping your lips as your thighs trembled.

" such pretty little moans for me... your cunt is fucking Dripping wet.. fucking slut.. getting wet for an old man like me? Shit... you've really hit the bottom of the barrel huh kid? "

He insulted in your ears... keeping your body pinned against him, you were an arching Dripping trembling mess.. all because of his damn presence. Daryl enjoyed that. You were pathetic and he swallowed that up like a goddamn predator eating up it's prey. He ripped his hands away from your Dripping cunt shoving you against the bed not hesitating to rip apart your panties. His jeans were tight... he was hard solid. You landed against your elbows as you watched how he ripped your favorite pair of panties apart.. you could see the growing ache in his pants as he bent down grabbing your thighs immediately burying his face between them.. his tongue lapping against your pussy licking up any juices.. before he actually got to work.. he was starved and hungry as he looked up at you. He wanted your virgin pussy and it showed.

Daryl buried his face in your pussy, tasting all your juices.. your natural musk.. you, you were unshaven and so natural, It made him so fucking hard.. he swore he came in his pants just at the taste... tangy and sweet you were, he licked you up. He needed this virgin pussy. He needed your innocence. Your young body was everything to him. He let out a guttural groan as he licked his lips.. looking at you.. your face flushed.. you were now a whining stupid mess, daryl slurped.. and slurped against your needy pussy relentlessly he didn't care if he was making you cum over and over again.. he enjoyed your moans your taste.. this virgin pussy of yours, he couldn't take it yet. He wanted to enjoy the taste.. before he'd begin filling you up with his awful fucking seed, tainting your body with him truly claiming your body as his own.

As he kept up this relentlessly God awful pace of eating you out you collapsed.. shaking.. and trembling.. as you let out screams... overstimulated.. you yanked on his hair tightly, before squeezing his head tightly in your thighs.. squirting everywhere.. gushing, draining every ounce of cum from your body... it felt like he drained you of everything if that was even possible. Your thighs trembled as he finally pulled his face away. When you thought he was done... he just wasn't your tired out body now looking up at the shaft of his unshaved dick, a natural sweaty salty odor hit your nose as you whined rather pathetically. You were fucked.

AHGGGHHH SO SORRY, ITS SO RUSHED AND SO SHORT but hyperfixating so hard on twd, daryl and negan >_0 might make a part two.. maybe with negan as well BUT AGGHHH!!! I HOPE THIS IS READABLE!!!

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ satoru, suguru, shoko, kento & older s/o's

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤgojo satoru, getō suguru, ieiri shōko, nanami kento

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, slightly suggestive, unspecified age gap

from vyon. writing nanami's hurt tbh.... he likes his lovers younger, trust me (his no. 1 favourite, sweetest, cutest, unrealest younger one true lover 🎀) on the other hand though..... he deserves to be babygirl'd so hard 😝

satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, goes out of his way to find older lovers; he admits he has a problem and he'll never be cured of it. he doesn’t even know he has a track record for picking out more disciplined figures, with an air of maturity that taunts him across the bar; he doesn’t know he ignores the cheeky winks that are thrown at him from the giggly bar patrons who look too young to even be there in favour of staring at the figure sat alone at the bar, making pleasant conversation with the bartender until shoko is kicking him, telling him to stop eye–fucking the poor stranger and just go up to them. he balks, stumbling through excuses when shoko hits him again and tells him that if it doesn't go well and they're not into wide–eyed virgins (ouch and just untrue) that he could always just leave with one of the many girls who were still giggling at him. she slides him the rest of her cocktail for courage and then sends him off, with a smile that is almost proud.

he does, strangely, feel like a virgin when he manages to catch your attention and he blames it on shoko for putting it into his head. satoru tries his best to come off as presentable, a smile on his face as he leaned on the bar and tells the bartender your next drink is on him. he realises later that you were just entertaining him, amusement coloured your face under the dim lighting around the bar. he manages to get your number somehow. the first few dates are great and he has to beg you to let him play for them all; you always give into him, a displeased look on your face as you tuck your wallet back into your pocket and he ignores the fact that he feels both ashamed to be faced with that scolding look and giddy that he gets his way.

what really helps him realise that he's completely smitten with the maturity and care that comes promised with an older significant other is when you're on your first official date. satoru, ever the gentleman, tries to pay. you narrowed a smile at him, calling him 'toru so, so sweetly and telling him to put his wallet back. now. and the order goes straight to his pants, whoops!

suguru is completely unashamed about it. it's a realisation that's slow in its trickling, suguru just realises that growing older, he had no patience for bumbling fools. it was fun when he was young, having a pretty little thing by his side to feel important, to flaunt his abilities as a man to keep an inexperienced thing happy. then, he gets to a certain age and he realises, it's more trying to keep someone who knows what they want satisfied. suguru loves it. strangely, he loves being the pretty little thing attached to the arm of someone older, more experienced, with shoulders set back, head tipped upwards, a clean, businesslike smile always polite on their face. your eyes always stern— even when trailing over suguru regardless of the position.

it's wonderful it is; the fact that he could allow you to mingle through the large hall without worrying that you'll let something slip through a loose mouth, he doesn't have to keep you by his side for fear of you ruining his life's work. you can mingle with the idiotic patrons he's accumulated throughout the years, you know how to interact with them, how to sway their beliefs, and rid them of any hesitancy they may have had about follow suguru's ideals. it's also perfect when it comes with dealing with nanako and mimiko; you love the two just as you love suguru. you've enough experience and patience to deal with two young girls on yourself, lessening the burden on suguru's shoulders.

you've got a wicked tongue that knows how to tell exaggerated promises, how to assure an unsettled mind. not that he likes you for what you've done for his ideals, but it is a plus. the experience you have also means you know when your tongue needs to be held back. because although suguru adores when he's chasing after the words dripping after your tongue, falling victim to your sweet orders, there's also stressful times where he needs to forget that you've your own tongue, powered by your thoughts and not his.

for shōko, age has rarely ever mattered. for a hedonistic woman like herself, she likes what she likes and allows little things to govern those likes. dating for her never comes long–term in all honesty— there are too many unspoken rules that grate her nerves, needing to share her location, reply in a timely manner, fancy dinner dates more than once a month? the ending of her relationships always seemed so one–sided. most of the time, it'd end over text or with them showing up to her apartment or where she worked and finally shouting all their frustrations at her.

though it might seem heartless, shōko rarely ever feels regret for the way she's behaved. she's made it clear on multiple occasions that she wouldn't be any of those things they wanted yet they stayed, probably thinking they'd be the one to change her and shape her into the attentive, caring figure they could show off to friends. even so, she still falls into relationships— it's never her fault that people spin their own fantastical storyline about their future together so she needn't punish herself for it. a recent relationship she gets into is one that she enjoys; it bares more resemblance to an adult relationship, she assumes that it's because you're older than her.

you're more realistic in this manner. you understand that shōko isn't one for fancy dinner dates, she doesn't have time to respond as quickly as you may want due to her job, she can't meet up whenever you want on a whim. you text at your own leisurely pace and let her texts stream in whenever she has a break or two. after a week of no contact, she begins to think the inevitable— further cemented by the fact that her doorbell is ringing at an unfathomable 1am and she knows no one else would be at her door but you. she grimaces, mourns the short–lived but pleasurable relationship, and then opens the door, bracing herself for your rant. it never comes. instead, you slump into her arms with an apology for showing up so late and showing up at all without saying anything beforehand, you tell her you miss her, and you'd like to stay the night. for reasons unknown to herself, she lets you in.

age isn't something that is high on nanami's radar when he looks at potential lovers. as long as it isn't dramatically different from his own, he allows himself to indulge. in his defense, it's not as if he'd turned a certain age and began swearing off those younger than him; nanami found that he still got along well with those who were two, three years younger than him, but never romantically. nanami's ideas of a relationship was fairly traditional; he found that this wasn't the case for many partners who had been younger than him. their ideals, morals, what they placed importance on, long–term plans were all too different. so nanami begins, subconsciously, striving after those who are closer to his age.

atleast, that's how it starts. it gets worse, you see, after he realises that dating in a more refined, mature, jaded age group brings something altogether different into his life. for the first time in a while, nanami is reminded that he's not even thirty yet and he starts to understand why so many doe–eyed, inexperienced girls flocked to him. there's a certain satisfaction he gets from being the apple of someone's eye— someone much older than him, who's lived long enough to have their pick of the litter yet decidedly stays with him, sensible and confident hands dragging down his sides.

nanami kento, all the way into his 20s, learns that he enjoys being pampered. he loves it. adores the unwavering focus he gets when he comes back home to your penthouse and gets to fall into your arms as you work out kinks in his shoulders; he gets to lay there, weightless, as you undress him, soft and slow, pressing kisses on any skin you get exposed before you're urging him up to put on something more comfortable so you can cuddle. that, or he gets to sulk on your bed, sending you pictures of what he was doing throughout the day whilst you were at work, only feeling worse when your texts are late. it's all worth it in the end, when you finally get home, allowing him to do as he wanted. though the wait is gruelling, your warmth surrounding him when you finally sink into bed with him, your touches more wandering and perverse as your mouth presses over fading bruises on his neck.

[goodlucktai]

love that doesn’t have a place to rest

one piece word count: 2.5k pairing: sabo & luffy, ASL brothers this was my piece for the @flameemperorzine ! leftover sales are open now ❤️‍🔥 title borrowed from never love an anchor by the crane wives

x

When Sabo wakes up, he does it slowly. It’s a peaceful, drifting sort of journey back into the world.

He’s comfortable, which must mean that he’s safe, which must mean that he’s home. When he opens his eyes, he’ll see a familiar canopy of rich greenery hanging over him, the pale light of fresh dawn peeking through the leaves.

Sabo isn’t usually the first one awake, and when he is, it’s only by a slim margin.

Any second now, he thinks, not even fooling himself with the put-upon annoyance, there will be a tiny rubber body flinging itself on top of him like a fun-sized catapult. Luffy’s voice will be loud enough to rouse the whole mountain when he cries, “Good morning!” He always says it like every single day they get to wake up in their ramshackle little treehouse together is a wonderful surprise, even though they’ll always get to wake up here together, forever and ever until they grow up. It's not the type of thing a little kid should be grateful for, but Luffy has all sorts of silly ideas. 

With a groan, Ace will roll over and tug his blanket up over his head. “Before breakfast, he’s your brother,” he’ll grumble.

Sabo will make sure to complain about the early hour, and call Luffy names and tug on his cheek so that beaming smile stretches even wider—but he’ll still get up and follow Luffy down the ladder into the jungle and stumble into half a dozen little adventures well before the sun has a chance to really shine. 

And sooner than later, Ace will join them, because he can’t fool himself, either. The sky always looks the best and bluest when they’re looking up at it together. Sabo knows he’d give up every extra hour of sleep and everything else in his whole life for that view, side by side by side.

He opens his eyes. He sees the ceiling of the infirmary instead. And then he remembers.

The person Sabo was ten years ago and the person he is today meet in the middle with an earth-shattering crash. He lurches upright so suddenly that Koala, dozing on the chair beside the bed in a precarious lean, tumbles to the floor with a screech.   

Sabo crashes into the communications room at a dead sprint, taking the door halfway off its hinges, and demands an update. He looks manic enough that three people start talking at once, about three different missions, and a fourth slips cautiously out of his line of sight in the direction of the kitchens.

Once deep breaths are had and calming tea has been acquired and Sabo is slightly more specific about his request, he’s read in on Fire Fist’s botched execution and all other relevant developments he missed during his episode. He thanks everyone for their assistance, knocks back the cup of herbal tea he let go cold, to the entire room’s collective disgust, and then stalks off to steal a carriage.

He could probably just requisition one, if he spoke to Dragon—but he would probably also fling himself at the man claws first like a territorial jungle cat, and demand to know what the fuck he was doing that was more important than helping his own son, if he spoke to Dragon. So he’s going to just steal it and spare them both the trouble.

Sabo doesn’t think about Ace. He can’t think about Ace without crumpling to the floor under the weight of impossible grief and letting it crush him into tiny, insubstantial pieces, and right now there’s something he still has to do. He very, very carefully doesn’t think about Ace.

Luffy disappeared before the end of the Summit War, long-gone when the dust finally settled, but it isn’t hard to find him. The oceans are unknowable and wild, but so is Sabo, and so is the place that raised him, the looming rainforest and its giant beasts and birds and deadly-beautiful flora. If he had to, he would bend the world into the shape he wanted, he would force it to give up its secrets at knifepoint—but he doesn’t have to. There is an army of intelligence at his disposal, contacts in all corners of every country.

And there is Ivankov, whose feelings are obvious even over the snailphone. They sound bone-tired and worried in a way that pricks restlessly at Sabo’s heart like a million needles. Iva explains that they hitched a ride away from Marineford with the Pirate Empress, of all people, who seems to treat anyone allied with Luffy as an ally of her own. Boa Hancock’s ship was hailed by the Heart Pirates, the rookie crew that had rescued and absconded with Sabo’s injured brother, and she gave them enthusiastic permission to shelter at Amazon Lily indefinitely.

“That,” Iva told him, their voice world-wearier than Sabo had ever heard it, “is where Strawhat-boy will be. Whatever need you have of him, please go gently.”

Sabo doesn’t have a gentle bone left in his body and arrives on Amazon Lily like a tropical storm. He’s met with open hostility at first, for all of ten seconds. That’s how long it takes Trafalgar Law to lift his head and say, “So you’re Strawhat’s brother? Emporio warned me you were coming. Took your time showing up.” At which point Sabo becomes an honored guest and the eldest Boa all but trips over herself trying to make a good impression.

He’ll definitely have an opinion about all of these things some other time. It all goes up on the shelf where he’s keeping Ace, safe in the back of his brain. He has to focus on what he can still do—the person he can still reach. It’s too late for him to save anybody but Luffy is his responsibility. His only family. His little brother.  

“Where is he?” Sabo says, doing a passable job of sounding like a human being.

Trafalgar tilts his head eastward, where the coast begins to climb upwards into a craggy cliffside. Jinbe, beside him, has his arms folded over an impressive swathe of bandages that wrap around his chest and midsection and looks Sabo up and down with a critical gaze. He clearly isn’t eager to interject where it isn’t his place, but he’s equally as unwilling to let someone who might be a threat go near the young captain in question while he’s hurting. It’s surprisingly proprietary for a person who has only had Luffy’s acquaintance for a short time.

But then Luffy has always had that effect on people, hasn’t he? He worms his way in. He makes you care.

“The surgery was a success,” Trafalgar says without overture, like the word ‘surgery’ in correlation to Sabo’s brother doesn’t send ice down his spine. “But it wouldn’t have been for anyone without the Op-op Fruit. And there’s still a good chance that all my hard work will be rendered a waste of time if that kid goes on another rampage.”

“He was disoriented when he woke up,” Jinbe adds carefully. “He went looking for his brother. And it—pained him. To realize that Ace was gone. He was hurting himself. I told him to look past what he lost, at the things he still had.” His deep, strong voice softens as he goes on, “If his grief wasn’t so self-destructive, I would have let him have it. He deserves to have it.”

Sabo is halfway up a hill before he’s aware of moving in the first place, using his hands to climb when it gets steep, not feeling it when sharp branches cut against his face as he shoves his way through them. Observation Haki comes naturally to him but he thinks he’d be able to find Luffy even without it. His soul or heart or something equally as important inside him would tug him in the right direction.

He was always the best at finding his brothers.

Sabo knows right where to go. He doesn’t know how he knows, but his feet guide him without faltering, picking his way over the river stepping-stone by -stone. And as he gets closer, over the cheerful babbling of the water and the thrushes in the trees, Sabo can hear the faint sound that’s become so familiar to him over the last couple of months—the sound of a little kid crying.

“This is why Ace calls you a baby, you know,” Sabo says to the hollow log Luffy is hiding in.

Luffy stubbornly won’t budge, so Sabo crawls in after him. Luffy’s face is all sticky and dirty, and Makino would have a lot to say about it if she could see him, but she’s not here. A little dirt never killed anybody. The tears bother Sabo, though.

They bother Ace, too. He probably remembers as well as Sabo does how it feels to be left alone while you cried. They both learned a long time ago that no one was going to come make it better.

Luffy hasn’t learned that yet. He still cries over every little thing that hurts or scares him, and Ace gets loud and mean because he hates it when his siblings are hurt or scared. He hates it even more that this crummy world failed Luffy as wholly as it failed Ace and Sabo. 

But it’s not the same, not really. Luffy can tear up over every heartache and frustration and nighttime fear, and his big brothers will come running. It’s annoying sometimes, and upsetting other times, and they can’t always make it better, but Sabo and Ace would never leave Luffy to cry all by himself.

Luffy isn’t crying when Sabo sits beside him. His dark eyes are wide and faraway, gazing out over the water the way he used to when they were children, dreaming about their future.

His brown skin has a sickly, ashen pallor to it. There are bruises beneath his eyes and an unhealthy thinness to his frame. He is covered, head to toe, in bandages. Even his hands are wrapped up, finger by finger. It’s proof of how far he would go, how much damage he’s willing to do to himself for just the opportunity to reach out and save someone he loves.

Sabo doesn’t know what to say. This is one of the most important people in his life, and he failed this person so spectacularly. He opens his mouth, but he can feel the words forming right before he speaks them—Do you hate me? He closes his mouth.

Coward, he berates himself venomously. If Luffy hates you, it’s as much as you deserve.

But his lips stay glued shut. He can’t open himself to that inevitable blow, not yet. The question goes up on that mental shelf next to Ace. Instead, Sabo sits beside his only living brother for as long as he’s allowed.

“I haven’t seen you since I was little, Sabo,” Luffy says suddenly. “I saw you all the time back then.”

Sabo’s heart is racing. He’s confused and unsettled and hurting so keenly he could lay down and die from it. But he can’t let Luffy go unanswered, so he says, “Of course you did. We lived together.”

A faint smile touches the corners of Luffy’s mouth, like some distant part of him wants to laugh.

“I mean after you died. We saw you a lot. We talked to you and you would talk back. Sometimes I wondered if maybe you were really still there and everyone just got it wrong. I was dumb.”

“No,” Sabo says quietly.

“I thought I’d see Ace now,” Luffy goes on, in a meandering, conversational way. “The way we used to see Sabo. But Sabo is here again instead. I’m not mad, ‘Bo. I missed you. I wish you hadn’t left.”

Sabo doesn’t know how to hold this without it breaking him. He needs more hands. He needs his twin, his anchor, his other half, to help with the heavy-lifting. He isn’t enough on his own. He will never, ever, ever be enough on his own to make up for Ace dying in Luffy’s arms, bleeding all over Luffy’s hands, carving a hole into Luffy’s heart right next to the one Sabo left there ten years ago.

There is nothing that he can say that will make this better. The only thing he can do is be here, and put his arm around Luffy the way he used to when they were children, and whisper, “I missed you, too, Lu. I wanted to stay.”

Luffy doesn’t cry how Sabo remembers. He doesn’t throw his head back and wail and shove balled fists into his eyes. But the way he curls against Sabo’s side is familiar—the way he makes himself smaller, and tucks his face against Sabo’s shoulder like he’s seeking shelter, and winds rubber limbs around him until they’re too well-tangled to do anything but hold each other.

The sun sinks slowly through the sky, and Luffy’s body gets heavy and loose. He falls asleep between one thick, hitching breath and the next. 

“I don’t believe him,” Sabo’s twin says incredulously, staring down at the little boy sprawled like a sack of potatoes across the mossy rocks. “As soon as it gets dark, he’s out like a light.”

Sabo laughs, the way he’s only recently learned how to laugh. It bubbles up all the way from his stomach, from the squishy warm center of him. He isn’t allowed to be noisy at the mansion, but Ace’s face always scrunches in a wolfish grin at the sound.

“And he’s up with the sun, too,” Sabo says. “Better than an alarm clock.”

He sloshes across the shallow part of the river and kneels in the muddy bank, beginning the familiar chore of gathering up a seven-year-old’s sprawling rubber limbs so they can carry him home. Luffy always droops when he sleeps, like taffy left out in the sun, his bones going all bendy since there isn’t conscious thought to keep them firm. He’s as light as a kid half his size, and twice as much work.

“Brat’s lucky we don’t just leave him here,” Ace mutters, but he doesn’t mean it. He sits carefully still while Sabo situates Luffy on his back, and keeps one rough, scarred hand wrapped carefully around one of Luffy’s soft wrists the whole way back up the mountain.

Their little brother only comes close to stirring once, and all he does is press his face against Ace’s shoulder with a content sigh that’s so quiet it could almost be a secret. 

Luffy is lucky that he has someone to carry him home. But Sabo and Ace are lucky, too. They have someone to carry.

Sabo rests his cheek on the top of Luffy’s head, and listens to the marathon march of his heart. He counts every beat. He feels like a ghost.

“I wanted to stay,” Sabo says again. He hopes that someone’s listening.