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joemama-2 · 7 months ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: merry early christmas guys to those who celebrate 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Christmas is coming up soon. In about two-ish weeks, give or take. In this case, you’re giving. It’s December 14th, and the days are passing by too fast for your liking. You wish you had more time—to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily, with your rent being paid along with next month’s, that’s given you at least some sort of freedom.

You can thank your ex for that.

So, you’ve been saving for Koji, spending less on yourself. Not like you did much of that in the first place, but still. Again, guilt riddles your insides, insecurities plaguing your mind. Koji has never been a spoiled kid, having grown up quite frugally because of his equally frugal mother. Your tree, something you bargained for at the nearby spot in town that sells trees for the holiday season, is bottom of the barrel. Of course it is, you bargained for it. Sparse areas, branches way too thin and tiny, the height of the entire thing is just about as tall as you are. You keep your box of Christmas decorations so you never have to buy new ones each year. The lights you use are a warm yellow, with a few little bulbs dark because they burnt out. It wraps around your tree in a very messy way—Koji’s doing. A floppy white star placed at the very top of your tree, just barely holding on.

Little pieces of decorations hang from the frail branches: some snowflakes, red and blue balls (Koji said they looked like Spider-Man), and your most favorite one of them all that sits at the top: a picture of you and Koji from a photo booth two years ago. He was only three and you could still carry him then. Chubby cheekbones on display, a wide smile to match. You two are wearing Santa hats, head tilting into his with an equally ecstatic smile. You can’t look too long at it before you start getting emotional.

So mom of you.

Anywho, your point is that while the setup may look dull and even unattractive to most, you still find warmth in it. So does your little boy too. Although he doesn’t exactly know better, considering all you’ve ever had was skinny trees and years-old decorations, he doesn’t complain.

Of course, he does ask you sometimes about why the trees in the movies look different or why his friends have entirely decorated houses and you two don’t. You bottle it up to a simple, “Well, we’re not like other people, baby.”

He understands—most of the time.

Even so, he doesn’t show disrespect. As long as he spends time with you, getting even just three gifts, it’s all enough for him. So you feel guilty for not giving him the full Christmas experience a child should get, you feel insecure that other people are having the holiday season so much better than you are, and if you could, you’d do anything to ensure Koji has a real Christmas one time. At least once. It’s the least you can do as his mother, and it’s the least he deserves.

Because the holidays are meant for happiness, cheeriness, and family time. All things that feel very forced for you right now.

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

Your lips purse, hoping it resembles a smile. But Shoko always reads you easily, dissecting your emotions. “You too, how have you been?”

“As good as I can. Late nights, exhausted, seeing someone’s leg split in half. You know, the usual.”

A small chuckle falls from you, nodding in silence. “I’m glad you were able to do what you want. ER work, right?”

“Yep,” Shoko hums, leaning back against the bench, coffee in hand. “Though I did have a friend who helped me get through it all so quickly.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cheating.” She smirks behind the rim of her cup.

Your eyes roll, sighing as you mimic her posture. It feels odd seeing her again for the first time after so many years. You gathered the courage to text her number, feeling distraught and overwhelmed last night. Right after you sent the text asking her to meet up the next morning, you slightly regretted it. Does she think I’m weird? What if she says no? God, what is wrong with me?

Your doubts were proved wrong when she replied with a simple “See you”. Simplicity was always Shoko’s thing. Something that you almost envied from the woman. You wish you had composure like her. Of course, her life isn’t exactly simple considering she’s dealing with people with broken anything and blood all the time, but you can tell she thoroughly enjoys it. She finds pleasure in her job.

Again, this is something you’re also slightly envious of.

“So….” She finally says after a beat of silence, turning her head over at you. “I want to ask the obvious, but I think I’ll wait. I want to see how you’re doing first.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, peering down at your fiddling fingers. The words are a little hard to get out, and a little embarrassing too. You don’t really want to vent to her after years of no contact, but it’s hard not to. At this point, you’re like a broken dam. Spilling and spilling by the minute until you completely break down. “Things could be better. I just have a lot on my mind and what I’m dealing with.”

She nods in understanding. “Like the articles and stuff?”

You sigh heavily in exhaustion, raising two fingers to rub the space between your brows. “Yeah, that’s one of them. You seen ‘em?”

“Many people have.”

Of course. “I just don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal he has a son no one knew about? Are these kinds of ‘issues’ really that important to rich people like him? Like, c’mon. It’s not like he killed a man. He has a son but everyone’s treating and acting like this is horrendous and astounding news that we should be fearful of.”

Shoko tilts her head, her gaze steady but not intrusive. “Rich people thrive on spectacle, you know that. Every little thing becomes a headline, especially when someone like Gojo, Japan’s sexiest man alive of 2024, is involved. He’s a household name, Y/N.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You forgot the fact that he’s been given that title. The article popped up on your Google just yesterday, giving in and tapping on it. The first picture that greets you is a very intimate, black-and-white picture of Satoru shirtless, with unbelted pants. He wasn’t looking at the camera in that one, but the way his arms were raised, accentuating his biceps made you feel a tiny throb. The first of many from that photoshoot the article included. “But why does it have to be this? Why is it such a scandal that he has a kid? Like, what are they even expecting from us? An apology? A press conference where we swear to never let it happen again?”

Shoko’s smirk is faint but wry. “You think logic applies here? The higher the pedestal, the harsher the fall. Gojo’s not just rich—he’s Gojo. Untouchable, perfect, untamed. Add a secret kid to the mix, and it’s like handing tabloids their golden ticket.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “It’s so stupid. They’re acting like we’re some corrupt dynasty with skeletons bursting out of the closet. It’s not even a big deal!”

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, watching you with a calmness that somehow makes you feel seen. “It’s not a big deal to us, no. But to them? It’s betrayal, gossip, leverage—anything but what it really is. Just life.”

Her words settle in your chest, a grounding sort of clarity that you hadn’t realized you needed. You couldn’t—probably ever—understand the thought process of the elites of Japan. You’re a bit glad that you won’t. But in this situation, you just wish they would think like normal fucking people for one second. That’s hard to do when you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth and everything at your fingertips. You peer over at her, your lips pressing together as you process everything. “I just…I don’t want Koji dragged into this. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s one of the main reasons why I kept everything a secret in the first place. But now look at us, everything has just changed so…so fast. I’m not ready for it, neither is my son.”

She lets the quiet air linger for a moment, your venting finding placement. “No, he doesn’t deserve it,” Shoko agrees. Her tone is firm, an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And neither do you. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: let them dictate how this plays out, or take control of the narrative yourself.” Her words linger, the weight of them grounding and unsettling all at once. Taking control of the narrative sounds easy in theory, but the reality feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind threatening to knock you over.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

Shoko shrugs, but there’s an edge of reassurance in her expression. “True, but you’ve already been through worse. You’ve got more strength in you than you give yourself credit for. And if anyone can handle this mess, it’s you.”

Her confidence in you feels foreign but comforting. You nod slowly, gripping onto her words like a lifeline. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Anytime.” She raises her cup slightly in a mock toast, her smile small but sincere. A beat flows through, a comfortable silence. The two of you watch the snow cover the ground with its beauty, the sun barely peeking through the cloudy, muted sky. You can’t help but draw the parallel. The sun, peeking, but hidden behind the heavy clouds, yet still present—trying, despite the odds. That’s you, isn’t it? Not gone, not entirely defeated, but dulled. Struggling to shine through the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Shoko breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Quiet, too. Almost makes you forget the world’s still a mess.”

You nod, your gaze following the gentle swirl of snowflakes. “Yeah… It’s like everything’s paused for a moment. Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoes, leaning back in her seat. “Funny how something so fleeting can feel so permanent in the moment.” Her expression stirs something inside you—a quiet ache you’ve been trying to suppress. You glance at her, lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. She doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. Shoko’s always been good at giving space without making it feel like a void. Instead, she takes a long sip of her drink and says, “You know, snow’s a great equalizer. Covers up the mess, and makes everything look the same. Like the world gets a second chance. It’s the start of something new.”

Those words make you immediately remember Satoru’s. Snow’s the start of something new. That should be a good thing, right? You should be glad. However, how many more changes have to happen until something good comes your way? There’s only so much one can go through in such a short amount of time. But as Shoko said, you have more strength than you think. You’ve been through worse. And while that may be true, at this fleeting moment, that couldn’t be any further from the truth. It’s easy for her to say since she’s not actually living your life.

You haven’t exactly talked talked to Satoru yet about all this, about what he’ll say, what his parents will do. But they probably have good lawyers, right? Maybe they’ll put out a statement that any further harassment will be met with legal action. Or he’ll take pride in his son and show no regrets. You really don’t know. Your optimistic side wishes that Satoru will deal with this smoothly and how you want him to. But your pessimistic side says this will continue on until who knows how long. People randomly coming up to you, making remarks on social media, finding your job, finding your own social media accounts that you’ve had to take down.

Seriously, why the fuck do they care so much? Even after Shoko’s explanation, it’s still not enough for you. At the end of the day, we’re all human, we all do human things. Jesus Christ, you could never last a day in Satoru’s position. On constant public display and scrutiny, it’s exhausting and infuriating.

Satoru’s taken Koji off your hands for the while. It’s around four in the evening now. Although you were hesitant at first, he assured you he would do his absolute best to make sure nothing wrong happens and that he stays safe. And besides, it’s nice to have the place to yourself for a few hours. It’s confusing, because while at times you feel so defeatedly lonely, other times you welcome it with open arms.

But every parent probably feels like that, right? Praising the day they get even two hours to themselves, not worrying about making sure your child isn’t choking.

Anywho, you’ve taken the liberty to take a nice and warm refreshing bath. The heat does wonders to your skin, sighing wistfully and eyes closing in relaxation. The warmth envelops you like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension you didn’t realize had settled in your shoulders. It’s rare, these moments of solitude—where the only sound is the faint ripple of water as you shift slightly in the tub. You sink deeper, letting the heat seep into your muscles, as if the bath could wash away not just the stress of parenting but the heaviness of everything else weighing on you.

You tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, exhaling a deep sigh. It’s strange how quiet the apartment feels without Koji’s laughter or even Satoru’s voice filling the space. Strange, but not unwelcome. For once, there’s no background noise, no constant buzz of responsibility. Just you and the stillness. You almost wish you can share this stillness with someone else, but throw that thought out your mind fast.

Your fingers trail through the water absentmindedly, thoughts wandering. You wonder what Satoru and Koji are up to—probably indulging in some sugary snack you’d never approve of at this hour of the day because Koji’s sugar rushes just last so long. The image makes you smile faintly. Despite everything, Satoru’s been trying. And even if you don’t say it aloud, you notice. He’s been so good with him, the two are incredibly close and it’s like the past five years of absence never existed. You always knew Satoru was that type of man. He got along with kids well, children almost seemed to magically gravitate towards him. It’s…very attractive.

Once the bathwater starts to cool, you decide to reluctantly push yourself upright. Wrapping a towel around yourself. You pad into the bedroom, the cold air nipping at your damp skin. With Koji gone until probably around eight or nine, the silence settles over you once again. You glance at the clock on the nightstand—still hours to go before they return. You grab a soft blanket and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Nothing really holds your attention, but it feels nice just to sit, undisturbed. As you take a sip of tea, you can’t help but think: Maybe you should let yourself enjoy these moments more.

It’s hard, but you should probably make more of an effort to take care of yourself. If you’re out of it, you’ll be unfit to care for Koji. And that’s your biggest nightmare ever. You blankly watch whatever show is playing after turning the TV on, but your mind seems much more louder than the voices from the characters on screen. You wish you could just shut off the constant worry, stressing, and overthinking about pretty much everything in your life.

Before you know it, your feet are guiding you back up, leading you down the hallway and to your room. The closet is to your left, a single door with a small lightbulb overhead that weakly shines its light and illuminates the inside. Your clothes hung up, shoes on the floor. Some of Koji’s old toys lay next to your shoes, having meant to donate them but never getting around to it. You go down to your knees, moving further inside the small closet. Having to push a few jackets to the side for better visibility, moving your shoes out the way. Stuffed in the very corner of your closet lies a worn black box. When you pull it out from its hiding spot, the lightbulb makes visible faint letters that are threatening to peel away.

Cheap markers.

There’s little dribbles of flowers and smiley faces along the sides, a stick figure image of a boy and girl. The boy’s eyes are drawn with the brightest blue marker you both found out the time. It’s a little shitty representation, but the boy’s line for an arm is connected to the girl’s arm; holding hands.

OUR WORLD

Something you both agreed was cheesy, though you thought of it. He wrote it. You had the ideas, he made them come to life.

Your breath catches as you brush your fingers over the worn box. The faded decorations are a time capsule—a reflection of a simpler, yet complicated past. A mix of laughter, innocence, and heartbreak lingers on its surface, as if the box itself holds memories you’ve long since buried. You hesitate for a moment, thumb tracing over the stick figures. The blue-eyed boy. The girl with a faint red-lipped smile. The images were so carelessly drawn back then, yet they now carry an almost painful clarity. A reminder of what once was—and what could never quite be again. Sliding the top off the box, you’re immediately greeted by the faint scent of old paper and something else merely nostalgic. Photographs, letters, and random trinkets fill the space. A keychain, an old movie ticket stub, and at the very top, a small folded note with handwriting you recognize instantly.

"To my favorite person,

No matter where life takes us, remember this moment, okay? This one is ours."

His handwriting feels more impactful than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you unfold the note fully, memories flooding back with each word. Satoru had written this. Back when things were different—when the two of you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When promises felt unbreakable and the future seemed...possible.

You carefully place the note back into the box, your hands trembling slightly. There’s so much in this little box that you’ve avoided for years. So much of what you were, who you were, with him. And now, it feels like the box is staring back at you, asking the question you’ve avoided for so long.

What are you going to do with all of this?

Why have you kept this? After all the time? You remember telling yourself the day of your break up that you’d throw everything out—burn it all. But everytime you even touched it, you came to a brutal realization. You can’t. For some reason, you couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bring harm to this reminder of the lives you’ve lived and left behind.

You found comfort in the idea that one day in the future, you would be able to. But you also found comfort in the box itself. Oh how wrong you were. And that fact twists at your heart, your blood wringing out in the process. Leaving you with a dull and soulless shell. Staring down at the remnants, going through them—everytime. Maybe you haven’t ever had the strength to get rid of it, you wonder if you ever will.

Pictures of your younger self, of Satoru’s younger self smile up at you like they’re taunting you. As if the past can sense the future’s despair. They’re simple pictures, cute but simple. Just how you two wanted it. The quality isn’t that great, considering most of them were taken on shitty disposable cameras.

“Because it’s sustainable!” You argued when Satoru questioned the device when you first pulled it out. He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips upturning into a smile the second you readied the device for a photo.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Whoever came up with that phrase is a genius, but you also despise how much truth is held to that single sentence. Pain. Nostalgia. Longing. Happiness. Regret?

Flipping through the small pictures is like going through your very own time capsule. Each snapshot carries a story, a moment frozen in time that feels both distant and heartbreakingly close. The childish doodles lining the box seem to echo your younger self’s voice, innocent and untouched by the weight of reality. A photo catches your eye—a little blurry but unmistakably Satoru, grinning with his arms slung lazily over your shoulders. Your cheeks in the picture are flushed, and you can almost hear the laughter that must’ve been spilling from your lips when it was taken.

Then there’s another, of the two of you sitting under a sprawling tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His hand rests on yours, casual but intimate in a way that makes your chest ache now. You remember the warmth of that day, the way he’d joked about how your hair glowed in the light.

There’s a card, too, nestled beneath the pictures. The corners are slightly bent, but the words inside are still intact. His handwriting is unmistakable, bold and messy:

“To the girl who makes my world brighter every day. Don’t ever stop smiling—it’s my favorite thing about you. Love, Satoru.”

“Hah, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” You teased.

“Ugh, shut up.”

Your fingers trace over the ink, your breath halting. Time may have passed, and life may have twisted and turned, but this box feels like a portal to a version of you that still believed in endless possibilities. And yet, the ache in your chest doesn’t falter. Instead, it lingers, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you wish hadn’t.

The final picture is one that almost tears at you. A silly one that you would’ve never imagined would push at your heart like a heavy door stuck in the way of your own contentment. You’re kissing him, the side profile of your two faces as you indulge in each other's lips. Satoru’s free arm slightly out of frame since he’s the one holding the camera high. You both are holding your left hands up, showing off your Ring Pops on each of your ring fingers. His red, yours blue.

“Let’s pose like a couple who just got married!”

You sighed. “Satoru….”

Written on the white border frame of the photo are the words:

She said yes!!

A melancholic laugh escapes you, tears hitting the picture. It’s colors are already slightly altered from previous wetness. Your chest feels tight, eyes closing with a sinking stomach. Why do you always do this to yourself when you’re already feeling upset? Why are you still so affected by it? Will it get better with time? But how much more time?

You gasp and flinch when the front door is rung, eyes widening as you swiftly and messily put the contents back in, sliding the top back on and stuffing the box in its hiding spot once more. After closing the door, you walk down the hall and to the peephole. Your brows furrow. “Satoru?” You ask as you open the door. Confusion hits you, seeing your sleeping son in his father’s arms. Koji’s backpack slid on top of Satoru’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…dropping Koji off?” He replies back like it’s the obvious, his own pale eyebrows knitting as he regards you. “…Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Shit. “I’m not,” your hands raise to your cheeks, wiping any trace of your previous emotional breakdown, swiftly denying his words. “I thought you were coming back later.”

“It is later, Y/N.” He frowns and steps in, allowing you a better view of the dark night sky.

What the hell? Since when did it get dark? Slowly, you close and lock the door, blinking rapidly as you try to gather your bearings. Just how long were you on the couch for? How long were you reminiscing? Turning around, you see Satoru come out from Koji’s room.

“Put him down, showered and dressed him already. Little man played a lot today.”

“Oh,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say. You lean against the door for a moment, trying to regain your composure. Satoru’s words feel oddly domestic, almost like you’re living a life you’ve long since moved on from dreaming about—or tried to.

He sets Koji’s backpack down by the couch, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves as he glances your way. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softens now, genuine. Concerned.

You force a small smile, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. Just…lost track of time, I guess.”

Satoru studies you, his crystalline eyes searching your face like he doesn’t quite believe you. He shrugs lightly, though, not wanting to push. “Alright. Koji was great today. Took him to that park he keeps talking about. Got some ice cream. He wore me out.” His lips quirk into a small grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for doing that,” you say softly, glancing toward Koji’s room. “He loves spending time with you. He always talks to me about your guys’ missions.”

“Hah, yeah, well…” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, leaning his tall frame casually against the wall. “I love spending time with him, too. And you know, it’s not just for him.” His words are light, but there’s a weight behind them, one you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack tonight. You don’t know what he really means by that, but it’s probably best that you don’t. You’d look into it too much. And like he said, you’re already complicating things even more by almost kissing him the other day.

You nod, your throat tightening as you look anywhere but at him. “I should probably check on him. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

“Y/N.” His voice stops you in your tracks.

You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?” you ask, your voice smaller than you intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he sighs and steps closer. “If something’s bothering you…you can talk to me. You know that, right? You look like you’re crying and I—”

Your heart clenches, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “I know,” you manage to cut him off, your voice sharper than you had wanted it to be.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. Then, Satoru clears his throat and steps back. “Alright. Guess I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything.” You hum, watching as he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back at you one last time. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And you’re left alone again, the weight of the evening settling back over you like a familiar, unwelcome blanket. You want to scold yourself for losing track of time so easily, letting yourself get lost for such a long time. He probably thinks something’s wrong, and while you appreciate him being mature and overall cordial enough to offer his ear, you don’t want to give him that. It’s embarrassing and almost too vulnerable for you right now to vent to your ex.

You know that saying that the last thing or person you think about before you fall asleep is what you’ll dream of? He stares at the door, trying to will himself into stopping his train of thought, but the vision of you won’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe it’s the nagging scent of your clothes he can still smell, or maybe it’s the way you looked so raw, so unguarded. Maybe it’s the promise he made to himself years ago to never let you go, to never let you fall apart without him. Now look where he is.

Satoru’s mind is a whirlwind as he steps back into the cold, dark air of his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality he wasn’t quite ready for. He should’ve left things simple, right? Drop off Koji, make sure everything’s okay, and then go. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, had to reach for that sliver of connection that still seemed to remain between the two of you, even after all this time. Or maybe he’s not reaching, he’s just being a good person. Or maybe there is no sliver of connection at all.

He rubs his face with one hand as he walks down the hall, his thoughts staying on your expression, the tightness in your smile, the way you tried so hard to hide whatever was eating at you. Your red eyes that seemed glossy enough to tell him what you had been doing before he arrived. He should’ve pushed, should’ve stayed longer, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. Also, not to mention the fact that he’s not entitled to know anymore, and he shouldn’t want to. He wishes he could forget—wishes it wasn’t so easy for him to still care about you after everything you’ve put him through.

Still, his mind can’t stop replaying the way you looked tonight, like you were holding back—like you were on the edge of something he couldn’t reach. And now, that’s the last image he sees before closing his eyes: you, standing there, fragile but strong, trying to put on a brave face when he knew you were anything but okay.

He slides into his bed, sinking into the comforting mattress. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. Just go to sleep.

But it's useless. The thought of you doesn't leave him. It never does in times like this. But that's the thing, isn't it? He always cared. Always would. Any good man would

As the awaited sleep stretches on, his mind drifts back to those moments—the way you wiped your face quickly when he mentioned the tears. How you didn’t let him in. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this.

Before he knows it, he feels the weight of his own exhaustion, the pull of sleep starting to take over. He lets his eyes stay shut. Stretching out on the bed, his thoughts blurring into a fizzle. The room is quiet, too quiet. But just like that, he’s falling and falling into a realm where the weight of everything else disappears.

The first thing he sees startles him. It’s just you, standing in front of him again, your eyes locked with his.

You’re both staring at one another before it’s like someone slowly raising the light switches. Sun peeking through the blinds of the kitchen you two stand in as you place a hand down to your stomach. When his eyes follow it, he then notices the rounded swell that’s visible from beneath the dress you wear.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

You giggle, voice smooth and inviting, stepping closer to him until you can reach his hand, intertwining your fingers.

Yep, definitely a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

“I made you breakfast, your favorite.” You guide his hand to your bump, chuckling softly. “But baby here was getting hungry, so we may have gotten a little taste test before.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, his fingers instinctively brushing over your rounded stomach as you guide them there. The warmth of your skin under his touch feels real, too real, and his mind stumbles, trying to make sense of the situation. The room around you starts to feel like a glimpse into an alternative universe. Soft, golden light spilling in through the blinds, the smell of something warm and inviting persisting in the air. It’s almost too perfect, too serene to be real. And yet, he’s standing here, his breath caught in his throat as his fingers rest against the gentle curve of your belly. The weight of it, the life growing inside you, sends a quiet thrill through him.

You giggle, the sound of it so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s like nothing has changed. Like you’re the same as you’ve always been, only…this time, things are different. There’s a quiet tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. He swallows, trying to fight the growing confusion in his chest. “I—I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the small, soft swell of your stomach. He knows it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop his brain from wandering into beliefs of if it were. “How… how are we here?”

Your smile widens, that knowing glimmer in your eyes that makes his chest tighten with something he can’t name. “We’re here because this is where we belong,” you say simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You nudge his hand a little lower, guiding him to feel the tiny movement beneath his palm, the small shift of life inside you.

It’s then that the weight of the moment hits him all at once, his heart thumping in his chest. The quiet reality of what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, and everything that could’ve been. He’s overwhelmed, caught between longing and disbelief. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. “Is this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his chest, your fingers still entwined with his. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What we have always wanted. Stop acting weird.” Your words are a balm, soothing yet laced with something deeper, something that speaks to both of your hearts, even if this is fake.

In this moment, everything feels right. It feels like you’re back to where you both belong.

Satoru stays still for a moment, the warmth of your forehead pressed against him, your fingers gently intertwining with his. The softness of the moment seems to wrap around him, the image of you—here, with him—so perfect that it almost hurts. The softness of your touch, the way your body feels against his as you stand close, it’s like he’s been starved of this connection for so long. A quiet ache settles deep within him, but it’s not the hurt he’s used to. No, this is something else—something far more complicated.

He shifts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as you lift your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again,” he admits, his voice low and tentative. The vulnerability in his tone catches him off guard, but it feels natural, like you’ve always been the one person he could let his guard down with. “You and…us. Everything that’s happened.”

You hum softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. The smile on your lips is small but full of quiet understanding. “I know, Satoru,” you say, your voice steady, like you’ve been carrying this weight for far longer than he ever realized. “But this…” You glance down at your stomach before meeting his eyes again, “This is what we fought for. This is what we still have.”

He feels the truth of your words settle into him, but it’s a bittersweet sensation, one that pulls at something deep inside of him. It’s almost too good to be true, this version of reality, and he can’t help but wonder why his mind has conjured up this visualization—this perfect picture of you and him, together in a way he never thought possible.

“But what if we don’t get it right?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. “What if we’re too broken to fix it? We’ve made so many mistakes…”

You place a gentle finger against his lips, silencing him before he can spiral further. “We’ve always been broken, Satoru,” you say softly, “But we’ve always found our way back to each other. And that’s enough. Right?”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, sends a warmth through his chest. It’s a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again. His heart beats a little faster, a little steadier, as he finally lets go of the lingering doubts, the fear of what’s beyond this moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest. “I don’t know what’s next, but for now… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes soften, and for a moment, he sees it—the connection between you two, unbroken, unshakable. Even in the midst of everything that’s happened, the messy past and the uncertainty of the future, he realizes that some things are worth fighting for. “This is enough for me,” you whisper, closing the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but it carries everything—everything he’s been wanting to say, everything he’s been longing to hear.

And god, the way your pretty lips feel against his is heavenly. It’s strong and long-lasting. Hand to your cheek as his head tilts to deepen it, feeling your warm breath enter his mouth like a soft pull. He’s tempted to dance his tongue along your own.

As you pull away, he feels a quiet peace settle over him. The dream, though fleeting, has given him something he didn’t know he needed. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to each other for good.

But the atmosphere darkens, like putting a blanket over a lamp. Your own eyes dulling into something he saw before he left you tonight, something he’s been seeing everytime he visits you. Your smile dropping into a placid emotion. Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest, the warmth of the moment slipping away like sand between his fingers. The light around you seems to fade, the world losing its softness and vibrancy. A chill washes over him, creeping through his veins like ice water. Your smile, once so gentle and inviting, disappears into something far more distant, as if a part of you has shut down completely. The joy that had filled the air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that wraps itself around both of you. His eyes widen in confusion, and he takes a step back, searching your face for any hint of explanation. He feels the air shift into a freezing temperature.

"What—?" He stops himself, his words catching in his throat, trying to make sense of the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The way your hand falls to your side feels like a finality, as though the reality he had just witnessed—of you, of the hope in your eyes—was nothing more than a simple illusion.

The weight of the silence presses down on him, smothering. His gaze moves down, and that's when he realizes the baby bump has vanished. There’s nothing there. The roundness, the warmth, the promise of new life—gone. In its place, there's only the smooth curve of your stomach, flat and unchanged.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks on your name, disoriented and desperate for some kind of explanation. "What happened? What…what’s going on?"

But you don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him like you’ve seen a stranger, a shift in your eyes that only deepens the growing pit in his stomach. Your gaze is cold, distant, almost as if you've already resigned yourself to something. Satoru swallows hard, his hand instinctively reaching for you, but when his fingers brush against your arm, it feels like the connection is completely severed. "What’s wrong? Talk to me," he pleads, his voice raw and filled with confusion.

You take a slow, deliberate step back, the air between you two growing heavier. "Satoru," you say, but your voice sounds far too calm, far too final. "This is the reality, isn't it? This is what it always was—always will be. A dream. A fantasy."

His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, this isn’t a fantasy! We—we had a chance. You and me, and Koji…and the other…We were—" His throat tightens, unable to finish his sentence.

But you cut him off, the finality in your words sinking deep. "You left, Satoru. You just wanted us to end, didn’t you? It’s why you didn’t fight for me the day we broke up—fight for us. You made me make that promise. You left, and that’s what this is now. A memory. The past. Something we’ll never, ever get back.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, sharp and cutting. His chest tightens as he searches your face, willing for you to show him that this is just another moment in the dream—that the warmth would come back, that the hope would return. But your eyes are cold. The distance between you feels insurmountable.

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue, to fix whatever it is that's wrong—but nothing comes out. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix this. Not anymore. Not when everything between you feels so broken, like fragments of a life he no longer knows how to put together.

And just like that, the warmth of the dream fades completely, leaving him in the cold, dark reality of what’s been lost.

“I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father.”

Satoru startles awake, jolting upright in his bed. He feels like he’s just been splashed with ice cold water, in a way, he has. Raising his hands to his temples, face scrunching in discomfort. He’s breathing fast and hard, heart feeling like it’ll just pop right out. His hands trembling.

The sounds of birds tweeting a song is what he hears next. The morning light filters softly through the curtains, but it feels blinding to him, harsh against the remnants of the nightmare. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shallow and frantic, his heart still racing as he fights to steady himself. The words you spoke echo in his mind, sharp and cutting. I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father. The pain in those words, the hurt, is still so vivid in his memory.

Satoru places his hands on the sides of his face, trying to ground himself. His fingers dig into his skin, as if the physical pressure could somehow push away the remnants of the dream, make it vanish. But it lingers. It hangs heavy in the air, suffocating him. Why did you say that? Why did you feel that way? Do you actually feel that way in real life? Are you planning to take Koji and run away with him again? Did you seriously regret having a child with him?

He inhales deeply, his breath shaky, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The sound of birds chirping in the distance serves as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of his turmoil, but it only makes him feel more disconnected. He pushes the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. His mind races, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. That dream—it wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like a warning, a reminder of how fragile everything has been, how much he’s lost. How much he’s failed.

The promise.

The weight of what’s happened between you two settles heavily on his shoulders. And it makes him feel cautious—scared that you’ll do what you said you wouldn’t, all over again.

Satoru stands, his body still trembling slightly, and walks toward the window. He peers outside, letting the light touch his face, even if it’s almost too bright for him right now. It’s peaceful outside, the world as it always is in the morning: calm, serene, untouched. But his own mind is a storm, and no amount of sunlight seems to clear the clouds. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, the guilt gnawing at him. The idea of you saying that you wished you’d kept Koji from him—the thought cuts deeper than he’s willing to admit. What does that mean for the future?

What does it mean for him?

Satoru feels his heart aching with the need to fix things, to understand if you actually feel that way. But he's left in the quiet chaos of his own mind, unsure of where to begin. And that's the worst part: not knowing where to start.

Whatever, it was just a dream. Dreams aren’t real. Don’t think too much into it.

A text message pings, causing him to look over. The sight of your name forms a twisting feeling to reside in his core, frowning. It’s like when you dream about your significant other cheating on you, so the next morning you’re a little mad at them for no reason. But this time, he’s not sure if it’s for no reason.

Maybe you actually feel like this, feeling regret for not keeping Koji from him any longer. You’ve obviously shown to be good at keeping secrets, so who’s to say you’re not still doing that. He grabs his phone, clicking on your message and pushing down the resentment that continues to bloom once more.

Y/N:

Hey, have u had any luck with the leaker?

Satoru sighs heavily, eyes closing momentarily before opening them back up and typing you back. He can’t help the shortness in his response.

Satoru:

Y/N:

Pls let me know of any changes

He doesn’t bother replying, tossing his phone on his bed and getting up and ready for the day. Of course the thought of the identity of who leaked the photo has been running rampant in his mind day in and day out. But he just woke up from a particularly scary nightmare—or a message?—and he doesn’t need his mind overwhelmed anymore than it is right now.

As he goes through his morning routine, Satoru can’t shake the consistent unease. The nightmare, your text, and the weight of everything that’s been happening swirl in his mind like a storm he can’t escape. He brushes his teeth with more force than necessary, gripping the sink as the toothpaste foam spills over his lips. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pale blue eyes duller than usual, rimmed with exhaustion.

He can’t stop wondering—what if there’s truth to his nightmare? What if you do regret letting him into Koji’s life? The thought gnaws at him, a relentless ache in his chest.

The leak complicates things even further. Someone out there—someone close enough to know—exposed him and Koji to the world. The conversation with his mother plays again internally. Someone close or possibly a business partner. But what if she’s wrong? What if it’s someone who’s not close, but still smart enough? And while it’s caused a media frenzy, he knows the real damage is more personal. It’s the wedge it’s driving between him and you. The accusations, the whispers, the uncertainty—it’s all feeding into the growing gap he’s been struggling to bridge.

He pulls on a shirt, his movements jerky as his frustration builds. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for days either, his mind consumed by the mystery of the leak and the uneasy tension between you two. It’s not like you’re outright hostile, but there’s something there—something distant, guarded. And now, after the dream, he can’t stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in his head.

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense—calculating. Out of the four people situated inside, none speak. Just looking at one another in silent scrutiny. Yamato and Akane are sitting side by side, seated across from them are another married couple.

Kenji and Emi Nakamura.

Kenji and Emi Nakamura exude the quiet confidence of people used to wielding power. Kenji’s sharp suit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight and commanding, while Emi, poised in a sleek dress, sits with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Despite their calm appearances, their sharp gazes and the slight twitch of Kenji’s jaw betray their impatience.

Yamato leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes cold and unwavering as they meet Kenji’s. Akane, seated next to him, is the picture of composed elegance, but the slight tap of her heel against the floor reveals her tension. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Kenji speaks, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled irritation.

“So,” he begins, his piercing eyes flickering between Yamato and Akane. “Are we going to dance around the issue all day, or will one of you have the decency to explain how this... mess...got out and why the man who’s dating our daughter suddenly has a secret son?”

Yamato doesn’t flinch. He lets the accusation hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured. “We don’t deal in leaks, Kenji. And we certainly wouldn’t jeopardize our own family’s reputation for... what? A scandal? That’s more your style.”

Kenji’s expression hardens, and Emi places a delicate hand on his arm, a subtle but firm reminder to keep his temper in check. She smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a blame game. We’re all here because this leak affects all of us—your family, ours, Satoru’s and Himari’s.”

Akane’s lips twitch into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t patronize us, Emi. You and I both know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You’ve always wanted to see Satoru fall from grace.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her smile unfaltering. “I want what’s best for our families, Akane. A public scandal doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all Gojo or the Nakamura name. Besides, our daughter quite loves your son.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Let’s cut the theatrics. Who is responsible?”

Akane’s heel stops tapping, and she fixes Kenji with a sharp look. “We’re working on it. Our investigators are thorough, and they’ll uncover the source soon enough.”

Kenji’s eyes narrow. “They’d better. Because the last thing the Nakamura name needs is a public scandal about a conniving young man and our innocent daughter. She’s already receiving enough scrutiny as it is.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, but Yamato remains unmoved. His voice, low and steady, cuts through the silence. “And if we discover the leak came from your side, Kenji? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?” The two men lock eyes, a silent battle of wills, while their wives sit in their respective corners, poised like chess queens ready to strike. The room may be quiet, but the unspoken threats linger in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“We’d never do something like this, especially if it affects our daughter.” Emi replies firmly. She tilts her chin up slightly, an air of indignation radiating from her as her perfectly manicured hand rests on her husband’s arm. “You should know better than to accuse us of such underhanded behavior, Yamato.”

Yamato’s wife leans forward slightly, her tone equally sharp. “And you should know better than to express such hostility towards us. Tenka Couture benefits more from Gojo Group than vice versa.”

Emi’s smile tightens, her composure threatening to crack. “Why, of course. We’re just saying, Himari has nothing to gain from this mess. If anything, she’s a victim of it. The constant media scrutiny, the endless whispers. How do you think that’s been affecting her?”

Kenji slams his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough. This isn’t about Himari. This is about finding the truth. If your investigators are as thorough as you claim, then we’d better find answers—and soon.”

Yamato meets Kenji’s glare with a calm intensity. “Rest assured, we will. But until then, I suggest you keep your own people in check. If we find out this was an attempt to sabotage Satoru—or worse, hurt him—there will be consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Kenji leans back, his jaw tight, as Emi places another calming hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want this to escalate any further,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “For everyone’s sake, let’s handle this with discretion.”

Akane glances at Yamato, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “We agree. But let’s make one thing clear—if the Nakamuras are involved in any way, there will be no forgiveness. Not from us, and not from Satoru.”

Kenji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, we understand. But again, we are in no way involved with this leak. With the revelation of this…boy, it messes up everything. Himari and Satoru are a couple. They’re supposed to represent unity between our families and companies, a partnership that benefits both sides. This child complicates that narrative. It puts everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, his sharp gaze cutting through Kenji’s words. “We understand, yes. But at the end of the day, Satoru is our son, this boy is…well he’s a part of our family now. Your concern seems to be more about appearances than the actual implications for Satoru’s life or the boy’s well-being, but I understand that. My wife and I too are concerned with the way this sudden news could somehow stain our reputation.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his expression taut. “Appearances are everything in this world, Yamato. You know that. If this story continues to spread, the consequences won’t just affect Satoru or Himari—they’ll ripple through both of our families. Investors, business partners, the media—they all thrive on scandal, and we can’t afford to give them fuel. They’ll begin to wonder what else we’re keeping a secret.”

“Himari and Satoru’s relationship isn’t as stable as you think it is,” Akane counters, her tone measured but resolute. “This revelation didn’t create the cracks; it only exposed them. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter accept that.”

Emi bristles at Akane’s insinuation, her voice cold but precise. “You underestimate my daughter’s strength. Himari has always handled challenges with grace. She and Satoru will navigate this together—if you and your family stop meddling.”

Yamato cuts in, his expression calm. “Let’s not pretend this is solely about Satoru and Himari. The Nakamuras have as much to lose as we do. But let me remind you, Kenji, that this child—Koji—isn’t just a complication. He’s Satoru’s son, and that makes him family. As the adults in this situation, we also hold a certain level of accountability as for keeping this child away from public eye.”

Kenji’s jaw tightens, his composure threatening to crack. “Family or not, this boy’s existence jeopardizes everything. Himari has been nothing but supportive of Satoru, and she doesn’t deserve to be overshadowed by a damned secret from his past.”

Akane’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Supportive, or opportunistic? Don’t confuse loyalty with convenience. If Himari truly cared for Satoru, she’d understand that his son isn’t just a ‘secret’—he’s part of who he is now.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Akane’s words lingering. Kenji finally stands, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how this plays out. But if you think we’ll let the Nakamura name be tarnished by this… situation, you’re mistaken.”

Yamato rises as well, his eyes locking with Kenji’s in an unspoken challenge. “And if you think we’ll allow anyone—anyone—to undermine Satoru or the Gojo legacy, you’re equally mistaken. The truth will come out, Kenji. Be prepared for it.”

With that, the couple turns and leave, their exit leaving the Gojos in a cloud of tension and unease. Akane finally speaks, her voice low but firm. “Remind me again why we are pushing through with this arrangement. The Gojo Group hardly needs Tenka Couture. We’re more than capable of standing on our own.”

Yamato exhales, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not about needing them, Akane. It’s about the influence. The Nakamuras have deep connections in sectors we’ve been trying to expand into—fashion, entertainment, international markets. Aligning with them strengthens our position globally. We settled this years ago, okay?”

Akane crosses her arms, her expression skeptical. “At what cost? Their arrogance alone is enough to make me question this. And let’s not even get started on Himari. She might be poised on the outside, but she lacks the fortitude to handle Satoru’s world. She clings to the spotlight, but she’s not ready for the shadows.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens. “You’re not wrong, but this arrangement was never meant to hinge on her ability to ‘handle’ Satoru. It’s a strategic move, not a personal one. I thought you understood that.”

“Strategic?” Akane’s voice rises slightly, her composed exterior slipping. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just a business deal anymore. There’s a child involved now—your grandson. And yet, we’re expected to sideline him for the sake of appearances?”

Yamato’s gaze hardens, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his typically stoic demeanor. “The boy is not being sidelined. But if this situation spirals out of control, it won’t just be Satoru’s name dragged through the mud—it’ll be Koji’s, too. I’m trying to protect all of them. As much as I dislike this situation and as much as I do not care for getting to know this boy, at the end of the day he’s connected to us.”

Akane steps closer, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “And how do you expect to protect Koji by tying Satoru to someone who doesn’t have the heart to care for him? Because that’s what you’re doing, Yamato. You’re forcing a partnership that benefits no one but the Nakamuras. I’ve told you this from the start that it won’t do us good. There are plenty of other people we can contact that won’t involve forcing our son into an arranged marriage.”

For a moment, Yamato doesn’t respond. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “This isn’t about what’s ideal, Akane. It’s about what’s necessary. And until we find another way to stabilize this situation, the arrangement stands.”

Akane shakes her head, turning away. “Necessary, huh? Tell me, Yamato—when did we start sacrificing our son for necessity?”

Her words hover in the air as she walks out of the room, leaving Yamato standing alone, the tension thick and suffocating. He glances out the window, the city lights reflecting in his cold blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he murmurs to himself, “family is the sacrifice.”

Kenji and Emi sit in the back of the blacked out Escalade. One visibly more angry than the other. The assistant up front hands Kenji an IPad. “Here, sir.”

Kenji takes it without a word, scrolling. On the screen, a plethora of all the personal information regarding the woman who caused all this.

You.

Kenji’s grip tightens on the iPad as his sharp eyes scan the screen, each line of information making his jaw clench harder. Birthdate, address, financial records, employment history—it’s all there. How pathetic. Every detail meticulously laid out like a blueprint of your life. Beside him, Emi glances over, her expression less angered and more calculating.

“So,” she finally says, her tone icy and deliberate. “This is her.”

Kenji doesn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the screen. An ID picture accompanied the words. The photo of you, Satoru, and Koji catches his attention, and his lips press into a thin line. The leaked photo. “The audacity,” he mutters. “She hides this little punk tyke for years, and now she’s a problem we’re forced to deal with. They both are.”

Emi tilts her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against her armrest. “She doesn’t look like much. Hardly someone who should be causing this much of a stir. But appearances can be deceiving.” Her lips curl into a faint sneer. “Especially for women like her.”

“She’s more than just a stir. She’s a maddening, infuriating liability with baggage from hell,” Kenji snaps, handing the iPad back to his assistant with a flick of his wrist. “The kind that could ruin everything if we’re not careful because they themselves have nothing to lose.”

The assistant clears his throat nervously from the front seat. “Sir, should I proceed with the next steps?”

Kenji leans back in his seat, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Not yet. I want to understand her first. How she operates. What she values. Everyone has a weakness. Once we find hers, we’ll decide the next course of action. Though, I assume it’s the ragged infant.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her tone almost teasing. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”

Kenji’s gaze flickers to his wife, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t we?”

The tension in the car is palpable, the low hum of the engine the only sound as they drive through the city. Emi’s lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain cold. “She won’t win, Kenji. Not against us. Not against our sweet baby girl.”

“She won’t even get the chance,” Kenji replies, his voice hard and certain. “We’ll make sure of it.”

a/n: this is my present to u all!!!! happy holidays! ❤️❤️

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car-o-line · 3 months ago

Note

HIII OH MY GOSH THANK YOU FOR TAKING MY REQUEST!!!! i was wondering if you could do a scenario where reader was harley sawyers kid and came back to the factory in there teens and have an awkard reunion with there dad (You dont have to do this but if you do take you're time also sorry for asking twice i thought i forgot to add teen in there but if i didnt just ignore this)

I legit think the doctor should go die like again tbh🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩❤️❤️❤️❤️⁉️😍😍

Doctor Sawyer who reunites with his kid

Okay well don’t you just have the funniest family history!!

What happened was, when Sawyer found out he got his gf/wife pregnant(or jst a random lady idk😭) he was very mixed about it. Yes, he had thoughts about being an actual father, he knew he couldn’t help raise a child..in an orphanage WHERE THEY TURN THEM INTO TOY MASCOTS MIGHT I ADD?

So he was saying this in the kindest way possible, he was like

“No thank you.”

And she was like,

“Okay you ############, you’ll never see your child ever again then.”

And then she broke up or divorced him and took you into her custody, raising you as a single mother.

As you grew older you obviously wanted to know more about your father, but all she’d say was that he was a deadbeat and chose his job over his family. Which, you could understand her frustration but in reality, you wanted to know more than what he did wrong. What was his job? What’d he do that was so important? Was he a cat or dog person?

So once you were in your rebellion era/chapter/point in time(teenage years) you decided to dig deeper into the whole situation and go through everything your mother had owned to see if you could find any clues about him.

A few pictures of him and your mother were all you found but one photo had something you couldn’t miss.

It was him in a scientist coat with a name tag that said “Harley Sawyer, scientist of Playco.” Playco? Like where Huggy Wuggy came from, where Poppy Playtime came from? He worked there?

Honestly you’re kinda like a horror movie protagonist because the next thing you had planned was to go to Playco.

“20 bucks you won’t do it.”

“Bet.”

Boom. Now you’re at Playco, and searching for your dad. You eventually heard about the rumors of what happened to all the missing employees there but you couldn’t care less, all you wanted to know was how your father was. Or to know if he “died” with those employees or not.

And that’s where the start of Chapter one begins<3

Everything was normal(well as the chapters go), you “killed” Huggy Wuggy, you killed Mommy Longlegs, Catnap, Miss Delight, then you meet Doey. You think he talks and babies you way too much. “But you’re still just a child.” Plz shut up bro-

Then returning back with Poppy, she and Doey talked about the doctor, and they mention the name Harley Sawyer. They want him dead. And they want you to kill him, obviously you said you wouldn’t do that. Because you’re just the sweetest lil son/daughter ever<3

“Why not?”

😐

It’s not like you’re about to tell them that he’s your FATHER. They’d probably would also not like to know that also but anywho. You decided to not let your pride down and reluctantly agreed to kill the Doctor.

So much for being the sweetest ever.

But oddly enough, you’ve actually haven’t seen the Doctor or talked with him yet, only his minions Baba and Yarnaby.

Walking down the hall you used your Grabpack to open the door, you walked through it and suddenly felt something grab you. It was a robot figure with their head as a TV and it grabbed the back of your shirt, holding you so you had to face the voice that was speaking to you.

“Out of all the beings in this world it had to be you that has ruined these creations. My very own child.”

“Huh..?”

“You’ve grown so much from last I saw you, which, was when you were a mere baby. Yet I can’t help but feel angered by your presence here.”

“You're her husband? You’re going to kill me?”

“I would if it was any other child scurrying around this facility like a rat. I have no shame. Yet, I’ll let your mother do that herself. She’s treating you well, yes?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, now leave. Do not come back, and leave Poppy and Doey behind you in your life. Pretend this was all a dream. Goodbye Y/n.”

The last thing you saw was the robot throwing you out into the hall and the door slamming shut, that was awfully awkward. You smacked your head in realization to everything, how he openly admitted that you were his child. And how you couldn’t think of anything meaningful to say.

But should you listen to him?

Literally hope this isn’t dog water, readers just an insecure teenager fr

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readerstories · 3 months ago

Note

what about nr 3 on the list with deadpool & wolverine? with who is up to u

Okay so this got away from me a bit lol, but anywho, here's some Poolverine x gn! reader :D Drabble requests with the latest reblogged prompt list open until the end of the weekend!

Prompt: 3) “How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?”

Warnings/tags: established relationship, pre-relationship, polyamory

Wordount: 815

Logan is still not quite used to being around a lot of people without it being a bad thing, but Wade's friends (and by now, his) filling the apartment are kinda nice. He most likely will get overstimulated at some point, but for now he's relaxing on the couch, beer in one hand, the other arm thrown over the back.

“How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?” Is the first thing Wade asks when he flings himself down onto the couch next to Logan, and bullies his way into his side. Logan grunts, arm moving from the back of the couch to curl over Wade's shoulders.

"Not that I don't think you are enough, but I think it would be really hot to have some more filling in this sandwich! Or for me to be the filling between two hot bods! Or you between one hot bod and one half-rotten bod." Logan growls at the insult Wade hurls at himself, but that's something to take up and argue about later, not right in the middle of all their friends. Which by the way, Logan is happy none of them have enhanced hearing (that he knows of), because of course Wade had chosen a chaotic moment to bring this new topic up.

"Who?" He's not unfamiliar with polygamy at all, it can be a lot of fun, but he's picky (he can allow himself to be that now, in this universe).

"I'm not going to point, so look over towards the snack table, but try to be subtle even if that isn't your strong suit, my little brute." Logan looks around the room, pretending he's just letting his eyes wander, before they settle at the two people standing and chatting over there.

"Dopinder?" Wade groans, hitting his head against Logan's shoulder.

"Yes, Dopinder, straight as an arrow Dopinder, who is disgustingly in love with a woman. No! The actual cutie chatting to him, you fool!" He figured Wade meant you, but fucking with Wade is fun, even in small ways. He lets his eyes wander all over you. You are indeed cute, but also hot. The clothes you are wearing look comfy, but also good, like you put effort in even if you were only seeing friends that no doubt have seen you in worse.

You catch him staring, his gaze almost like a physical weight. You give him a little smile and wave before turning back to Dopinder. You shake your head with a smile at something he says, Logan wonders what about.

"I can hear your gears turning in that not so little head of yours." Logan turns to Wade, who's watching him with big and eager eyes. It would be a lie to say he hadn't looked before. He had looked since he first saw you at the first party Wade did after Logan moved in.

Well, it wasn't the first time he had seen you, but he was a little preoccupied to notice how good you looked when you were crammed into the polaroid that Wade had waved like a shield in the Honda.

He had never planned at doing more than looking, happy with having just Wade, but since the man is offering…..

"Yeah." Wade grins at him, leaning forward to plant a wet, but quick kiss on his mouth.

"Fucking knew it. Their charm is irresistible." Wade glances over to you, clearly checking you out while Logan checks him out, squeezing his shoulders.

"How are we doing this?" Logan asks, drawing Wade’s attention back to him.

"Well, I think you should get up and get over there, work your irresistible charm. Conveniently, you need a new drink." Logan looks at his still half full beer, but before he can say anything, Wade snatches his drink and downs it in one go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and it's through sheer will that Logan's thoughts and blood doesn't go straight south.

"Now up and at 'em' tough stuff." Wade pats his cheek, Logan snaps after his fingers, but gets up. "And be a dear and grab me some snacks. Some actual ones, not just the one we are trying to get into the pants off.” Logan rolls his eyes, starting to walk over to the snack table where Dopinder is showing you something on his phone now. Your mouth is full of food, so you cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes connecting with Logan's over the edge of your hand.

Logan hopes this goes well, he's rusty flirting with anyone else but Wade (he doesn't think the threat of stabbing you would go over well). But he doesn't worry too much as you keep looking at him as he approaches, and then draw him into the conversation as he nears.

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that-student-that-has-homework · 7 months ago

Text

Pulse - Portgas D. Ace

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

CW: trauma, mentions of death, and slightly suggestive teasing, kinda proofread? I got tired :/ | wc: 15,671 🫠 SPOILERS: Amazon Lily / Marineford / Post Marineford Y'all can thank @captainportgasdace for this. as agreed upon previously, @silentgravesdontexist you're tagged for this piece MasterList (linked at bottom too) Dividers from here

There had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

It wasn’t always apparent, but it was there, lurking, much like the many sea kings of the Calm Belt. The Calm Belt…you huffed a little, you could liken Ace to that stretch of sea - so much lurking beneath the surface.

If you looked at him hard enough you’d be able to see the large shadows swimming not too far away. Though today, or rather, following the first anniversary of his very close call with death, the summit war, you couldn’t help but feel those shadows had migrated closer to the surface. Large, dark, intimidating - moments from attacking.

That needn’t be a bad thing. Maybe you could finally take them down. Maybe he’d even let you help.

Or so you hoped.

No mind. You had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You studied your dear friend from afar, starting from his head - his hair had grown longer over the course of the year or so he’d been recuperating for. A trim was in order - if only to remove the bottoms and promote healthy hair growth. Regardless of your skill with scissors, he’d probably let you trim it for him if you asked him to. Anywho, he sat cross-legged on the sand, his shoulders hunched slightly forward as he hugged his knees. Your eyes were immediately pulled down to the marred skin of his back.

Where his back was once crowned with the mark of the strongest man on the seas, there was now an empty patch of scarred skin: a testament to the void left by the loss of a father. It was still the same back though. The same back that had stood between you and adversaries unthinkingly: raising both morale and wrapping you in security. It was the same back, just…missing a little something.

You couldn’t help the way the sand crunched under your feet, still you tried your best not to disturb his reverie. He did little more than glance over to confirm you weren’t a threat, before silently turning his gaze back to the sea that he would no doubt be taking to soon enough. He would be much like a child returning to the embrace of his parents in a sense…as he was “a child of the sea.”

There really had always been a somewhat wistful quality to Ace.

You had to tear your eyes away from him. Quite the feat when the sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow upon your friend - who was already beautiful enough under the dingy lights of pirate ship cabins, let alone during this golden hour. You knew well enough that you’d give yourself away if you kept staring at him. While it wasn’t wise to wait, you also knew that confessing to a person in the midst of grief was insensitive. And, you had patience to spare. Especially when it involved your loved ones.

You instead took a moment to trace his line of sight, attempting to follow it with your own gaze. You soon took a seat beside him, sitting cross-legged much like he was, only that you opted to hold your hands within your lap, rather than hug your knees.

It had been a while since you’d both come to this island after all that had happened. While walks on the beach were regular, and you did leave the house, it had been a while since you’d really taken the time to admire the vastness of the water. It had been a while since you’d really focused on the way the breeze felt as it tousled your hair tenderly. It had been a while since you’d really dug your feet into the sand and enjoyed the little poking sensations of the sand under your toes.

“Y’think I can get my back tattooed again?”

You blinked yourself back from your thoughts, turning to look at the man to your side, his brows furrowed as he continued to look out to the sea. In the time it took you to process his question and consider how to respond, he’d already found his answer: “I can’t, can I?”

“I think it would be better not to,” you agreed nodding slowly, “were you considering getting another back tattoo?”

His grip on his arms tightened as he hugged himself tighter, gaze finally moving away from the sea, falling onto the sand instead, taking your heart with it. You leaned back to study his back once again, contemplating.

“There’s always your lower back,” you rocked forward to try and capture his attention, “or your butt.”

The incredulous look he gave you had your eyes crinkling in mirth. Though you did find yourself looking away soon enough, your embarrassment catching up to you. It went down a little bit-kind of…when you heard him give a quiet, but amused chuckle, “nah my butt won’t work!”

You glanced his way, and the instant that he recognized you were looking at him, he continued, “unless you’re suggesting I go around with my ass cheeks out.”

“Ace!” You groaned, your hands immediately going to cover your face, your whole body hunching forward in embarrassment as he erupted into boisterous laughter.

After a moment, and through the scalding heat of your cheeks, you asked, “would you wear a shirt to compensate for having your bottom half exposed?”

When you heard him hum, you braved a peek through your fingers to see his brows raised into a thoughtful expression, brown eyes reflecting the warm pinks and oranges of the sunset. You looked away the moment his eyes met yours, cheeks burning yet again.

“Y’know what?” You looked up again, and he grinned, teeth glistening in the light as he answered you. “Nope! I wouldn’t.”

When you hid your face all over again, you were entreated to even more of his beloved hearty laughter. You could feel the way his shoulders shook beside you, despite not being in contact. Your pride battled against your satisfaction trying to force you to be upset even though you’d invited this kind of teasing, and enjoyed the effect it was having on him.

Though laughter right now was mostly just an anesthesia: it numbs things, but doesn’t really address the cause.

When his laughter died down, he let out a long breath, “I remember pops had it on his back.”

You turned to look at him again, he was more relaxed now, one arm resting on a bent knee, the other behind him as a support with his other leg stretched out in front of him. Looking down at his chest, he placed a hand on it, “guess my chest wouldn’t be a good idea either.”

At his suggestion you found yourself staring at the terrifying mark marring his front. You gulped, seeing the crimson of the past. The crimson that had finally become a warm peach. A warm peach that rose and fell rhythmically with the breaths he took. A closed, covered, mostly healed warm peach.

“Hey! Hey! Breathe!” He poked at you.

You shook your head, blinked violently, and took in a deep gulp of air. Snapping your eyes to his face you were treated to his raised brow and remorsefully awkward grin. You pursed your lips petulantly. Looking away you answered, “I think we should avoid,” you paused, “tender areas.”

“Tender, huh?” He looked back at the great blue.

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you let it slip out as you too looked out at the sea.

He chuckled humorlessly, “you say that a lot.”

“It’s because I am,” you stood firmly by your opinion.

“I must’ve given you a real scare,” you hated how guilty he sounded.

“Marco told you, didn’t he?” You mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, he told me you wouldn’t stop crying unless you fell asleep,” he huffed out, “something about you not eating well either too.”

“I’m so grateful you’re still here,” you reiterated, looking at him, taking him in.

“You already said that,” he raised a brow at you, a corner of his lips upturning slightly.

“Just let me count my blessings Ace,” you rested your head on your knees.

He didn’t respond, but you could hear him shift a bit beside you. Turning your head you saw that wistful quality of his resurface on his face, the pretty features relaxing once again. You pondered on what he’d said…

“Hey Ace,” you raised your head and he turned to look at you, “what if you got it tattooed on your pulse?”

“Huh?”

You raised your arm up to reveal your wrist, pointing to the area you mentioned, “it’s one of the places you can check for a heartbeat.”

He stared at you, the gears in his head turning, “it’s a little less obvious than your back, and much smaller,” you continued, “but it’s still readily visible,” you looked down, “and it’s got something to do with the heart too.”

He was in your space immediately, “that’s a great idea!” You looked up at him, his eyes glimmering pools of molten chocolate. “You’re so smart! Thanks!”

“Happy to help,” you smiled back at him, and he pulled back a little, staring at you for a moment too long - ah, “what’re you thinking about?”

Much like you had earlier, the pirate blinked himself back to attention with a shake of his head. He looked away for a moment, scratching at the back of his head, a sheepish smile taking his features as his eyes flickered back to you, “‘s nothin’.”

“Fair enough,” you shrugged, “I’ll help you find a tattoo artist and get the design down if you’d like.”

“You would?” He lit up some more, sparks of his old vigor reigniting.

“Of course.”

-_-

It hadn’t taken more than a week or two to find a tattoo artist on the island. There were a couple and Ace found himself liking the older lady artist more, so you went on over to her with Whitebeard’s jolly roger proudly etched on a paper. The fiery man had burst into full-bodied laughter at the offended scolding she’d given the two of you: of course she knew Whitebeard’s jolly roger! The…late…Emperor had come and established a sort of peace over their quaint little island a decade ago or so, even going so far as to chase off some thugs from her little shop.

The former division commander was grinning from ear to ear when the artist sang his father’s praises. She did not withhold any of her opinions about how manly and handsome he appeared to her either. There was a small prickling in the back of your eyes, but you managed to keep it together, especially as a warm hand came to rest its weight between your shoulder blades. Turning to Ace, you were greeted with an equally warm grin as he excitedly told you he had a great feeling about this lady.

Oh! And that you did an amazing job finding her, “leave it to you to find such great people!” He beamed.

“I’m so grateful I found you too,” you stressed, returning his grin with a smile of your own.

Your delightful buddy froze momentarily before coming back to his senses, “thank you.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Not just for finding the lady.”

“No thanks needed.”

“Though if I remember things,” he thought aloud, “didn’t I find you?”

You rolled your eyes, “oh no, a very good person found me.”

He chuckled lightly at your sarcastic tone, before your attention was required by the tattoo artist.

She did a truly spectacular job with the tattoo, and even provided the ointment he’d need to help promote faster healing. Over the course of tattooing the young man she seemed to realize you’d probably remember the aftercare instructions better than he would.

She wasn’t wrong about that.

Ace felt like his tattoo was mostly healed by the end of the following month. The old lady had mentioned that given the location, it would take a while to heal fully though, so…You were the one worrying most days. Especially as Ace began to make the necessary preparations to embark back out on the seas again - he was healed enough for it, per the instructions and information Marco had left you with.

It was a great deal of fun though, working on building your small ship together, you were just constantly worried he’d scrape himself and get the tattoo infected or something. He often shrugged it off, reminding you that he was made of fire after all, and could avoid scratches.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “you’re hot in the literal sense.”

He burst out laughing again. He did seem significantly more lively these days. Especially following the tattoo. Though you weren’t sure if he’d slain some of the beasts within, or if the shadows had simply chosen to recede from the surface.

You got a glimpse of the answer one night as the two of you sat in front of the fire he’d started up, staring at the tattoo on his wrist while waiting for the fish and veggies you’d caught and scavenged earlier to cook. Your dear friend’s wistful quality resurfaced from the unfathomable depths that made him up, though with a tinge of nostalgia this time. There was a very small, very deeply fond, uplift to the line of his mouth.

You marched over to his side, plopping yourself down beside him, a basket of fruit and a knife in hand. He looked up at you, eyes reflecting the warmth of the fire beside him…or perhaps the warmth of the fire within. He was always so warm.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he grinned and you could feel the warmth of domesticity mix in with his naturally warm aura and creep up on you.

Looking back at the basket of fruits in your lap, you picked up a pineapple, “well a little snack before won’t completely ruin our appetites,” you were about to begin cutting into it when he took it out of your hands.

“Here, lemme show you a neat trick,” he proceeded to twist the top of the pineapple off, hit the bottom of it on his knee, and forcefully roll it between his hands, “now you can pull out each piece, no knife needed!” He grinned, pulled a piece out and handed it to you.

You took it, impressed with the new piece of information, “that is neat!”

Silences had become increasingly common between the two of you. Tonight was no different, the two of you sat side by side, snacking on a pineapple, he did have to hand it over to you to switch out fish and vegetable skewers. At which point you decided to poke at the corner of his mouth with a piece of the fruit and he opened to eat it without thinking twice. Given how your relationship had transformed over the course of his healing period, this level of closeness had also become commonplace between you two.

It didn’t mean anything though. It could be likened to the way you’d feed any of your close friends.

You were trying not to fault yourself for wanting something more though. It wasn’t as if this feeling was new. Ace always burned so bright, and was so warm-and you weren’t unique in these feelings. What was unique about you, was the situation you were afforded. Again: it didn’t feel right to burden him with your feelings while he was essentially fighting for his life in a whirlpool of turmoil trying to drown him.

“What’cha thinkin’ about there?” He asked as he passed you a skewer of cooked fish.

You shook your head. You were a coward. You’d think almost losing him would push you to reveal just how important he was to you. Verbally reveal it that is.

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” He nodded, understanding as ever. “Got it.”

“So you’re going to be setting off soon huh?” You chose to change the topic.

He hummed, stoked the fire a bit, and paused. He turned to look at you, brow furrowed.

“I’m going to be setting off soon?” He reiterated, confused. “You’re not coming?”

“Would you want me to?” You looked at him. “I mean, I remember you were upset over me staying with you when you were relegated to bedrest.”

“That was because you had better things to do than take care of me,” he bit back.

“If I wasn’t actively caring for you I might have gone insane though,” you worked to remove the skin from the fish, “it helped me.”

“You,” he tore into his fish with an aggressive bite, chewing in frustration, “you have your own dreams and adventures, and you wasted a whole year here with me though, the least-”

“Time spent with you is never wasted,” you cut in, effectively stopping his mouth from moving, “time spent with you, is never time wasted,” you repeated again meeting his gaze as he stared at you.

He just continued staring at you, with nothing but the crackling of the fire and the soft rolling of the waves filling the space between you.

He remembered to finish chewing and swallow his food soon enough though, blinking himself back to reality as he did so and looking at the fire he confirmed, “you’re coming with me,” his tone was firm with his conviction, “we’re setting sail, together.”

“Okay,” you nodded, nibbling into your fish, “I’m glad.”

He muttered something, or perhaps he whispered it, the words were stolen away by the breeze before you could make out what he said though. “What is it?”

“I wouldn’t leave you here on this island by yourself,” he shook his head, “not after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I did all that because I wanted to,” you drilled into him, “you don’t owe me a thing.”

Your brow pinched, your displeasure making itself evident on your face, “if you’re just going to befriend me out of obligation and guilt,” it was your turn to bite into your fish aggressively, “then leave me here.”

“I never said that!” He shot back. “We were friends before all this, and I’d rather die than lose you.”

“Please don’t talk about dying,” it was a quick, breathless, desperate request.

“Sorry.”

You shook your head, “no no I’m sorry,” your appetite was vanishing rapidly, “what you went - what you’re probably still going through - is worse than,” you swallowed thickly, tears welling up, “than me just watching it happen.”

“Hey,” you tried to wipe away the tears, fish skewer still in hand, “hey, look at me,” you turned to face your dear one - his intensity entrapping you.

He took your skewer from your hand, stabbing it in the sand next to his own. His larger palm enveloped your own as he pulled the appendage towards his chest pressing it right above his heart. You found your face warming inordinately-and it wasn’t because of your proximity to the fire. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he took deep breath after deep breath, felt the rhythmic - kind of quick - pounding of his heart.

“I’m alive,” he reminded you, “I’m still here.”

You nodded, bottom lip trembling, “I’m so grateful you are.”

He opened his mouth, about to say something, then looked away with a huff. His brows pushed down on his eyes, “I want to take you off this island with me.”

You nodded at him, hand still held above his chest, where you could feel his heart rapidly pumping blood to the rest of him - intact. Alive.

“I want to leave this island together,” you agreed.

“Then it’s set!” He grinned, and released your hand leaving it to fall limply to your side as he grabbed the skewers and handed you yours again.

That was also when he remembered the food he was still cooking. Seems he’d almost burnt the remaining fish, but they were thankfully saved just in time.

-_-

Ace clearly loved being at sea again.

It suited him so well. Surrounded by blue on all sides, blazing his own path - own course through the waters.

A child of the sea come home.

You could see it in the way light seemed to dance off of him every instant of the day: the ethereal glow of dawn upon his defined features, the halo that the afternoon sun drew on his head, the gleam of the sunset on his back, or even the twinkling of the stars in his eyes. You could see how at home he was out on the restless waters.

Perhaps he was so at home on the restless waters was because he could actually see the restlessness? Maybe that was why when the sea calmed, you would catch him glancing back at his newest tattoo from time to time.

One of the times, he’d been laying down on one of your small sailboat’s little benches, his head resting near your own, as you sat on the floor of the deck beside him. He raised his hand up, staring at his wrist under the blanket of stars in the sky. You couldn’t help but notice, looking away from one beauty to another.

You weren’t too sure what possessed you in that moment, but you reached out a finger and began to trace the iconic crossbones and mustache embedded within your dear friend’s skin. It was as your finger finished dragging along the mustache that he maneuvered his hand so that his fingers could clamp down upon yours.

The first time he’d done this (held your hand) after the…after the war, you’d both been gripping each other’s hands like you were both on the edge of a cliff, afraid the other would fall to their demise if you let go. Though the first time he’d gently held your hand, you’d startled and he’d let go soon after. Of course since then, you’ve held him and been held by him as the grief of it all washed over you in waves.

So anyway, hand holding didn’t mean anything.

His thumb pressed down on the vein in your wrist, making you more aware of how fast your heart was beating. It didn’t really mean anything though - what he was doing right now.

No matter how much you wanted it to.

When he stopped pressing down on your pulse, choosing instead to rub circles into your skin, you turned to look at him and meet his gaze as he gave you yet another of those bright smiles, leaving the heat to crawl up your chest and squeeze it.

-_-

When you arrived at the island the pose was pointing to the following day, Ace once again took your hand - to help you disembark. You spent the day scouring the place for new information, trying out the local dishes (with Ace falling asleep mid bite), and taking in the local sites. It involved a lot of you being dragged from corner to corner, your hand clutched firmly within his own as he led you around. By the time the evening fell, you both found yourselves on a beach front again, your narcoleptic buddy’s head on your shoulder as he snored away.

Hmm…you’d probably camp out somewhere near your Mini Moby tonight. Your brain couldn’t help but wander about as you played with the thick waves of Ace’s hair. You’d decided to do honest work for the time that the former Division Commander was healing. The reality was you’d been thrust into piracy due to your…”scholarly” pursuits, so of course you’d be doing honest work. It hadn’t paid much is all. After all, the island that Marco had left the two of you at was a quaint, quiet place that wasn’t too far from Saobody, and friendly to Whitebeard pirates.

You had to admire his wisdom in choosing the place. It had both mountain and beach environments and a lot of greenery, so it would be soothing to the mind as well as the body. The local doctor was also very adept, and there was an extremely talented apothecary there as well. Marco had thought of everything.

You could hear your friend’s usual grumble, moan, and whine that he made whenever he woke up from one of his spells. The weight on your shoulder lifted, as his inky tresses slipped past your fingers as he sat up.

“Good morning,” you hummed jokingly.

“Morning?” He yawned, stretching out. “Did I sleep that long?” He was squinting at his surroundings.

“Nope,” you rolled out your shoulders, “I was thinking of setting up camp near the Mini Moby.”

He blinked at you, “food first,” and grabbed your hand to pull you up with him.

How he was so awake already was beyond you. Perhaps it was a consequence of having to deal with this regularly.

“Usually you ask if the person is hungry first,” you huffed, working to steady yourself on your feet after being sat for a while.

“You aren’t hungry?” He blinked at you.

Truly it was fascinating how this man before you managed to be fierce, fiery, and beautiful one moment, and then absolutely boyishly adorable the next. “I am,” you nodded, your mouth pulling itself up and pushing your eyes into a smile.

Your dear friend stared at you in silence for a bit, before tugging you by your conjoined hands with a loud declaration of, “then let’s eat!”

And eat, you did. On the house too. Thanks to Ace’s battle prowess he managed to stop the restaurant from getting looted at gunpoint. It wasn’t some casual dine and dash, this guy was threatening the cook’s life!

Though Ace likely cost the owner the same amount as what he’d have lost from the looting with how much the commander ate. The old man didn’t mind though.

His daughter definitely didn’t either. You noticed her sneaking glances the pirate’s way the whole evening. You couldn’t blame her, even if you didn’t look directly at the sun, it was still impossible to ignore.

It seems that the personified sunshine in question didn’t notice her longing gazes as he, once again, took your hand to lead you out when you were both done. He was talking your ear off about Luffy again, just like he used to before…

…before everything happened.

The only difference was the way he was holding on to you this time. You found yourself squeezing his palm and watched as he stood at attention and turned to you with a curious expression, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “I’m just happy.”

You were greeted with a warm silence following your layered confession. Soon enough he was squeezing your hand as well, “me too.”

You didn’t get to see his face as he began pulling you along again.

-_-

On the next island, your friend once again dealt with an issue. Well he dealt with it prior to you even getting there. Due to some Marine’s negligence, there were sea kings terrorizing the locals of said island. Three sea kings to be exact. You found that out when you were greeted with cheers as you docked right after helping Ace take them out so you could arrive safely. Free food, free lodging, among other things were offered to the two of you.

Given you had contributed somewhat, you didn’t mind, the food was going to be made from the Sea King meat anyway. You also didn’t mind much when all the joy resulted in a revelry with your companion at the center of it all.

You sat, a mug of spicy cocoa in one hand, your cheek pressed into the other as you watched him, arm in arm with other men, children, and the occasional lady: smiling, laughing, celebrating.

Were the shadows lingering deep within the waters? Or were they on the verge of bursting forth from just beneath the surface you wondered.

There was no denying you loved seeing this side of your beloved friend. Joy suited him well. You just couldn’t help but be concerned that it wasn’t unburdened.

Oh! He was looking at you now.

He waved you over with an excited smile, to which you raised your mug of cocoa. That made him furrow his brow. Before you knew it he was marching over to you, snatching your hand again, and dragging you to join him. He was kind enough to wait for you to chug your cocoa…well…kinda. He chugged a bunch of it for you when you couldn’t get through it fast enough.

After attempting to do the local dance with him, and laughing along with the crowd at your miserable failure to do so, you were invited to eat some more. In true Ace manner, he fell asleep mid bite, causing everyone to panic. You on the other hand simply chuckled and did your part: lifting his head, wiping his face and his bangs, before gently placing his cleaned head on the table and adjusting his hair a bit. You then unpacked your shawl and transformed it into a makeshift pillow, before sliding it under your unconscious companion’s head.

It would seem that display resulted in some misunderstandings as the lodging you were offered subsequently was a single room with a bed of a moderate size meant to be shared. You were too embarrassed to ask for a change given they’d given you this room out of their own generosity. The man to your side didn’t seem bothered by it though. Well, it wouldn’t be all that bad really.

Or so you thought.

Because the former commander was not a peaceful sleeper. You woke up as you’d fallen asleep for the most part. If you’d shifted while sleeping then it wasn’t anything too drastic. Ace on the other hand was a complete starfish. His forearm was on your neck, one of his legs bent over your stomach, with his head off his pillow and a hair’s breadth away from rolling off the bed.

And when his head did inevitably roll off, while you were trying to figure out how and if you even wanted to untangle yourself or not, it took the rest of him with it. As anyone who grew up the way he did would, his instincts kicked in and you found yourself being dragged across the bed while he crashed onto the ground loudly - groaning as he did. You’d ended up tightly tangled in the covers now, with part of Ace’s weight pulling it taut and making it difficult to roll out of the cocoon it had wrapped around you.

When you asked him to get off of your cover, he began apologizing, “ah jeez, did I wake you?” You hated the guilt seeping into every word. “Sorry.”

“Nope,” you shook your head, still tightly bound in the covers, “I woke up right before the disaster struck.”

He didn’t look completely convinced that was the case, so you decided to elaborate: “I was trying to figure out how to get up without disturbing your sleep, when you rolled off.”

He raised a brow at you, and you shot him a pointed look of your own, pursing your lips to further solidify your stance in this staring war. Seems like it paid off because soon enough his shoulders shook with his chuckles. You soon found yourself chuckling along, which of course reminded you that you were still stuck.

“Uh Ace,” you wiggled about, tugging at the cover still under his bottom, “a little help.”

“Oh yeah! Sorry!” He was grinning as he moved aside this time, going so far as to clamber up onto the bed again and help unroll your burrito self. He chuckled at your bedhead when you finally got free, his eyes crinkling and his dimples popping up as he looked at your disheveled appearance.

It was weird.

Feeling at ease and self-conscious all at once that is. He’d seen you in worse states, yet you still wanted to look pretty in front of him.

Though as his calloused hands came to pat down the mess your head had gotten itself into to help you get it under control, the emotional pendulum swung more towards being at ease.

“Y’know,” he hummed as he continued to pat and play with your hair, “I think I like this look on you!”

Just like that you were slung straight back into unease, the heat clambering up your face. You groaned and covered your face, pulling away from him-and receiving a little complaint-as you threw yourself back on the pillows.

“What’s with that reaction?”

You turned away from him, still covering your face. “Oi!” His hand was on your arm turning you back towards him. “Don’t hide from me.”

You decided to peek out from behind your hands, “you know most people don’t say ridiculous bedheads look good.”

“Well yours does!” He grinned, ruffling your hair without any regard for how difficult it may be to style.

You huffed, lips gently curving upwards. You were blanketed by a gentle warmth, and it wasn’t from the sun. No this warmth could only be achieved in the presence of the man beside you. You let yourself look at him as you smiled - and he mirrored your expression.

-_-

After that first day on the island you started to feel bad about not paying for things, so you decided to offer labor in exchange given the islanders wouldn’t take your berries. At the bath house you fixed a few things around the lady’s home, then bathed. When it came to the food, you washed some dishes in the back including all of the dishes both you and Ace ate out of. He helped of course.

The rest of your day was spent wandering around, reading newspapers and picking up information from conversations. At one point the two of you separated to explore different areas. You found a cute little shop where you could make things out of wood. When its artisans noticed you staring, they invited you inside. They’d even taught you some basics before leaving you to your own devices with your own small slab of wood.

You became completely absorbed within the atmosphere the shop had to offer, completely losing track of time with the family of artisans as you all worked with gentle conversation flowing. You hadn’t fully realized just how much time had passed until you heard the breathless voice of your traveling companion, frantically inquiring if they’d seen you. Of course he noticed you soon enough, given you’d turned to look at him.

“There you are!” He beamed, relieved to see you, before his expression flipped into something frustrated.

“Oh my!” The voice of a lady, who’d been patiently teaching you how to whittle, cut into your conversation. “Dear, we had so much fun we didn’t realize we’d worked ourselves well into the evening!”

Sure enough when you turned to the clock it was nearing 10:30 in the evening. The sun had set at least three hours ago. Oh. Looking back to Ace, you paid closer attention to the fact that he was still breathing heavily.

He’d been worried.

But why? It wasn’t that late. What had he come across during his time wandering on his own?

Hmmm…you could empathize with his concern, though that wasn’t enough to completely appease you. After all it wasn’t like he didn’t go missing for hours on end. You still remember the panic of going about searching the island for him: especially when he was still in bandages!

“Seems like now you know how I feel when you go missing,” you stood up, patting the wood shavings from your project off your lap, and taking off the apron.

“You!” You could almost see the little flickers of flames coming off of his barely clothed shoulders. “I thought something happened to you!”

The father of the little family of artisans began laughing loudly, standing up to give Ace a pat on the shoulder, “now now, I know you’re frustrated,” then he leaned up and whispered something into the former commander’s ear.

Ace’s eyes met yours for an instant before his face and shoulders turned red, his eyes going as wide as saucers, and a little flame flared out from his head. When the older man laughed some more, the pirate tore his gaze away and put on his hat so it covered his face, grumbling, “thanks for the advice.”

Looking back up at you-face still pink-he announced, “we need to get going.”

“Just a moment, I need to sweep away my wood shavings,” you responded.

“Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?” It was the elder lady - the grandmother of this quaint family - that offered.

You smiled and shook your head, “I appreciate the offer,” then you jabbed a thumb at your companion, “but this man can eat twice or even three times his weight in food.”

“Hey!”

You turned to him, your smile cheeky, “I’m glad you can.”

That took the wind out of his sails entirely. It was a bit unfair of you, but you really were glad that he could eat like he used to. The whole event was settled and you were promptly shooed out, your shavings left on the floor, as they intended to work some more and there was no point in you sweeping before they finished.

“Come back tomorrow to finish your work, alright sweetie?” Was the parting they gave you, and you agreed to return the following day.

Ace took your hand the moment you were outside the little family shop, grip tight on yours as he led you through the dimly lit streets. “I got us a room with two beds this time,” he said, eyes forward, “it’s at a different inn though.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, “are you - are you okay?” You squeezed his hand in yours. “I was a little insensitive earlier.”

The action made him halt altogether, his shoulders dropping the tension they were holding as he breathed out.

“I saw some Marines,” oh. That explained his earlier outrage.

“What’re they here for?” You sped up a little to look at his face. “Do you know?”

“Remember those sea kings we took down?”

“They’re here to finally deal with them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “now they’re just staying here because the island folk are mad at them for ignoring them for months.”

“Urgh.”

The corruption and hypocrisy of the Marines was something you had always been critical of. Of course this meant you were also privy to the hypocrisy and hegemony of the World Government (more like World’s Ratified Mafia). And of course such knowledge and attitudes were absolutely intolerable under their dictatorship so soon enough you had a humble bounty on your head.

Justice.

They had gone and assumed themselves infallible deities: justifying all their behavior through the abuse of the word, they’d completely perverted the concept of justice.

Urgh the sheer egotism.

Disgusting.

“I saw them not too far from the Mini Moby when I went there looking for you,” he broke you out of your angry reverie, “then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

You squeezed his hand, “thank you for worrying about me.”

He squeezed your hand back, a silent “you’re welcome.”

“Good thing my bounty doesn’t have a photo right?”

The marines could never get a clear shot of you for some reason…

“The most they had was a really awful looking drawing, like Blackleg from the Straw Hats!”

Ace’s lips pulled into a massive, very amused grin.

You still remembered the way he’d laughed himself to the ground, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes when he first saw the wanted poster. Even Marco and…Thatch…had gotten a laugh out of it.

“It looks nothing like you!”

“What do you mean?” You grinned holding the paper up to your face. “You mean my nose doesn’t look like a carrot?”

And they’d laughed some more. Ace’s laugh was especially memorable, his strong shoulders shaking, his freckled face completely consumed by unbridled mirth. You never stood a chance - sweet, with a smile like that?

You never stood a chance.

“They didn’t see you right?” After all, his wanted poster was much clearer than yours.

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I’m keeping a low profile until we get back to the New World,” he winked at you, “like we agreed.”

“Good!” You squeezed his hand again.

Later, you’d squeeze his shoulder as you shook him awake.

Nightmares.

You moved out of the way just in time as he gasped himself awake, chest heaving as he panted for air. He looked around frantically as you soothed him. Which was when he finally turned to look at you. You’d barely gotten a sentence out before he’d tugged at you, crushing you into his embrace.

Your nose was essentially being crushed against his right pectoral muscle. It hurt a bit, so you pat his back while squirming to liberate your nose. He loosened his hold for a moment and you quickly adjusted to be in a more comfortable position, before you were once again being crushed into him.

You held him back of course.

But not before he could readjust his hold so that his head rested on your chest-more specifically his ear.

Oh.

You began tracing your fingers along his scalp as they weaved through his thick locks. Had his nightmare featured you this time? His grip on you only tightened, a shiver wracking through him before you heard a shuddering breath.

“Ace,” you hummed in an attempt to soothe him again, “Ace, I’m okay,” you tried to keep your tone soft, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, but continued clutching you, body trembling under trapped his emotions within it. You on the other hand continued to run your fingers through his hair, with him gradually getting heavier and heavier in your hold. His grip loosened slightly as his consciousness slipped - if you waited a bit you’d be able to slip out and back into your own bed.

Looking at him, you could see the remnants of his tears sparkle on his lashes. You wished he’d just let himself cry more openly, rather than fight to bottle it up.

A quiet sigh left you as you looked at the man in your hold, people really were as beautiful as their souls. You continued to play with his hair, basking in the relative silence.

You ought to tell him that to his face really. Your lips softly pulled upwards as you gently brushed his bangs from his face.

You wouldn’t have dared to even consider doing that when you first met him: back when he’d convinced you his bravado was confidence. You knew better now though.

He’d probably still tease you if you did. His teasing made him just about intolerable to you initially.

Yeah…your road to friendship hadn’t been the smoothest. You grinned at the memory, tenderly poking at the little furrow in his brow - coaxing him to relax. He’d very much made you regret your efforts to be kind(er) to him initially with his insufferable teasing. You were reconsidering altogether when he showed up and made amends after realizing he’d gone too far. The teasing remarks soon became playful jabs…which soon became thoughtful discussion when no one else was around.

You smiled at your dear-incredibly dear-friend, and readjusted yourself slightly thinking maybe you could go back to your own bed now. Of course no sooner had you started to consider that, than his grip on you tightened. You’d rather wait a little bit longer to make sure he was definitely asleep enough.

-_-

It was warm.

Too warm.

You found yourself regaining consciousness with a strain of agitation at the temperature your body had achieved while you were resting. You tried to kick off the covers in hopes of revealing your feet and cooling down, however you found that they were much heavier than they ought to be. It wasn’t until you heard a very familiar groan echo throughout the bones of your body that your eyes flew open.

Well…you’d figured out why it was warm.

Soon enough your friend’s eyes also opened, an absolutely criminal pout on his lips. You’d curse Ace’s luck with his genes if they weren’t why he suffered so much all his life. Though you didn’t get to admire him for long as he blinked himself back to the conscious realm, slowly realizing the position he was in, the position you were both in. At which point, a similar kind of alarm found its way onto his expression as he looked up at you.

“Good morning?” You tried.

That was all it took for him to hurriedly grant you freedom from his clutches…and some relief from the heat. Once you were both seated a respectable distance apart, though still on the bed, he shot you a sheepish look, “guess we didn’t need that second bed after all.”

You found yourself snickering at his comment, him joining in soon after, and with that any and all tension was cast away. You went back to your bed, slipped under the cool sheets and slept for a little longer too. So there was a use for the bed after all.

-_-

The rest of the day went well after the initial surprise and awkwardness. You went back to the wood whittling shop and Ace…well he went about doing his own thing. He came back to find you around night time, he’d already stocked the ship up, and set up camp as this time you’d be camping around the Mini Moby. The pose would reset as of dawn of the following day after all.

Bidding farewell to the quaint little family, you couldn’t help but think back to your own, way back on your home island. You did your best not to let your emotions choke you up. Though it was particularly difficult to hold them all in while you were hugging the lady who was old enough to be your aunt and then the grandmother. It was a pleasant surprise when the lovely family invited you to spend the night chatting until it would be time to leave.

“Hey! I can go catch us some wild animal,” your companion raised a brow at you with a smug little grin pulling at the corner of his lips, so you don’t have to worry about how much we eat, was the part he left unsaid.

“Would that be okay with everyone?” You turned to the homey family, who had absolutely no qualms with the suggestion.

The evening zoomed by: you had a fun dinner, exchanged stories over tea and biscuits, and even played some fun family games. It was after the elderly had retired, and your companion had, true to his nature, fallen asleep mid-bite again, that the more sensitive questions were brought up. In true auntie nature, the auntie-aged lady asked about your “husband,” especially given your lack of wedding bands.

You smiled at the auntie while heating up. She wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Prior to letting you escape with the then-captain of the Spade Pirates, your parents had you and Ace sign a marriage contract.

You appreciated him deeply for going along with it. That your parents would let you marry a wanted man though, even if it was supposedly just on paper, even if it was just for the sake of preserving your honor and dignity, showed just how dire and desperate a situation it had been. That he’d gone along with it though…and was remaining true to the agreements made with your family too…

For a pirate, he was an honorable and trustworthy man.

Then again…even the fearsome Whitebeard had more honor than the allegedly just marines.

So anyway, you didn’t correct the auntie, instead nodding and saying how you two were currently sailing together. She seemed relieved that you didn’t correct her on your relationship status, but she didn’t need to know that it was just a marriage on paper.

-_-

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” was the greeting you’d gotten when you’d exited the singular cabin on the Mini Moby.

Squinting at the light, you rubbed your eyes and grumbled, “there’s no way it’s still morning.”

“You’re right,” you blinked blearily at your companion as he agreed with you, “it's afternoon.”

Which earned a tired groan from you. Which in turn drew an amused laugh from Ace as he continued adjusting the sails.

“You had fun talking with them didn’t you?”

You hummed in agreement as you shrunk back into the cabin.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Water, I need water,” you croaked, opening the door and re-entering the darker environment.

It felt nice not needing to squint anymore.

When you made your way back out you were assaulted with another question, “how did they figure out we were ‘married’?” He asked you.

“I mean if you look at them, they seem marriage oriented and traditional,” you shrugged, “it could be a case of them just getting lucky we were in line with their hopes.”

“No wonder you got along with them so well,” he approached you from the helm, “I had a feeling they reminded you of your family.”

“They did,” you nodded, taking a seat on one of the benches on the small deck.

“I remember your folks giving me a hard time when we just needed to get you off the island before the navy got to you,” he recounted.

“I’m relieved they didn’t arrest any of my family members,” you exhaled deeply.

“You got lucky that it was Smoker that responded to the call,” Ace grinned.

“My mother said the same,” you agreed, “in her letter she said that what Smoker lacked in fashion sense he made up for in reasonability and honor.”

“She’d absolutely hate my sense of fashion then,” he laughed.

“She does,” you deadpanned, earning an even more boisterous laugh from him, “but I think she’d appreciate knowing you kept your promise.”

He raised a brow at you, “you mean the one about not laying a hand on you?” He made a show of taking a moment to think, then, “hmm but I forced you to share a bed with me just the other night.”

“Ace!”

He burst into even more boisterous laughter, “I broke that promise almost immediately while we were on the Spadine!” He was clearly relishing in teasing you, “I was always laying hands on you.”

“You know what they meant by that,” you groaned, “and you only ‘lay hands on me,’” you huffed, “to save me from going overboard and keep me out of trouble! That’s the whole reason we insisted on the contract prior to letting me board the Spadine,” you stoof gesturing to him and then the boat you were currently on, “they knew that you’d need to grab me for my own safety.”

As if to prove your point the ship lurched and you almost went overboard. Luckily Ace had the muscle to pull you onto the deck-or well onto him really, as you came crashing into his chest…which was…still clothed! Seems he’d forgotten to take his shirt off - which was currently to your benefit, so you weren’t complaining.

Looking up at him as he held you to him, you gave him a dry look, “see what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he grinned at you, readjusting his hold on you as another wave rocked the ship, “but, I’ve been pretty handsy this last year,” he cocked an eyebrow up, “wouldn’t you say?”

You found yourself heating up. What was he trying to achieve teasing you like this? You instead sent him your most unimpressed stare and he laughed some more.

“Everyone needs a hug sometimes,” you grumbled, “I wouldn’t call that being handsy.”

You could feel his chuckles from where he held you, you could hear them loud and clear through his chest. You needed to get some space between you. Though you couldn’t even begin to move away before the waves threw you onto him again.

The sooner the two of you regrouped with Marco, the better. You needed to get yourself under control. Having Marco around would help. Probably. You tried not to touch him any more than necessary as you gingerly removed yourself from his grasp and moved away a bit looking for a way to make yourself helpful.

“I think the island after this is Saobody,” Ace grinned tugging on the ropes for the sail as he deftly maneuvered your small vessel, “after that we can get to the New World.”

“Well we’d have to go to Ryuguu first,” you corrected, “I wonder how Madame Sharly is doing.”

“Madame Sharly?” He glanced away from the waters to raise a brow at you. “I thought you didn’t agree with her fortune telling.”

“I don’t,” you approached him to help where you could, “but there’s no denying she’s gorgeous,” you took a rope, “and soothing to listen to.”

“So I’m competing with a mermaid?” He shook his head.

“Competing how?” Was he trying to be the most soothing presence in your life or something?

Ace looked startled by your question, furthering your confusion. He blinked at you silently once before sheepishly scratching the back of his head, “it’s…nothing.”

“But how would you be competing with a mermai-” you found yourself nearly thrown off again by the ship lurching yet again. Your work on the ropes came undone as you held onto them for dear life. It wasn’t a moment and a large, warm hand helped pull you back up and helped you regain your footing.

You couldn’t help but notice the ink on your friend’s wrist as he gently pried the ropes out of your hands and secured them himself. You stood there for a moment watching as he deftly tied them up before shaking yourself out of your reverie and making your way to the helm instead.

-_-

You actually ended up at Saobody Archipelago. Which was convenient. Now it was just a process of trying to get your little ship coated. Oh and to avoid marines and all that.

Unfortunately the “friendly neighborhood ship coater Ray-san” wasn’t available. Only that made sense. He was with Luffy, training him. His partner was manning the joint though. You weren’t sure of their relationship status but, “if I were Mr. Rayleigh I’d make sure to at least attempt to propose to you.”

That earned you a chuckle from the lovely lady, “mmm some men can be cowardly in the romantic arena,” she was grinning.

Which was when you heard choking to your left - it was Ace, thankfully he’d started coughing. You immediately began patting his back, and then turned back to the lady, “So um Ms. Shakky, would you happen to know how to coat a ship?”

“Nope,” Shakky took a puff of her cigarette, “I run the bar. Rayleigh runs the coating service.”

And he’s the most trustworthy man to coat the ship on the archipelago. Well…

“Can you suggest any other coating services?” You tried.

She hummed as she took a drag off her cigarette, before elegantly tapping out some ashes into an ashtray. Breathing out she grinned at you, “I don’t think you have to bother with looking for anyone else.”

Well that had the potential to be ominous.

“Are you saying he’ll be back soon?” It was Ace who was asking the question through his coughs.

“Oh did he say he’s on his way back?”

“No, just my intuition,” her expression looked fairly amused before it settled into something more cheshire.

She was humming as she studied you, “I have to say you do have a way of making a woman feel appreciated dear,” she threw a wink your way.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” you sheepishly returned her smile, “my friends and I used to ‘flirt’ with each other all the time to express our love for one another and y’know?” you shrugged. “Boost each other’s confidence, all that.”

Shakky rested her cheek on her palm as she chuckled at you, “it didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, it’s very cute,” she looked over to your side, “wouldn’t you say so Porto-chan?”

He sputtered, almost choking on his drink again, “way to put a guy on the spot huh Shakky?”

She giggled at him,before turning back to you, “I’m sure this was only between you and your girl friends, given Porto-chan’s reaction here.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to give any guys the wrong idea,” you shrugged.

“True,” Shakky tapped out some more ashes, once again glancing to your side.

-_-

True to what Shakky had said, Rayleigh came back not three days later. When you mentioned that she had really strong intuition he’d let out an amused whistle and, “women’s intuition can be scary,” before regaling you all with the tale of how Shakky’d been on the mark with something else.

The Pirate Empress, The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, Boa Hancock herself, had fallen in love, and fallen pretty hard. You heard the beautiful woman whose presence you were currently in giggle with, “see, I told you Monkey-chan was pretty good looking.”

“Scary,” Rayleigh grinned as he breathed the word, “you women and your intuition are scary.”

“Eh?!” Ace was the one to vocally react. “She’s in love with Luffy?!”

Somehow his surprise was what had you laughing. “He’s a real charmer that Luffy, isn’t he?” You beamed at his older brother who looked like a mix of surprised, proud, and disbelieving all at once…maybe even a tinge jealous? “He takes after his brother.”

His owlish stare turned to you, and you saw a little lick of fire escape off his shoulders. All the while you simply shot him a lopsided grin given one cheek was smushed into your first.

You’d briefly met Luffy while with Ace in Arabasta. He reminded you of Ace in some ways: bright, bombastic, straightforward…reckless…and…very loving. There was one thing about Luffy though: you could say he was more honest about his feelings and less prone to prejudice - oh! Though you’d also say that while Luffy was dependable, Ace felt more responsible, which made sense given he was the older one of the two. You wondered what sort of kindness Luffy extended to the Pirate Empress that she fell for him.

“Whatcha thinking about there?” You blinked yourself out of your trance as you felt a warm finger poke at your forehead.

You looked up into your dear (oh so dear) companion’s eyes and felt yourself melt at the warmth they held, “I’m wondering which of Luffy’s traits caused the Pirate Empress to fall.”

He huffed, and you found yourself following the corner of his lip as it curled upwards, “he’s always had a way with people, that kid brother of mine.”

His gaze was distant, as though he was looking at something very far in the past. Or perhaps not that far away really, these descriptors could be relative.

“So how is Luffy?” You turned to Rayleigh. “Is he doing well?”

The old man’s expression could be described in a singular word: proud. “He’s got another six months of training by himself, but I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he turned his gaze to another person in the room, “he’s real excited to see his crew, and his brother again.”

The beaming smile on Ace’s face said more than words ever could.

-_-

The evening before you would depart for Fishman Island, you’d gone to take a stroll alongside your dear friend. The tree canopies got in the way of you being able to see the stars, but the bubbles twinkled in their stead.

You turned to study your beloved’s form yet again. Your hands squeezed the straps of your pack, soon enough the world would know about him - that he’d survived. They’d be back to hunting him down, only with twice as much zeal. Marines and enemies of his late father alike.

“What?” He glanced at you, raising his eyebrow. “Do I still have salsa on my face or something?”

You shook your head quickly looking away, “I was just thinking about how, soon enough, you’ll be back to being hunted.”

“Are you worried?” You could hear his amusement, and he even had the gall to laugh when you scowled up at him. “Dumb question, of course you are.”

“Very dumb question,” you grumbled and he laughed some more.

“Hey! I’m pretty strong!”

“I still don’t want to see you get hurt,” you let out a long, tired breath, “when you’re back to officially being a wanted man.”

“Wanted huh?” He was again looking out into the distance, mumbling. “Wanted by everyone but the person I want.”

The person he wanted?

“Who would that be?” You found yourself asking despite yourself.

Despite the way your heart hammered at you begging you to remain silent. Despite the way your extremities lost heat. Despite the clammy feeling in your palms as they all but squeezed the straps they held. Despite the ringing in your ears. Despite the way your stomach sloshed as though you’d swallowed a sea storm.

It was such a dangerous question to ask. He’d just said with certainty that the person he wants doesn’t want him - that rules you out. For some reason your thoughts jumped to the Pirate Empress. He mentioned getting to see her while he was stuck in Impel Down.

You watched, your head feeling as though it was full of cotton, as his Adam's apple bobbed with a thick swallow. “Can I…” he wasn’t looking at you as he asked, “can I hold your hands?”

Did he know? Was he trying to hold your hands to let you down slowly? Ace was always a little clumsy with these kinds of things…or was he? He was kind regardless. You had to repay this kindness, so you plastered on whatever smile you could.

If Ace had found someone to love, even if it wasn’t you, you’d be happy for him.You could be heartbroken later, but happy for him now.

You nodded, feeling the pain in your joints as you unclenched them. Your hands were slightly trembling and cold as he held them in his own larger, warmer ones - oh this was a horrible idea! Your hands were starting to get sweaty! Instinctively you started pulling away, “wait my hands - sweat - they’re sweaty!”

“I don’t care,” he tightened his hold on your hands, and as he spoke you noticed, “so are mine.”

He looked at you, and he seemed absolutely convinced of something. You kept up your little smile.

“I,” he swallowed again, bringing your hands closer to his chest, “I don’t think I can keep my promise to your parents,” a little flame escaped his shoulder as he said that, “I-” he pulled your hands even closer to him, “I want to be real.”

What?

“I mean I want our relationship-er-marriage to be real!” He rushed to correct himself. “I want to be with you! But in a real relationship! Not just on paper! I want you - ah!” More flames escaped his shoulders as he got louder. “No! Not like that! I mean yes like that- but not just like that! I mean I want - can I?”

He threw his head back, a loud groan of frustration leaving him, meanwhile you just stared at him, brain abuzz as it tried to process what he was saying. He looked at you again, determined expression back full force, “can I be your husband? Your real husband? Can I be,” he glanced away before mumbling, “yours?”

Your mouth had opened slightly to let some air in. The world was almost spinning - save for Ace. The warmth that was flooding your body was practically dizzying. Something stuck out to you - well two things as your legs gave out and Ace lunged to soften your landing and crouch in front of you, in that silly way he always did, still holding your hands.

“You can’t keep your promise to my parents?” You blinked at him.

“That’s what you heard?” He groaned.

“No I heard it all Ace,” your breaths were heavy, “my brain’s struggling to keep up,” you gulped, “give me a minute to catch up.”

“No, I don’t think I can,” he shook his head, cheeks fully flush as he looked away from you, “I want our relationship to be real… and my promise-it wasn’t a problem back then-but now..”

He trailed off, struggling to make eye contact with you as he admitted, “now, it’s a major problem,” he shook his head at you seriously, “I can’t keep it. I want to have a real relationship - I’d regret not trying to have a real relationship with you.”

He did not shy away as he concluded his confession, “the promise gets in the way.”

You blinked at him, finding the air suddenly too warm.

“Can,” you gulped, head still full of static and the sound of the heavy thumping of your heart, “can you ask me to be yours?”

He blinked at you confused by the response, so you pressed on, “instead of - instead of,” your bottom lip was trembling and you could feel heat radiate from your cheeks, “asking to be mine,” was this a dream?

Your heart did some kinda fancy somersault at the way Ace straightened at your last word, much like he would whenever he was excited about something.

“Are you asking me to call you mine, like that?” He leaned into your space.

You couldn’t help the way your whole body was zapped to attention at the giddiness that consumed it when the word: “mine,” left Ace’s lips.

He looked at you with an equal amount of giddiness upon comprehending what your question implied, and his bravado seemed to find him again - but more than that, it was hope that pulled his lips into a massive, luminous grin as he asked, “then, will you be mine?”

When your lips wobbled into a smile, he decided to continue on, “y’know be my wife? My real wife?”

Your head was moving up and down in agreement before you were fully aware of it, “yes.”

You barely registered the pure unadulterated joy, and maybe even the glimmer of liquid in your…husband’s eyes before he was pulling you into a tight hug, gurgled chuckles leaving him. You weren’t any better, you were practically clinging to him as you began to sob, the salty blobs washing away the maelstrom of emotions with liquid relief. You might have felt some wetness on your own shirt.

You probably had, with how he sounded wobbly when asking, “did I make you cry, darlin’?”

Which of course made your tears worse, as you gulped and tried to force yourself to be calm, “I’m just happy it was me.”

He chuckled, “who else could it be?”

Who else - well…wait.

“But, are you sure?” You let go to look at him, his brow furrowed and lips pursed in confusion. “Are you sure this isn’t just because of the past year and a half where all we had was each other?”

His frown deepened for a moment before it relaxed into something sheepish, “I think I started feeling this way since,” he paused to think about it, “maybe even before Pops took me in.”

“You mean when you were still captain of the Spades?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he chuckled some of his nerves out, “you’re a real catch y’know?” He raised a brow at you. “I even had to play the husband card a few times back then.”

“Really?” You paused to think about it. “I remember us arguing most of the time back then.”

“Yeah, I remember I used to complain to Deuce about that,” he let out a hearty laugh, “but remember that time when everyone was celebrating-”

“And I found you sitting by yourself in the crow’s nest when I went up to hide from everyone?”

“Yeah,” it was there - the wistful quality to Ace, “that was probably when this all started.”

“Wasn’t I just talking about why I had a bounty on my head back then?” You tried to remember.

“Yeah,” he sighed out, “you were really passionate about it too,” there was a dopey quality to his smile, “and I couldn’t help it - you reminded me of my brother and I thought you were really smart.”

“Sabo?” You asked tentatively.

He nodded, “in the beginning it was because of that - I just wanted to be by you and hear everything you had to say, it made me feel like my brother was alive again.”

“That explains the way you kept nagging me back then.”

“Nagging?”

“That’s how it felt to me back then.”

He shrugged, “when we were on the Moby Dick though - I stopped thinking of Sabo, I just wanted to know what you had to say.”

“Really?” He chuckled as you lit up. You wondered if he realized how deeply his confession touched you.

“Really!” He grinned at you, and you felt a warmth wrap around you like a warm blanket.

He looked so boyish as he shrugged, “ anyway, Marco tried to push me to confess to you after I woke up,” he grabbed your hand, tracing your knuckles with his thumb, “he told me all about how much I made you worry,” he turned your hand over in his, “but I was too scared to believe it meant anything.”

“Marco knew about it?” You asked when he was done.

“Everyone knew!” He chuckled. “Heck even Pops knew,” he grinned now looking at the tattoo that sat on his pulse, “of course they knew, I pulled out the husband card on some swabbies.”

He burst out laughing, “you should’ve seen their faces!” He calmed down. “It wasn’t so funny when the commanders heard me though-” he grimaced, but smiled soon enough.

“I’m glad they did though,” he went back to rubbing warm circles into your skin, “forced me to reckon with myself,” he looked into your eyes, “put a name to what I was feeling.”

“Put a name to what you were feeling?” You breathed out - head as light as ever. “What did you come up with?”

You watched his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he took, as though steeling himself again. There was a ferocity in his gaze as it locked onto yours, “I was jealous,” he brought the hand he held to his lips letting them carve his answer into your skin, “whenever I saw someone else trying to win you over,” his hand squeezed yours as yet another wave of heat crashed over you, “I felt jealous and gross because it wasn’t like you were really my wife.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” what was he- “but your parents told me to protect you. And I would -will, and not because they asked me to. I just want to.”

“Ace,” you felt the warmth foment into wrath instead, “you’re confusing me,” you frowned, yanking your hand back, “what do you want from me?”

You saw it then, a flicker of the shadows of the monsters beneath the waters.

You loved Ace. You knew this. You knew that it made you lenient towards him at times. But right now…no. You needed clarity.You weren’t about to enter this new stage on shaky foundations. Because you loved him you couldn’t afford to be lenient about this.

“You ask to be mine,” you couldn’t help the way the fear seeped into your words, “then tell me you aren’t good enough for me,” you looked away with a frown, “I know you don’t have the best idea about yourself, but…just…” you were struggling to put words to it, “what are you trying to achieve?”

When you looked at him again, his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly ajar. He probably didn’t expect things to go like this. Especially given you could have said they’d been going well initially, until you ruined things with your overthinking…but still…you didn’t want some kind of accidental or pity romance. You didn’t want Ace to feel indebted to you, or make decisions while confused or vulnerable.

Though as you looked at him, all the shock left his body, his singular brow arching in that unique way it did with him, while his lips curved up. “Hey, can I hold your hand again?”

“O-kay?” Where was he going with this?

He took your hand again, carefully spread out your fingers, and then pressed it to chest, right above his heart, like he had back when you’d started hyperventilating. He held it there and you could feel the rabid, slightly erratic pattern it was taking, “y’feel that?”

You nodded.

“You’re right,” he was sheepish, “telling you I’m jealous, and that I want you to be mine, and that I can’t keep a promise to keep my hands off of you makes it sound like I’m really horny, huh?”

He was laughing as you sputtered in embarrassment, and held your palm firm to his chest, “to be honest with ya, I really like having your hand on my chest here - kinda wish I wasn’t wearing a shirt really.”

“Ace!” You barely garbled out.

“I think you’re amazing,” he continued, holding firm - and you could feel his heart pounding under your palm, “and like you said, I hate the cursed blood I carry.”

“It’s not-”

“But you know how I said I want to live a life without regrets?” You stopped struggling. “I’m not good enough, never will be, not for you,” his hand squeezed yours, pushing it further against his chest, “but, I’d regret not trying to be good enough, I’d regret not shooting my shot.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” You frowned. “What if I’m not good enough for you?”

“What’s that thing you like to say?” He hummed. “It’s my opinion?”

“I hate your opinion.”

He guffawed. “I’m a coward,” he confessed as he calmed down, “and a selfish bastard,” his smile rivaled the sun, “but I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, even if I’m not worthy.”

“You are,” you glared at him.

His expression went back to that charmingly confused one. “I’ve deemed you worthy,” you huffed - genuinely upset with how he was speaking about himself, “regardless of all this worthy-worthy talk, you’re the one I want to spend my life with too.”

You genuinely could not find it in you to care how cute his grin was right now, “and that’s the worst proposal I could receive!” You were fuming. “I hate it when you insult yourself like that!”

“I’m below you, but please accept me,” you scowled, “well no can do!”

His face fell at your rant. “I want an equal Ace,” you gestured with your free hand, “I want a partner, not an indentured servant! I don’t want to be put on a pedestal! If my husband isn’t willing to be on equal footing with me then-”

“Hey that wasn’t what I meant!” The object of your fury (and affections?) argued. “I’m just saying you’re out of my league!”

“That’s one thing to say,” you were rather animatedly ranting now, “and we’ll have to agree to disagree on that-because hot stuff you’re within a league of your own,” you continued what was likely years worth of frustration with his self-deprecation leaving you, “and for argument’s sake, let’s say you weren’t - that sounds like an excuse not to work hard to become worthy once I accept you!”

“I didn’t mean that at all!” He cut into your rant. “‘Sides I already said I’m gonna bust my ass trying to be good enough for you!”

“Well that’s all any girl would ask for! You absolute dumbass!” You yelled back at him. “No one wants to hear their loved ones talk smack about themselves the way you do!”

“Just imagine we had kids one day and they hear their father talking about himself in such an awful way!” Seriously, where did this idiot come from? Talking about himself in such a terrible way. “What kind of lessons would you be teaching them? What kind of example are you setting? They’d learn to-”

“Kids?” He blinked owlishly at you - oh.

Ohhh…

Ohhhh nnnoooooo.

If he wasn’t holding your hand to his chest, you’d have put more distance between you two, but for now you’d have to settle for covering your face with one hand while looking away. It was silent for a long minute…was it a minute? You weren’t sure, but you felt Ace’s chest vibrate with a series of chuckles and braced yourself.

“You’re a real difficult woman to please, y’know?” You met his amused stare with your own unamused one.

“I don’t want to start our relationship on anything but a solid foundation,” you muttered, “if you don’t feel worthy, then put in the effort to feel worthy.”

His grin only widened, “y’know I’d take that to mean you want me the same way I want you.”

“I think that fact is pretty well established by this point,” you grumbled.

“If I understood everything,” oh he looked so smug right now, “then if I wanna tell you I love you, I can’t say anything about how you’re out of my league?”

“You think I’m out of your league.”

“Oh that’s right, because I’m hot stuff.”

He laughed some more when you rolled your eyes. His laughs died immediately when you said, “you are hot stuff.”

“Because…I’m made of fire?” He gulped.

“No.”

“I forgot how assertive you could get,” he blushed, stunned, “it’s been a while since I pissed you off huh?”

Your embarrassment was beginning to catch up to you, as you adjusted yourself to be able to rest your cheek on your palm. You were avoiding looking at him, even if he was essentially burning a hole into you with how he was unabashedly looking at you.

“That bit about our future kids…I never wanted any, but I’m starting to like the idea,” he was being such a tease.

“Yeah? Well, I want kids!” You huffed, still not looking at him.

“Mmm, even if they’re mine?”

“Especially if they’re yours!” You huffed. “You and the idiots in the World Government are the only people with such a weird fixation on Gold Roger’s blood.”

“Darlin’ you’re being really bold right now,” he was grinning, “how mad at me are you?”

“I’m livid,” you finally turned to glare at him, “you’ve been saying absolutely awful things about my d-dear darling husband! It’s-it’s unforgivable!”

One corner of his lips curled upwards at the way you stuttered, but the little flickers of flames popping off his shoulders revealed he was just as embarrassed as you were. “Sounds like,” he swallowed thickly, “sounds like you really like this husband of yours.”

You swallowed as you looked him in the eyes, “I love him.”

His eyes widened, then he scowled, “hey! I wanted to say it first!”

“Well, be faster next time!” You stuck your tongue out at him - wait. “You did though.”

“Ah! So you did hear me!” He pointed a finger at you, finally releasing your hand, letting it drop from his chest.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you were being mean to yourself, so I had more important things to deal with.”

“More important than me telling you I love you?” He looked at you incredulously. “For the first time?”

“Well maybe if you didn’t put yourself down right after,” you poked his nose with your index finger, “I would have focused on the ‘I love you’ part more!”

His eye twitched for all but a moment, expression indignant, “you’re really hot when you’re assertive y’know?”

You sputtered at that and looked away to maintain some semblance of composure. You didn’t see that coming. He called for you and you looked at him again, “you asked me if I was sure about this.”

You nodded at him, frustration finally cooling down.

“I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life,” he declared, “I want you by my side, I want to be by yours, I want to spend the rest of our lives together until we’re nothing but skeletons in a grave.”

“I love you,” he stated it like it was as factual as the sea being blue, “even when you’re mad and yelling at me for confessing to you badly,” his grin settled for something more solemn as he asked, “what about you? Are you sure?”

“I am,” you nodded, “I want to build a life together. With you.”

“I love you,” he breathed it out like a prayer then, and you couldn’t help but describe his expression as reverent.

“I love you too,” you responded firmly as though it were an irrefutable fact, and you could feel your smile threaten to split your face in two.

“Satisfied?” He asked. “Is this ground solid enough for us?”

“I think so,” you nodded, “I want nothing but success for our relationship.”

“Me too,” he grinned as he ruffled through his pockets, from which he pulled out two velvet boxes. “I got these with-what did you call it again?” He grinned. “Honest money?”

You simply stared at the boxes in shock, then back up at your husband, then back down at the boxes. “What?” There was an amused lilt to his speech. “Y’didn’t think I would confess to you unprepared now did ya?”

You guessed you did, with the surprise you were feeling, as you tentatively reached for one of the boxes and opened it up. To your greatest fortune the silver band was clearly meant for a groom. Your eyes widened when you looked over and saw the ring he’d picked out for you, raising a brow at him you couldn’t help but wonder, “how did you get the funds for this?”

“I did some work around that island we were on,” he beamed, “and sold some of the gifts they gave us when we beat those sea kings.”

“It’s so pretty,” you admired what was going to be your ring, it reminded you a little of fire, the ruby red gem was cut in a teardrop shape however the surrounding gems were arranged in such a way that it looked like a flame, you giggled your shoulders relaxing, “it reminds me of you.”

“That right?” He smiled, removed the ring and packed the box up in his pocket, as he took your left hand in his, “I kinda wanted it to,” he admitted as he slid the ring on your finger.

While you were admiring your finger, Ace tried to grab the other box from you, however you pulled it out of his grasp, “ah ah ahh,” you tutted, “I’ll be the one to do the honors!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I really like it when you’re assertive.”

He laughed at you as you pointedly avoided his waggling brows until you had the ring ready. He already had his hand out for you to slide the ring into, seemingly more than happy to wear that symbol that seemed so silly to him…until now, you supposed as you slid the band onto his finger.

“Should we say vows?” You asked. “Wait, didn’t they say the vows before the rings?”

Ace hooked his pinky with yours, “I promise - er - vow, to…” he gulped and you could feel him heat up, “love…you…uh until I die - for as long as I live?” He slacked. “I’m not great at this poetic stuff.”

“Then don’t be poetic,” you smiled at him, “just say what you want to say.”

“Then,” he tightened his pinky, “I’m gonna work hard every day to be a man worthy of being by your side,” he looked you dead in the eyes, “it’s true that it’s due to pure luck I even got the chance to get to know you, but I won’t ever let this opportunity go. I’ll love you to the day I die, and even beyond that if I can.”

“You already said that,” you smiled at him, “maybe we didn’t need to do vows.”

“I’ll say it every day if you want me to.”

Somehow…somehow…now that you had a ring on your finger, and with your pinky linked to his, and with him reiterating how strongly he felt…somehow…

All you could do was blink at him.

This was really happening.

The last remnants of indignation flickered away into the breeze that toyed with the waves of your beloved’s hair.

Oh.

This was…you were…Ace was…you blinked up at him, “is this real life, or am I dreaming right now?”

His determined expression was wiped off with one that was very unamused, “I’m out here pouring my heart to you - wait you dream about me?”

“Maybe once or twice?” You continued to gape at him. Noticing his own surprised expression, you shook yourself out of your trance, and pulled at your joined pinkies. “Oh-yeah, my-my turn.”

His gaze carried that same softness you’d seen for a while now as he waited to hear your vows, “I know it won’t always be easy, the same way painting a masterpiece isn’t easy, but,” you paused your joy teasing your lips, “I am determined to spend the rest of my life here with you,” you looked him straight in the eyes, “you’re worth every bit of love I have to give, and I’ll prove it through my efforts and commitment, I’ll work hard so you’ll never regret choosing me.”

“Never,” he affirmed.

“Using a negative term…feels rather…negative, don’t you think?” You thought aloud.

“Then,” he shook your pinky-linked hands, “I’m going to work hard every day to make sure you’re always happy you married me.”

“And I’m going to make sure you’re always happy you chose me.”

“Always,” he affirmed again, the two of you laughing at the repetition of the pattern.

“Pops was right,” he let go of your pinky.

“About?”

“He kept telling everyone to calm down and stop meddling because our relationship would happen in its own time,” he sheepishly scratched at the back of his neck, “though he did tell me not to wait forever after a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“A few months?”

“Oh pops,” you chuckled as you reached for his tattooed wrist tracing the mark of your late captain, “Marco found out about my feelings for you from Thatch.”

“From Thatch?” He looked surprised. “Marco knew?”

There was betrayal written all over his expression.

“That’s probably why he was pushing you to confess after the war,” you continued to trace his tattoo even as he shuddered, “Marco tried to get me to confess too.”

“He did?”

“It felt wrong,” you shook your head, looking up at him, “you’d nearly died, pops had died, I was a mess mentally, I figured you’d be a mess mentally,” you continued to shake your head as your breathing shallowed, “I told him as much, and he stopped trying to convince me.”

“How’d Thatch find out?”

“Teased me about hosting a wedding banquet given we didn’t have one because y’know?” Your smile was gentle as you remembered the late Fourth Division Commander, your finger resuming its path along the inked mustache. “I told him not to joke about that - and he figured it out immediately.”

“Then he went and told Marco?” Ace guessed. “Wait, I remember there being a day when you were chasing after Thatch on the deck, looking really desperate about something.”

“Yepp,” you nodded, taking in a deep inhale you traced the crossbones on your husband’s skin again, “got him to promise not to tell anyone else after I found out he’d told Marco.”

“Y’know, at that point I was already a goner for you,” he confessed, “and the crew already knew about me.”

A silence passed over the two of you, as you continued to play with the mark on his skin.

“To think…you liked me too?” He scratched the back of his head with the hand not currently in your clutches. “I mean back then!”

“Is it really that surprising?” You pressed down on his pulse a little.

“It’s just,” you looked up at him, “darlin’,” there was that sweet, sweet adage again, “you ended up on my ship due to pure dumb luck,” his hand moved to grab your own that was still tracing his tattoo, “you’re practically a princess in comparison to a pirate like me.”

You scoffed at that, “please, I am far from being a princess.”

“To me you are,” this might be the softest you’ve ever seen your friend, “and this isn’t me talking down about myself,” he poked you in the forehead, “you’re smart, you’ve got a family that wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me dead if I ever tried anything funny-”

You laughed at that bit, “my cousin especially.”

“She was more than ready to have my head and I hadn’t even done anything yet,” he laughed alongside you, “‘the only reason I’m letting you take her is because I have to! Who knows what they’ll do to her in the marine prisons.’ was what she said before threatening to hunt me down.”

You both laughed at that, “if she sees you keep me safe and make me happy she’ll love you, you know?”

“Love me like that?” He raised a brow at you.

“Maybe!” You shrugged.

“You see?” He gently poked your cheek with his knuckle, “you’re royalty. Way out of my league.”

“Technically you’re royalty,” you flicked his forehead.

“How?” His confused expression was absolutely adorable.

“Pops was an Emperor!” You beamed. “You’re a pirate prince.”

The two of you shared a laugh, the ridiculousness of the notion amusing both of you until, “oh that’s right!”

“What is?” Ace startled as you suddenly straightened up, shoving your hand into your own pocket, and pulling out a small wooden plaque attached to an adjustable black cable.

Upon further inspection it became apparent that it was a bracelet - one you’d whittled back at the little family’s shop. On the main plaque there was Whitebeard’s jolly roger, and it was surrounded by two wooden “beads” - could you call them that? One was a flame shape and the other a spade, you’d had to make sure they were thick enough that you could put a hole through either one.

“This is for you!” You beamed at him as you offered it to him.

“Did you make this?” He stared between you and the bracelet.

“Yeah!” You grinned. “I tried making your happy and sad faces, but it didn’t work out, so I made a spade and little flame instead!”

“You sure know how to make a man feel loved,” he gently traced at the jolly roger etched in the wood.

“I hope you always feel loved in my presence,” you beamed.

“I do,” he grinned at you, “so much it’s almost scary,” he held out the bracelet to you, “will you do the honors?”

“With pleasure,” you took the trinket out of his hands and slid it onto his bare, right wrist.

He barked out a laugh, when you went straight back to playing with the tattoo on his pulse. “What’s so funny?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “I’m just thinking about how we could have been real years ago.”

“In that case weren’t we technically a real couple at that point? If everybody knew?” You rubbed your thumb along his tattooed pulse point. “Except for us, that is.”

“Mmm but I wanted to do, coupley things with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, relishing in how that seemed to make you shy.

Though, it seemed like you weren’t one to simply let him have the last say. You weren’t looking at him as you took his tattooed pulse and brought it to your lips. He jolted at the sensation, heart leaping. Little flames flickering out of his shoulders as you made eye contact with him afterwards, “how’s that for coupley things?”

He was quick to grab and tug you into him, relishing in your mild surprise, “don’t you know better than to play with fire?” He grinned at you as he readjusted the hand that had found its way to your waist.

“I remember being told I have to ask a lady for permission to kiss her,” he nodded his chin at your lips, “may I?”

You were too embarrassed to say yes, instead choosing to cover your face with your hands. “Ace!” You whined. “Have mercy on me.”

“I didn’t realize you were this shy,” he was chuckling, “where’d your bold attitude go?”

He guffawed when you let out an embarrassed screech at the reminder, “I was absolutely shameless earlier, don’t remind me!”

“I didn’t think so,” oh you could hear the smug grin on his face, “you felt more fierce to me,” he sounded closer, “it’s a real turn on, y’know?”

“Ace!” You garbled out.

He chose to press a little kiss to your forehead instead, “I’m not gonna push you, just teasing you a little is all.”

True to his word, he readjusted his hold, and repositioned the two of you so that he could hug you from behind. He was kinda like a koala bear in that regard.

“Hey Ace?” He gave a small hum in response. “Can I see your tattoo again?”

“You sure like playing with it huh?” He asked as he handed his hand over to you and you turned slightly in his hold.

You could feel his eyes on you as you pressed your thumbs into it, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. Once again, you brought his wrist to gently brush your lips against it, and felt him jolt. Finally you brought his pulse to your forehead, “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

When you turned to face him again, his cheeks were bright, dusted in those freckles you adored, as he smiled, not a shadow in sight, “me too.”

As always I am OPEN TO CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, and would like to know if anyone seemed out of character. Please and thank you! Reblogs and comments appreciated!

Want more Ace stuff? Check out my MasterList

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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scorpioriesling · 7 months ago

Text

An Enticing Offer

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Lucien x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw

Summary: Your roomate was a lot of things; kindhearted, hard-working, handsome... but, he was other things too. Messy. Maybe a little irresponsible. But, most of all -- deliciously, enticing.

SR’s Note: Oye... everytime I write smut, I feel nyyyyassty, LOL. Anywho, many thanks for @hardcoremarvelfan for the request -- I present to you, absolute Lucien filth using prompts #2, #12, #23, #71, and #74 from my promt request list. (; Enjoy.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide kitchen windows in your apartment, the golden glow illuminating the otherwise darkened space. Heaving the brown paper bag onto the small kitchen table, you sighed. Sure, an apartment that overlooked the Sidra was quite a luxury in your eyes -- but for the amount you paid each month to rent this place (well, paid half of), you'd sometimes wished they'd included curtains.

Add that to next week's grocery list. You kept forgetting to pick some up when you went to the market.

You began removing the miscellaneous items from the bag -- fresh vegetables, canned goods, that disgusting cereal your roomate requested -- and putting them away. When the mid-shelf in your pantry was full, you groaned in frustration; the top shelf was too high to reach, and your very tall, very able roomate would not be home until tomorrow.

Groceries on the table it is. And... maybe, a stepstool, added to next week's grocery run.

You were fortunate enough to secure a place like this, not to mention the roomate that came with it -- you'd met a few years ago and became fast friends, and living together seemed like a wise choice when you'd both finally abandoned your childhood homes.

A good choice indeed; having Lucien around brought you comfort, as you never liked being alone anyways. Not to mention, he was kind hearted, funny, and quite easy on the eyes. You tried to ignore the stir inside when he'd so casually walk around without a shirt on, or emerge from the bathroom in only a towel...

It was his place too, rather.

You groaned in frustration when you spotted the dirty pans on the stove, inspecting the residue on one as you picked it up.

If your roomate was one thing, it was messy.

"Lucien," you grumbled aloud. Tossing the pans into the dishwasher, you shoved it closed and turned on the wash cycle. How hard was that?

This happened quite often; Lucien, not cleaning up after himself. And you, trailing after him with a broom and dustpan.

You paused, listening for another soft sound over the rumble of the dishwasher. Straining your ears, you couldn't quite make it out -- the muffled, mubling sound over the running water.

Brows furrowing in confusion, a flicker of fear coursed through you. Sure, when Lucien was here, you'd never felt afraid in your apartment; but, since he'd left on a particularly gruelling mission only a few days ago, you couldn't help the irrational paranoia that made an appearance every so often.

Taking a timid step toward the hallway, you heard it again -- louder, this time. A soft, breathless sound amid the falling water. Your breath caught in your throat; someone was surely inside your home.

You walked faster, soft steps toward the bathroom door; sure enough. The water was running, and someone was inside.

Had he gotten home early?

"L-Lucien?" You squeaked. Your voice came out less confident than you'd hoped, and your hand shook as you reached for the doorhandle.

"Y/N... oh Gods, yes..."

Your outstretched palm halted. The voice was surely his, but what in the Hell was he doing in there?

"I'm... I'm coming in."

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you grabbed the doorhandle, twisting and shoving inside the small bathing room. Steam blasted against your face, and you coughed once as you waved it away.

The mumblings stopped.

And the shower curtain flew open.

The two of you shared a shout of shock as your eyes met, his face framed by his long, yet soaking, red hair. You both stared at one another in silent surprise for a beat, before both speaking at once.

"What the Hell are you doing here?"

"Why didn't you knock?"

The moment of clarity hits you, and Lucien wipes a hand over his dewy face.

"Y/N... by the Cauldron, why would you come in when I'm literally showering?" Your brows narrow, and you cross your arms over your chest. You don't miss him pulling the shower curtain in front of his body to cover himself -- but it's too late.

Your cheeks pinken.

"I... I didn't know, you were home, yet." You stammer, your cheeks deepening in color. "I heard someone in here, and you were still gone and-"

"And, what, you thought a stranger was using our shower?" Lucien chuckles. You feel your face heating even more, slight irritation bubbling beneath the surface as your friend seems to find this situation amusing.

"Well, I-"

He continues to laugh, raking a hand through his wet hair. Small droplets of water cascade over his shoulders, running down and over the exposed area of his pectoral muscles.

You huff. "If I must be perfectly clear," You glare. "I heard something going on in here other than just the shower." His eyebrows raise in an amused stare as his eyes scan over your face. Your very embarassed, face.

"Uh huh, and what do you think you heard?"

You huff, trying to look anywhere but him as his gaze intensifies.

"I-I thought you weren't even supposed to be home yet," you stammer, attempting to change the topic.

"Got back early," he deadpans. "I just can't believe you really thought it was anyone but me in here." He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"I suppose it's because of all the moaning and ... and, and words coming from inside this room." You try to remain confident, but falter as you notice his gaze lowering to your chest. Bad day to opt for a tank top.

"There's nothing wrong with relieving stress -- why is that so unbelieveable?" He quirks a brow.

You feel the familiar swirl inside your abdomen.

You swallow hard. "I guess... it was quite unbelieveable to think you'd be the one in here, saying, and... doing those things." He chuckles, and you catch sight of his erection pushing against the shower curtain. You quickly look away.

"More likely a stanger, than me, hm?" He tuts.

You gulp. "I suppose so."

Its quiet for an awkward moment, you trying not to stare at your half-covered gorgeous roomate as his eyes trail you up and down; so agonizingly slow.

"Y/N... you don't have to pretend to not stare." He chuckles. "In fact, you could join me-"

Your mouth opens in shock. "Lucien Vanserra! You're not seriously suggesting that--"

"Oh, I am." He grins, like a feline about to pounce on a little mouse. You shake your head in disbelief, the swirling in your stomach a full on tornado at this point.

You scoff, folding your arms over your chest once more. "What, you need me to help you?" You ask. He shrugs, moving to close the shower curtain. Taking a timid step forward, you begin to shrug off your shorts before thinking too long about it.

"Only if you're willing," he muses, his voice once again muffled by the cloth.

"What an enticing offer," you quip, glancing to the mirror at your reflection.

Your cheeks burn, the sensation in your abdomen becoming near unbearable. Were you really about to fuck your roomate? So many nights you'd spent together, doing seemingly harmless things; watching movies, reading together, preparing dinner.

Many of those nights, you went to bed with your hand between your thighs.

Pulling back the shower curtain lightly, you let out a nervous laugh as he came into full view. His back was to you, which made it easier to slip in behind him.

He turned, his eyes immediately wavering from your face to trace over every curve you had to offer. His bottom lip drew lightly between his teeth.

"Seems like you could use my help," you chatter, nerves propelling your mouth to move. "If you clean yourself as well as you clean your dishes-"

His hand gripped your waist, the other grabbing the back of your neck as he pulled you to him. His mouth crashed into yours, his lips moving and gliding along yours alike as he devoured your kiss. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping and tracing along the toned muscle there. It was only after his tongue had slipped in that you let out a soft moan, and he pulled back from you.

"Y/N... I-" His words were cut off as you reached between you two, gripping his hardened length that had been pushing against your stomach. His breath caught, and his eyes stared for only a moment where your hand held him before looking directly down into your eyes.

"Please..." he breathed out, his pupils blown wide with desire. You moved your hand up and down, how you'd fantasized doing many times before. You could feel him hardening more in your hand, and he reached one of his hands up to play with your nipple. You gasped, and he leaned back against the shower wall as you sped up your minstrations.

"I... I... oh Gods, Y/N," he breathed out. His other hand reached behind you, his fingers pressing into the curve of your ass where it met your thigh. You smirked, looking up at him in this state.

"You, what, pretty boy?" His eyes opened as he looked to you, doe-eyed and putting on a show. "Can't even finish a sentence as I jerk you off, hmm?"

His brows furrow, his teasing from earlier seeming to finally catch up with him. His one hand leaves your butt, gripping your wrist that pumps him; the other one clasps your throat.

"Don't act so innocent," he growls, and you clench your thighs, his tone sending a wave of heat straight to your clit.

"Get on your knees."

You make quick work of lowering yourself onto the shower floor, the warmed tile pressing against your knees as you sit back on them. His hand grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail, forcing you to look up at him. His free hand yanks on his erection -- a sight worth salivating over.

"Open that fuckin' mouth."

Happy to oblige, you open, laying your tongue out flat for him to see. He groans, his fist pumping his dick faster.

You lean forward, your tongue meeting the bottom of his length as he removes his hand. You replace it with your own near the base, holding him steady as you lick a fat stripe along his cock. Continuing your teasing, you trace your tongue along the vein running from the base to his tip; all the while lightly circling your hand at the bottom.

"Mmmm... 'love the way you taste," You groan, and gasp when he grabs your head with both hands.

"Don't... stop, the teasing," he pants, pushing your head closer to his throbbing dick. You take one breath before shoving it in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

"Fuck," he grunts, as you start moving forward and back along his angry length. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him hard as his hips start thrusting against you.

"Mhm... fuck, Y/N, taking it so good," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening. You move quicker, his hips fucking his cock into your mouth harder and harder -- so hard you gag. He throws his head back with an unrestrained moan, and you gaze up at him through your tear-filled eyes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and needy like this...

You reach your free hand between your legs, your fingers finding the buzzing bundle of nerves near your core. He looks down at you once more, his length twitching inside your mouth.

"Yes... yes, play with that pussy," he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to prolong his orgasm. "Fuck... oh, fuck-"

He yanks your hair, pulling your mouth flush against his pelvis as he releases, hot spurts of cum coating the back of your throat. You cough as he gasps, yanking his dick out of your mouth before leaning down to grab your jaw hard.

"Swallow all of it."

You do, gulping before gasping for air. He leans back against the shower wall, smirking at you as he offers a hand to help you up. You reach up, positioning the showerhead so the water hits you directly.

Bathing in the warmth for a few minutes, your breath quickens as your roomate reaches for you, his deft fingers tracing along the curve of your waist before one reaches your throbbing core. Your breath hitches, and you grab onto his shoulders as he looks to you with pure lust in his eyes.

"Lucien..." you say breathlessly. "You... you already came-"

"Mhm," he says, his tone low as he presses a kiss just below your ear. "But you didn't."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of silver flames #acosf #a court of frost and starlight #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #acofas #lucien x reader #acotar smut #acowar #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #lucien smut #pro lucien #vanserra brothers #lucien vandaddy #read more

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greentea-and-honey · 1 month ago

Text

literally fuck it here we areeeee. um the gravity falls hunger games au belongs to @aroace-get-out-of-my-face , i originally dmed this to her and she said i should post them so heeeeere we are. sorry thats its long i didnt want to post on ao3. licherally cannot stop thinking about this, its the only hunger games au that hasnt made me think suzanne collins was right to make sunrise on the reaping. if you want background, i highly suggest going to her blog and scrolling through the 'hunger games au' tag, its a fun read!!! okey dokey anywho:

“Be smart,” their mentor, a man who had insisted on being called ‘Nep’ had told Stan and Darlene. “Do what I told you to do, and don’t fuck this up.”

Darlene had frowned, because the strategy that Nep had insisted on for her interview had been to play up her youth and innocence, to really tug at the audience’s heartstrings and play the scared little girl who missed her family, but had a well of inner strength that she was going to draw from. Darlene had protested, wanting to paint herself as a fierce warrior, and could not be persuaded that she was going to be laughed off stage. She was fierce, sure, but she was also twelve years old. It was darkly comical, and had Stan been home with Ford, safe in their house, they would have looked sadly at each other during her desperate attempts to seem like a worthy opponent, instead of easy pickings.

“And you?” Nep glanced at Stan, and gave a sort of crooked half-smile. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?” Stan repeated, surprised. “What…what’s that?”

“The cocky, ne’er-do-well persona you’ve been playing up since you walked on that stage,” Nep said. “I saw the Reaping. Volunteering for your brother gets you a lot of points from the Capitol right off the bat. And you’ve not shown any fear, at least on camera. You’ve spent most of it being insufferable to everyone but the Capitol. Frankly, you don’t need me for camera points.”

“Aw,” Stan had grinned. “You think I’m insufferable?”

Nep grinned, and Stan decided, not for the first time, that he liked Nep well enough. He had been the winner when Stan was just a kid, maybe six or seven years old. Nep had been fourteen at the time, a younger winner, and a lucky one. The games that year had been in a coastal arena, similar to home, and when a tsunami came and washed most of the tributes away, Nep had managed to tough it out, and then waited for most of the other tributes to kill each other before proving his skills with a knife, gutting a girl from District 7 with efficiency unlike anything Stan had ever seen before.

Nep was a mentor now, and both he and Daphne were a bit surprised by his quiet nature. Nep was shyer than the cameras had implied. He tended to back away from any more interviews that focused on himself, and when asked about himself, his victories, or most strangely, ‘We haven’t seen your mother in a while, how is she?’ Nep would smile in a tense way, and say “We’re here to talk about my tributes, did you know Stanley is a talented boxer? And oh my, I’ve never seen anyone move quicker than Daphne.”

“This is the worst part,” Nep assured them, adjusting a heavy necklace around Daphne’s neck. “You get through this, it’s smooth sailing from here on out.”

“This dress itches,” Daphne whined, wriggling in a shimmering turquoise gown that reminded Stan of the tiny fish that danced in the tidepools back home. “I don’t wanna wear it.”

“I know, I know,” Nep said. “It’s not for long. Now listen close, the both of you. Stan, quit making eyes at Carla.”

Stan’s attention snapped to Nep. “‘I’m not doing anything.”

Carla, halfway through brushing over Stan’s eyelid with some kind of shimmering powder, scoffed.

“This is the Capitol,” Nep said. “These people have been following your journeys since you got up on that stage. Some of them are invested in you already. Your triumphs, defeats, the rest of it. This is the first and only time you’ll be able to speak to them directly like this. This is your chance to endear them. Follow my instructions, and you’ll only improve your chances.”

“I don’t wanna act like a scared little girl,” Darlene said. “I’m not scared.”

Nep’s face snapped to her, and for the first time, he looked well and truly frustrated. “Yes, you are,” he said tersely. “And if you’re not, you’re stupid. This is a game, Darlene, and you’re treating it like one. But it’s not a game for you. It’s a game for them. I’m in the business of keeping you two alive for as long as I can, but I can’t do that if you insist on sabotaging yourself! Play the damn game!”

Darlene looked surprised, but went quiet. For the first time, Stan thought he saw nerves behind her eyes. Maybe they had always been there, hidden beneath the exterior of a little girl who had been spoiled rotten. He wondered if her family was crying for her back home, already preparing for her funeral, or if they were delusionally holding onto the same dream as she was–that she would be the youngest victor ever.

“Stan,” Nep said, and Stan almost jumped. “Remember what we talked about?”

“My ne’er-do-well self?” Stan asked, and Nep nodded. “Right, got it. Um. Cool.”

Nep frowned, maybe hearing something in Stan’s voice that he himself had yet to identify. He nodded something at Darlene’s stylist, and the stylist pulled her off to the side, fussing with her hair. “You alright?” Nep asked Stan, lowering his voice.

“Yeah,” Stan said, and his voice sounded high-pitched. “Peachy.”

“Stan,” Nep said. “I’m on your side. I’m one of the only people in this godforsaken place that’s truly on your side. What’s wrong?”

Stan swallowed, suddenly feeling dangerously close to breaking. “I-I dunno if I can do this,” he whispered, wobbly. “It’s…it’s easy when no one’s directly looking at me, but I’ve seen the interviews, I know what it’s like. I don’t want to talk about Ford, I don’t want to talk about home, I don’t want-”

“Okay, okay,” Nep said, putting his hand on Stan’s shoulder. He was missing his pinky, which was strange, because he hadn’t lost it in the games. “Okay, deep breath. I know. Like I said, this is the worst part.”

“Second worst part,” Stan said. “You know, the games.”

Nep smiled thinly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Shandra Jimenez is…she’s an interviewer. She’s going to ask those questions. The ones you don't want her too. That’s her job. And it’s a shitty one.”

Stan looked at Carla, suddenly nervous that Nep might have said something dangerous. But she smiled in agreement.

“She enjoys this, breaking down the weaker tributes,” Carla said. “But she doesn’t think you’re weak. She’s going to let you do this over the top persona you’ve been crafting because she likes it as much as everyone else.”

“Exactly,” Nep nodded. “Go with that. Just pretend it’s me or Carla you’re talking to. Not the whole Capitol. Play a role. That’s all this is, after all. A role. And that role might keep you alive.”

Please, Stan thought, almost amused. This idiot doesn’t even know he’s talking to a dead man.

But Nep had been kind. He had held Darlene’s hand when she stepped off the Capitol train and was failing in her attempts to not be scared. He had promised Stan that the first chance he got, he was going to find Ford and do everything he could to keep him out of trouble. He had been nice to the other mentors, who each had an exhausted look in their eyes as they marched their pigs to the slaughterhouse, even as other Career tributes sneered at him. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with a doomed and hopeless tribute.

Stan nodded. “...okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Nep nodded once, tense, and Stan realized abruptly that there had been no winners from District 4 since Nep. They had all gotten pretty far, but were the first to go when the Careers inevitably turned on each other. Maybe he was imagining Stan’s grisly death now. The life of a victor suddenly seemed a lot less glamorous.

“You’re going to do great,” Nep said. “Everybody already loves you.”

That seemed a bit silly and untrue, and Stan was already turning that final encouragement over and over in his head as he waited next to Darlene for the interview. Most of the tributes were silent and pale, staring at the ground or whispering to their district mates. Darlene was trying to make nice with the other Careers, far older than her and looking at her like she was a particularly feisty kitten.

“Quit it,” Stan whispered to her, unable to watch the boy from District 1 barely conceal a laugh as Darlene bragged about her spear skills. “You’re making yourself a target.”

She glared at him, hostile and looking exactly like her brother. “At least I’m trying!” She hissed. “What are you doing? Moping?”

“I’m strategizing,” Stan said, and Darlene rolled her eyes.

“My brother says you’re an idiot who doesn’t know a net from a knife,” she said, folding her arms.

“Yeah well, your brother still does the ‘L’ trick to figure out his right from his left,” Stan snapped, exhausted. “So there.”

Darlene opened her mouth, probably to argue more, but then paused, noticing something behind Stan. “Uh oh. Got a crier.”

Stan heard soft sniffling, and looked back to see a little boy, about Darlene’s age but no doubt half her physical strength, crying desperately, apparently unable to take the stress anymore. By Stan’s count, he looked to be in District 10. He was in a bright red suit, tears dripping from his ears, desperately trying to reign them in.

His district mate, an older girl with wild dark hair mostly concealed by a red silk scarf, was kneeling next to him, looking nervous. “Stop crying,” he heard her say, in a fervent and distinctly uncomforting sort of way, but he couldn’t really blame her. “Stop crying, they’ll see.”

“I’m trying,” the little boy said, hiccuping and only working himself up more. “I’m trying, I’m trying, Emma May, I wanna go home–”

Emma May’s ears were inflamed around her drop earrings, and Stan wondered if she had been forced to pierce her ears right before the interview. Her dress was bright red, flowing around her like a slit throat.

Stan saw a few Capitol camera people perk up at the sound of muffled sobs, and whisper to each other. Stan’s heart dropped. Crying was bad enough when you were reaped. But crying now, so close to the interview? Someone would whisper it in that witch’s ear onstage, and she would bring it up, goading the tribute to see if they would have another meltdown.

Darlene tutted something disapproving, and Emma May looked panicked, trying to shield the little boy with her body. The tributes from the lower districts looked sympathetic, but no one made a move to help. Stan could hardly blame them.

The Careers looked back, starting to get curious, and Stan could bear it no longer.

“Gotta piss!” He said loudly, stepping out of line. “I’ll be right back, just give me a second-”

“Get back in line,” a Peacekeeper growled, and all eyes were on Stan. All cameras too.

“What, a man can’t piss?” Stan asked. “Thirty seconds in the bathroom, that’s all I ask. I won’t even wash my hands.”

Stan heard a few younger tributes giggle, and he grinned, playing it up. Nep wanted a show? He’d get a pre-show too.

“Line,” the Peacekeeper growled, unamused.

“I can even go in a corner real quick,” Stan said. “I mean, I’ve seen your buddies doing the same thing–”

The Peacekeeper drew a baton, and Stan backed away, hands up in surrender. He certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those again. “Okay, okay! If I piss my pants onstage, it’s on you.”

He stepped back in line next to Darlene with an easy smile. She looked at him like he was crazy. “What was that?!”

“Nothing,” Stan said, glancing back in line. The extra time had given the boy a chance to get a hold of himself, and while his face was ruddy, it should clear up by the time it was his turn onstage. Stan locked eyes with Emma May, and gave her a thumbs up with a smile. She looked perplexed, and glared back at him, suspicious.

“What was that?!” Darlene demanded again.

Stan shrugged, and she scowled. “You idiot. You can’t be making nice with lower districts, they’re always the first to go! You couldn’t do much worse than 10 either, even the 12s look stocky this year at least. If you don’t start making allies, you’ll be out faster than you can blink–”

“I’m not here to win,” Stan said, and then blinked. That was the first time he had said it out loud.

Darlene blinked, looking shocked. “What? But–”

“I’m here to play,” Stan said, falling back onto an easy smile, even if it felt plastic now. “That’s all a game is, right? Let’s try to have some fun with it.”

Darlene stared at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. He felt like it. “...whatever,” she decided. “Just…just don’t get in my way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stan muttered, and then the crowd outside, awaiting their final words, erupted in applause as Shandra Jimenez walked out onstage, grinning and waving at the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she crowed. “Happy Hunger Games!”

“Showtime,” Darlene said quietly, and for once, Stan agreed.

All in all, District 4 was probably one of the best places to be when it came to the interviews.

Stan was far enough back in line where he didn’t have to shoulder the monumental task of being one of the first tributes to face Jimenez and the entirety of Panem, but he was close enough to the front where the moneymakers wouldn’t become bored, and they would remember him if he made a big enough splash. Enough time to learn from the mistakes of his fellow tributes without stewing in nerves.

Not that there were many mistakes. The Careers from 1 and 2 had apparently been given media training, because they smiled and laughed with Jimenez without ever allowing the joke to be on them. They chatted without coming off as unserious, made threats to their fellow tributes that they could back up, and seemed almost good enough to be Capitol. Almost. Stan could see the edge on Jimenez, the tightening of her smile when the tributes tried to get too cozy. No matter what, they were still district trash. Distract trash that had been gussied up, but a polish turd was still a turd.

The District 1 boy in particular–Preston, Stan though his name was–was especially annoying. He had been the one laughing at Darlene. Stan already found him extremely grating.

By the time they dropped to 3, the difference between the Careers and the rest of the districts made itself apparent. For kids from 3, a notoriously weedy bunch due to a lifetime of bending over microchips in dusty sweatshops, they weren’t too bad looking. Maybe they hauled cargo, Stan didn’t know, but they were older and looked like they might get a few good hits in before they were taken down. Ada and Coil, Stan was pretty sure their names were.

But they were scared, even though they tried to hide it. Stan could see it in their eyes. They knew what awaited them in the games, and it struck them nearly insane with fear. But they answered their questions meekly, even as Ada picked at her painted nails and Coil kept looking around like a trapped bird.

It was funny, really, how Ford had complained that he should have been born in District 3. Stan, for his part, couldn’t imagine anything other than the coast. Life in 4 could be miserable, but a lifetime of painstakingly putting computers and heat-seeking missiles together as you breathed in silica seemed even more miserable. Coil was already clearly trying to hide a cough.

“Let’s give him a hand, folks!” Jimenez said, and Coil walked offstage, clearly motioned over by his mentor. “And now, let’s get back to our final set of Careers. Everyone give a warm welcome to Darlene Crampelter of District 4!”

Darlene flashed Stan a winning smile, unafraid, and bounced up to the stage, her curls practically floating, gleeful and chomping at the bit to spill blood. The crowd roared, and Darlene waved to them, perfectly lady-like. To her credit, Stan couldn’t tell if she was truly that unafraid or just hiding her nerves extremely well. It could be either. He hoped it was the second, surely she wasn’t that stupid.

“Well, my dear,” Jimenez said as Darlene sat down. “You’ve had quite the journey. Your district has been struggling to pull in volunteers for the past few years, but now we have two! And you volunteered before the name was even finished being called! And not to mention, you are the youngest tribute in this year’s games!”

Darlene smiled. “I just couldn’t wait, I suppose. Can you blame me?”

“How do you like the Capitol, sweetie?” Jimenez cooed, and Darlene’s smile tightened slightly at being treated like a child.

“Oh, it’s dazzling,” she said. “You know, my grandfather visited the Capitol on business when he wasn’t much older than me. He used to tell me and my brother stories. He said that one day, we’d see it, and one day we might even live there.”

The crowd murmured in surprise, and though Stan didn’t doubt her story, he instantly winced. Darlene smiled, unaware of her faux pas, perhaps thinking everyone was quite impressed with her. But there was no admiration, only disgust. District trash, getting too big for her britches, thinks she’s one of us instead of an animal that we caged and then released to watch it die.

Jimenez stiffened, and leaned forward. She looked like a smiling shark. Stan had seen a few in his time. “And you’re not frightened to be the youngest tribute?” Jimenez asked. “Historically, anyone younger than fifteen doesn’t last long.”

Darlene scowled, straightening up. “I’m not afraid of anything, I–”

“RAH!” Jimenez said, jerking forward like she was about to lunge. Darlene flinched back on instinct, her eyes wide and confused at the sudden false attack. The audience roared with laughter, and Jimenez joined them. “Maybe you’re a little bit frightened, sweetie!”

Darlene blinked once, twice, and then realized the joke was on her. Her face flushed bright red, which only made the audience laugh harder. “That’s not fair, you don’t–”

“Oh, this is the games!” Jimenez cackled. “Fair doesn’t have much to do with it, seems like the odds might not be in this particular Career’s favor this year! Maybe you should have waited to see who was going to volunteer before you did it, right?”

Darlene tried to argue, but her words were lost among the shrieking hordes, jeering and finding her impending death absolutely hilarious. Something changed on Darlene’s face, a crack in her facade unlike anything Stan had seen before. She had been overwhelmed and frightened before, but that had been because she had stage fright, or was nervous about the Capitol’s over-the-top presence. Now, though, the crack was something deeper. A crack that made her realize that she was far deeper than she thought, and these people were not her friends. They weren’t even her enemies, not really. They didn’t give a shit about her. Stan didn’t think she had ever been faced with such indifference before.

Jimenez, maybe sensing that Darlene wasn’t going to give any more good content, spent the rest of the interview poking fun at her, asking her if she still smelled like fish, wondering aloud if District 4 was really Career material if this was the best they could offer. Finally, the bell chimed, and Jimenez smiled like they were great friends, shooing Darlene away. “That’s all the time we have for today, sweetie, good luck! Everyone clap for our youngest and, ah, bravest tribute!”

The audience erupted into raucous laughter, and Darlene flinched again. Stan saw Nep standing in the wings of the stage, frantically motioning for her to come offstage to him. After a long moment, she stood, head hung low, practically sprinting offstage to get to Nep. He tried to hug her, and she pushed him off.

“And next up, our second volunteer from 4,” Jimenez said. “Everyone please give it up for Stanley Pines!”

The crowd began to cheer, and Stan’s legs began to move on their own accord, carrying him up to the stage. He saw Carla in the front row, and she gave him a thumbs up, motioning for him to smile.

Something about seeing her there snapped Stan into performance mode. Nep said they needed a show. Fine. They were going to get a show.

He grinned, cocky and relaxed, throwing out a far more exaggerated wave than Darlene had, unrestrained. The crowd went wild. Stan sat down in the chair, winking at Jimenez. She looked surprised, but didn’t comment on it.

“So, our second volunteer,” she said. “And for your twin brother no less! Tell me, what was that like?”

Oh no. Knowing they were going to ask about that didn’t make hearing it any easier. “Well,” Stan said, with a shrug and a smile, hoping it still looked real. “When you’re a twin, you gotta share everything, you know? Birthdays, toys, achievements. Sometimes you want to strike out, be your own man, you know? Couldn’t let my nerd brother have all the glory.”

He found a camera and winked at it. “Hey, Ford, how’s it feel to be doing my chores? I’m living it up at the Capitol!”

The crowd cheered, and Jimenez laughed. “So how do you like the Capitol, then?”

She was trying to trip him up, get him to make the same mistakes that Darlene had. “Oh, man,” Stan said. “Incredible, it’s just incredible. You know I’ve never had turkey before? And on the train up here, the first thing I get is a turkey sandwich. You people have everything! Incredible!”

“You eat a lot of fish then?” Jimenez asked.

“Eat so much I’m probably half fish,” Stan said, and leaned forward. “How’s my breath?”

The crowd cackled, and Jimenez joined them. “Oh, just fine, Stanley, I promise.”

“Stan’s fine,” Stan said, and threw an easy grin at the audience. They whooped. “Horses too, never seen a horse before, and now I got to go right up to one and pet it.”

“They don’t have horses in 4?” Jimenez asked.

“What’s a horse gonna do, Shandra?” Stan asked, taking a risk with a first name. “Pull a cart through the ocean?”

The audience laughed, their biggest reaction yet. Jimenez looked slightly annoyed, but didn’t try to trap him or humiliate him. “So, how’d you like the horses?”

“Oh, loved them,” Stan said, and tried to imagine he was talking to Ford. He would have loved the horses. He would have loved most of the Capitol if not for them wanting him dead. “It’s…their noses are like petting velvet, but their whiskers kinda feel like cat whiskers, you know? When I win, I want one of them in Victor’s Village. In my house. It can just walk around.”

“When you win?” Jimenez asked. “Awfully confident. What’s your strategy? Sources tell me that you may be from 4, but you’re not strictly Career trained, are you?”

There it was. She was trying to psych him out. Stan smiled back, unafraid. It wasn't like he meant any of it anyway. “I wouldn’t count anyone out of this game, Shandra. There’s a good crop this year, tell you that, and I gotta say I respect the competition. But I’m strong. I’m a heavy hitter. I’m not afraid to take a few blows. I’m a boxer, boxers gotta learn how to get hit and get back up. That’s me. I get back up. You don’t have any idea how valuable that skill is. Our strongest traits might not be the ones you see immediately. You know that, right? You’ve been doing this for, oh, a hundred years?”

The crowd howled, and Jimenez’s smile twitched. “Well, Stan–”

“And by the way,” Stan said, on a roll now. “By the way, you can’t count Darlene out either. What’d you expect, someone’s not gonna jump if you come at them? You’re lucky she didn’t punch you in the throat, that girl scares me. She's my biggest competition by far, I’m real lucky we’re district mates and she probably won’t go for me immediately.”

Jimenez’s face looked tight. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, so don’t tell me how to do mine.”

“Maybe if you did your job right I wouldn’t have to,” Stan said, and then instantly regretted saying it.

The crowd ‘ooh-ed’ appreciatively, and the bell sounded. Jimenez smiled, the shark look back. “Well, I suppose that’s all the time we have for today. I’d wish you luck, Stan, but it doesn’t seem like you need it.”

She didn’t implore the audience to cheer for Stan, but they did it anyway, whooping and hollering like he was the cure to all their ills. He winked again, and heard some more cheers and shrieks. It made him a little sick, but it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like he would ever see these people again. He was a dead man already.

Nep was still dealing with Darlene when he stepped offstage, and she was speaking quickly, almost nonsensically, and Nep was struggling to hide her from the camera.

“My cat,” Darlene said, almost feverish. She was shaking, and Nep was desperately trying to calm her down. The cameras were sweeping the area like buzzards, looking for reactions. “My cat, h-he’s at home, I need to go home, no one will take care of him–”

“You think your dumb brother’s not gonna watch him?” Stan asked, and Darlene focused on him. He couldn't get her home, but he might be able to keep her from panicking too badly. It was oddly scary to see her so openly frightened. “Please, I bet that mangy thing is sleeping on his bed right now. You need to worry that he's gonna eat the cat food and not leave any for the damn cat.”

Darlene blinked, snapped out of her spiral, and glared at Stan. “I bet you already know what cat food tastes like,” she sneered, and Nep sent Stan a grateful look.

“You,” Nep said to him. “Just love to toe the line.”

The weight of what he had been saying, in front of all of Panem, crashed down on Stan. “Is…” he swallowed. “Am I going to get in trouble? Did I put Ford in danger?!”

Nep shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was a risk, but it paid off. It’s too much trouble to replace you now, and they would punish you for that kind of trangression. Not your family.”

“Okay,” Stan nodded, uneasy. “O-okay.”

Nep smiled at him, reaching forward to pat Stan on the shoulder. “You did good,” he said. “I’m proud of you. It’s not easy, but you were a pro up there.”

In spite of everything, Stan’s heart swelled at the praise. “...thanks,” he said. “Can we, um. Get out of these costumes?”

“It itches,” Darlene agreed, still looking shaken. Nep subtly drew her close, arm around her shoulder, and she didn’t pull away this time.

“Alright,” Nep said, looking relieved to get out of there. “Let’s see what we can do about a change and a snack.”

By the time Stan was in more comfortable clothes, all of Carla’s hard work scrubbed off his face, the girl from 10 was on stage, looking bored with Jimenez’s antics.

“Any family watching back home?” Jimenez asked, prodding at her.

The girl, Emma May, shook her head stiffly. “My mama and daddy died some time ago. It’s been just me for a while. Don’t got no one waiting on me at home.”

“No one?” Jimenez asked, leaning forward, searching for a crack to spring upon. “There’s rumors that–”

“Just rumors, nothing more,” Emma May said placidly. “You oughta know about rumors, Miss Jimenez. Why, if I believed every rumor I ever heard about you, I bet it would paint quite the unflattering portrait.”

The audience tittered, slightly less entertained when District 10 trash was poking at their beloved host, but amused all the same. Jimenez almost looked exhausted by this routine. Stan wondered if other tributes had had the courage to bite back at her. He hoped so.

“What makes you think you can win?” Jimenez asked. “Especially with no one back home rooting for you.”

Emma May’s face pinched, and for a second Stan thought she was done for, but she smoothed her skirt out. “I’m fighting for myself, and that’s enough. And I’m from 10. That ain’t a weakness, it’s a strength. We grow up ‘round life and death. I seen death a million times over before I was able to speak. We kill, not ‘cause we wanna, but ‘cause it’s our job. I seen blood, I seen guts, I seen bone marrow cracked open and spilled out for the cattle dogs to lick up. I've killed animals, for mercy, food, or ‘cause they was coming at me. And people are just a different type of animal. I ain’t scared to kill. I’m only scared to die. And a cornered, scared animal is the most dangerous type.”

Jimenez blinked, maybe not expecting that answer. Stan certainly didn’t, and the crowd whispered nervously.

Emma May looked sharply at the camera, sensing that she had the floor completely. “And if you wanna talk about rumors,” she said. “Why don’t you show the unedited footage of my reaping–”

The bell sounded abruptly, though Stan was pretty sure she had about thirty seconds left on the interview. “That’s all our time!” Jimenez said quickly. “Thank you for joining us, Emma May Dixon!”

Emma May frowned, but did not argue. Almost serene, she stood up and walked off the stage. They clapped, but no one cheered.

Stan got the sense they were afraid.

*** *** ***

Nep was about to leave Stan and Darlene’s cozy prison cell disguised as an apartment for the day when Stan stopped him, clutching six envelopes.

“Stan?” Nep asked, looking perplexed. “You’ll want to at least try to get some sleep, the games are tomorrow–”

“Can you get to District 4 if you took a train right now?” Stan asked.

Nep blinked. “I…probably? It’d be an all-night train, for sure, I’d get there real early. I don’t think I’m technically supposed to leave though.”

“Will you get in trouble for it?” Stan asked.

Nep paused, considering it. “...no, I don’t think so. Why–”

Stan shoved the envelopes into Nep’s hand. “I need you to take these to my family.”

Nep blinked. “What? But-”

“There’s one for everyone,” Stan said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Ma and Pa, Shermie and his wife and kid, Ford of course–”

“Stan,” Nep said slowly. “If I leave, I won’t be able to see you off tomorrow before you go into the games. I know Darlene doesn’t care, but I figured you would–”

“I want them to have these before I go,” Stan said. “I…I asked them not to watch me.”

Nep looked even more confused, and then he frowned. “...you don’t think you can win.”

Stan said nothing.

“Why…?” Nep shook his head. “Stan…”

“I’m not gonna,” Stan gestured vaguely. “You know, I’m not gonna step off the platform before the countdown finishes. I won’t seek out the Careers or anything like that. But I won’t…I can’t do it, Nep, I can’t kill someone.”

“I didn’t think I could either,” Nep said, and Stan shook his head.

“It’s not that, I…I can laugh and joke, right? Sure, whatever, but I didn’t come here because I thought I could win. I came here because I knew Ford would lose. And I…I couldn’t let that happen. I just couldn’t,” Stan whispered. “And I…I don’t want him to watch me die.”

“You’re not going to–” Nep started, and then realized he couldn’t make that promise. “Don’t count yourself out.”

“I don’t want to be in at all,” Stan said. “I don’t want–I don’t want to play at all. I just…”

Stan swallowed hard, suddenly dangerously close to crying. “...I’m tired, Nep. I just want this to be over.”

Nep said nothing for a long moment, and then moved forward suddenly, hugging Stan tightly.

It was like the floodgates burst open.

Stan choked once, twice, and then wrapped his arms around Nep tightly, unable to hold back his sobs, terrified and exhausted in equal measures. He never thought he would miss home this badly. He had spent most of his life wanting to take to the ocean and see what lay beyond Panem. But now there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be back in a bed that was too small for him, hearing the ocean whisper outside his window, Ford in the bunk above him.

“I’m sorry,” Nep whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Stan wondered if he had grieved for every tribute he had waved goodbye too. It seemed likely. Nep was too soft to be a mentor. And yet they kept parading him out.

“I won’t be able to see you off,” Nep said again, pulling back to brush some hair out of Stan’s eyes.

“That’s okay,” Stan choked, though it didn’t feel okay. “I just…I want them to have it before it starts. Please.”

“...okay,” Nep said, taking the envelopes. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Stan said, relieved.

“...good luck, Stan,” Nep said. “You’re a good kid.”

And when Nep said it, Stan could almost believe it.

*** *** ***

There was someone walking up to Shermie’s house, Ford realized, as he walked back there.

He had been living with Shermie since Stan was dragged away, unable to take Ma and Pa’s different approaches to grief. Ma spent her days tirelessly cleaning the house, buzzing with a strange and stressful energy, and Pa shut down entirely. He wasn’t working, either in fishing or his black market pawn shop he ran from the basement.

Shermie, at least, had to pretend to be functional. He had a wife and baby to look after, and he had been unable to refuse Ford’s pleas to sleep on his couch, just for a little bit. Just until something changed.

Ford made himself useful. He helped Nora around the house, went with Shermie to help on the boats, even though he was terrible at it. He watched the baby, and found himself absurdly jealous that his nephew was perfectly cheerful, completely unaware of the horror show playing out within his family.

Last night, Ford and Shermie had gotten in a fight over something or other, tensions high and everyone already grieving. Ford had taken it too far, and yelled at Shermie for how cruel he was to have a baby, to bring another kid into this goddamn world that needed more blood to oil their machine.

Shermie had gone quiet, and Ford’s face had burned. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“Take a walk,” Shermie said. “Go cool off before we both say something else we regret.”

And Ford had taken that as an invitation to walk around 4 all night, seething and panicked the entire time.

And now there was a man outside Shermie’s house, hours before Stan was set to be released in the arena, to kill and be killed.

He looked nondescript, with thick black hair that hung just above his chin, tan skin and dark eyes. He was wearing long sleeves, even in the hot July early morning, but when he saw Ford, he perked up and waved.

Ford jogged forward, suddenly recognizing him. The mentor for this year, Neptune Garza, smiling nervously like he thought he might be attacked. “You must be Stanford,” Neptune said, nodding. “It’s nice to officially meet.”

“Mr. Garza,” Ford said, feeling sick. “I-is Stanley alright, why are you here–?!”

“Stan’s fine,” Neptune said. “You can call me Nep. Everyone does. Hey, your brother wasn’t lying about the six fingers.”

Ford frowned, but Nep smiled, holding up one of his hands. The pinky was missing. “Ever consider donation?”

“Um,” Ford said.

“Sorry, people keep telling me I’m not funny, I should listen to them,” Nep said. “He wanted me to give you this.”

He extended a hand out to Ford, holding a thick envelope. Ford took his, seeing his name on the front in Stan’s handwriting. “W-what’s this?”

“A letter,” Nep said. “He has them for everyone in your family. He wanted me to deliver them in person, before the games started.”

“Why?” Ford asked. Nep shrugged.

Ford stared at the letter, tracing his name with his finger. A flash of anger went through him, sudden and sharp. “How could you just let this happen?”

Nep looked confused. “What?”

“How could you just let this happen?!” Ford demanded. “Year after year, sending people to their deaths. And you’re okay with it? You just let them kill people?! You’re going to let them kill my brother! You’re going to let them murder him! We need to do something, we have to do something, we have to stop them-!”

Nep suddenly covered Ford’s mouth with his hand, looking panicked. Ford tried to smack his hand away, but Nep held fast. “What the hell’s the matter with you?!” He demanded. “Are you crazy?! You don’t know a damn thing about what happens to you when you speak like that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Your family?! Stan?!”

Ford managed to smack Nep hand away, glaring at him. Nep glared back, and held up his hand with the missing pinky. “This is the least of their punishments. They go for the people you love. They pick apart your head, disfigure you, turn you into their lapdog. You want to help your brother? You shut up and keep your head down.”

Ford blinked, startled. Nep looked surprised with himself after a moment too, and hid his hand behind his back. “...what…” Ford started, and then re-gathered his courage. “What happened?”

Nep shrugged, eyes distant. “...I said no to something I shouldn’t have, when I was around your age. A lot of people paid the price.”

“But…” Ford said. “You were a Victor then. They leave you alone after you win.”

Nep shook his head. “They bring me out every year, to parade me around so I can watch my tributes die. That’s the rest of my punishment. They’ve made a damn good lapdog out of me. You don't say no to the Capitol. I learned that the hard way.”

“...it’s supposed to be over,” Ford said weakly.

Nep smiled, and it reminded Ford of a grinning skull. “My games were almost a decade ago,” Nep said. “I’m still there. Every night, I’m back. Every night I’m surrounded by people who want me dead, people who are dying, and a gleeful audience who’d toss me into hell if they thought it might stave off boredom. I never left. I’m still there, fighting, cold, and terrified.”

Ford felt sick. “Why…why are you telling me this?”

“Because whether your brother wins or not,” Nep said. “He’s gone. He’s already dead in that arena. And if he survives, the version of him that comes home will be a stranger. You’ll still have to grieve him. And the faster you come to terms with that, the easier this will be for you. Trust me. I’ve seen it before.”

“That’s not true,” Ford said weakly. “You haven’t seen anyone win.”

“I’ve seen others win,” Nep said. “I’ve seen myself win. It’s not worth much. Sometimes it just takes away whatever you’re fighting for. So don’t be the thing that makes them take whatever he has. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Ford said. “And I can’t…I can’t. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I can’t try to convince our neighbors to send him sponsorships because that’s all they can do. I can’t watch TV and just…just watch them die. I have to do something. I have to. It’ll kill me, Nep, watching this helplessly, it really will.”

Nep said nothing, looking nervous. Even in the early morning, he already looked uncomfortable in long sleeves. “...there’s a rumor,” he said, and then shut his mouth, looking tense.

Ford stepped forward. “...a rumor?”

“...yes,” Nep said, looking reluctant. “I heard it some time ago, and then never again. That…that District 13 is still alive.”

Ford blinked. “They…they bombed 13 into oblivion before the Capitol was even the Capitol.”

“Yes,” Nep said, nodding. “So it’s just a rumor. A rumor that they retreated underground and formed a resistance. A rumor that they’re waiting for the right time to strike, watching year after year. A rumor that…that they live north, in the wilds, in the wastelands. Dangerous to set out there alone. Not even because the Capitol will kill you and everyone you love, though they will. But there’s abandoned mutts out there, wild beasts, and the people who live there are not…friendly to outsiders. But you never, ever heard that from me. Alright?”

Ford nodded fervently, something like hope swelling up in his chest. “Alright.”

They stood there in silence for a minute, and then Nep offered three more letters to Ford. “I’ve already placed the ones for your parents in their mailbox. Hand these to the rest of your family?”

“I will,” Ford said, taking the envelopes. He paused. “...do you think Stan can win?”

“...it doesn’t matter what I think,” Nep said. “What matters is if he thinks he can.”

*** *** ***

Ford,

Sorry to make fun of you on live television. I figured I could get one dig in. I’m not really that sorry.

I AM sorry for breaking your project. I know you don’t believe me, but I want you to know it was an accident. I would never do that to you, no matter how afraid I was of being left behind. I guess I can’t really blame you for wanting to do it. I don’t know if Pa’s plan of moving up through districts was even possible, but you deserved to try. If anyone deserved it, it would be you. And I spoiled that for you.

I don’t regret volunteering. I never did for one moment. I would have done it a million times over to keep you from all this. I’m sure you’ve seen it on TV by now. Trust me, I know I make it look easy, but it’s not. I miss home. I miss the ocean. I miss hearing Ma spouting bullshit to her clients. I even miss the smell of fish. It’s crazy what things make you homesick. Most of all, I miss you. I think I always knew it would be the case.

I’m okay, though. Nep’s cool, and Darlene’s not as obnoxious as I thought she would be. There’s a makeup artist named Carla who’s been assigned to me, and she’s pretty cool too. I think it’s some kind of Capitol University assignment, but she’s treating me like a person, which is nice. I really don’t want you to worry too much.

Ford, you’re my best friend in the whole world, the best brother someone could ever hope for. I know we’ve been in a bad place this year, and I wish I could have fixed it. But I don’t hate you for it. I was never even angry at you for it. I know this letter isn’t the same as me saying things face to face, but I hope it counts for something.

Please don’t watch the games. I know they make you turn on the TV, but don’t look. I know you’ll want to, and you’ll think you’re a terrible person if you don’t watch every awful thing happening. But please. I don’t want you to. Please don’t make yourself watch. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something awful was the last way you remembered me.

I love you, Sixer. Stay safe. Stay alive. Stay smart. Stay weird.

Your brother,

Stan.

#hoorayyyyyy hunger games #theres another thing i wrote #which expands on why emma may references her reaping #but i dont think im gonna release that one cause i dont wanna step on ops toes with it #anyway yeah these fucking bozos #nep is giving heavy mags i fear #which probably isnt good for his life span #gravity falls #hunger games au #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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livelaughloveluffy · 8 months ago

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yearning - monkey d. luffy

a/n: currently in the mood to yearn tonight... its probably the fiona apple playing in the background as inspo to write.. anywho!! i wanted to start a new series about reader's pov of falling for the boys because i seriously just need to gush about how much i love and adore and want these men 😭😭😭 so i hope you guys enjoy this!!

nothing but fluff here 💗

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it was absolutely impossible to not be drawn to the captain of the straw hat pirates. luffy simply radiated joy and kindness, and while he can be extremely straight-forward, trusting to a fault, and at times naive, his pure love and affection for those around him is so plainly addicting to be around.

since the very first time your eyes were graced with the sight of the raven-haired boy's wide smile, your heart couldn't help but just melt and the overwhelming feeling of willing to do anything to never see it leave his face utterly consumed you.

•♡•

when the captain had asked you to join his on his journey to become the king of the pirates, you were initially shocked. what had he seen in you to view you as valuable enough to need in his crew?

it was not unknown that luffy could have some questionable taste at time, not hesitating to invite animals, zombies, or other strange creature to join the straw hats with the same wide smile he had shown you.. that's just who he was.

but nothing quelled those doubts as instantly as his wholehearted smile when he called your name.

•♡•

it was just after breakfast, a bright and sunny day on the thousand sunny, you stood outside the kitchen leaning against the wall overlooking the deck. luffy, usopp, and chopper had run out of the kitchen just 10 minutes prior, clearly in a hurry to go back to whatever fun shenanigans they had planned for the day full of travel on the open ocean.

the three laughing and chasing each other in circles on the small deck. the captain throwing his head back laughing, watching as his body began to lean with him as well, making him fall to the floor. and now his laugh can finally reach your ears, as the raven-haired boy's now trapped in a laughing fit, finding his fall absolutely hilarious.

you didn't notice the smile grow on your face, but the blonde-haired chef who had just stepped out for his post-breakfast cigarette did.

"he's definitely something special... don't you think?" sanji gently murmured, with a sly smile itching at the edge of his lips.

the blush on your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by the chef when you looked at him with wide eyes, before responding with a meek nod and a small whispered "yeah... he really is.."

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut ; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i was listening to "i want you to love me" on repeat in case you were wondering 😭😭 and you most definitely can tell 💀

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece fanfic #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #one piece monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy #one piece luffy #op luffy #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy fluff #fluff fic #via's fics

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iikisa · 8 months ago

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heres more teacher rin au!!!!

ill have some more deets under the cut about this hehe

Welcome back aoex fandom… I’ve decided for this AU to be called “Tightrope”!!!! Haha,, yeah it’s definitely not what i was saying earlier in that ask..

But yeah!!! I’ll be tagging any post related to this AU under a tag from now on! ;)

(The rest of this will contain spoilers from the manga, but then again this whole AU has been spoilers..)

Alrighty, this time we’re going over the reason for Rin’s appearance… Just as in the manga, Rin becomes “unstable” through Yukio breaking his sword, except in this tightrope au, their relationship was much more rockier than it was in the manga. So much stuff that wasn’t cleared up, lots of avoidance, not so much emotional stability.. There’s a whole background to how Yukio and Rin’s upbringing would’ve happened in this AU because of their little aged-up situation— some events are interpreted differently to fit and others are just completely new, you can assume— so obviously things happened differently between them without Yukio being the cram school’s teacher and Rin actually attending said school to begin with…

So, now that Yukio left Rin for Illuminati, leaving him completely lonely and without a proper purpose to live for in life… Rin’s demonic nature is left in a “tightrope-like” situation.

See how the title relates? And boy does it apply for many other things too.

Where is Mephisto to help with all this you ask? Oh he tried to offer Rin help by going into the past, but even after learning of his origins (I don't think it helped his self-esteem much tbh) Rin still finds himself unable to "restabilize". Like in the manga, it's not until Rin truly accepts both sides to himself is he able to truly stabilize. This AU is obviously more heavy on the twins terrible communication and relationship, so obviously this will be harder for Rin.

For as long as he can remember, Rin's always thought of himself as a nuisance to his family. And with Fujimoto's death, everything seems to be Rin's fault and he's not stupid enough as to not notice the pattern. Unfortunately, this really eats away at Rin, especially with how distant Yukio was with him. So until Rin can learn to accept the uglier parts of himself, he won't be stable. And Yukio is the most important part for him to realize that.

Now… time for the appearance explanation.

When Rin first "unstabilizes" his hair, ears, and eyes change (other smaller details like his canines as well as the newest addition of little nubs on his forehead). The more "unstable" he is, the more prominent these features become—his hair is wholly whitish-blue, his ears and canines are pointier, his eyes are sharper and more vibrant, and his little horns get bigger.

After becoming a not-so-substitute-teacher for the cram school, these features start to become smaller or fade away!!!! Depending on Rin’s emotional state—negative emotions lead to instability and positive emotions leads to stability— his appearance changes. The happier and healthier he is, the more his black roots take place (his original hair color) and the duller his other features become!

Now as for his flames.. I think some logic may be off canon for this but it’ll be fine! He can freely use his flames like he does during the final war-against-satan arc, however, his state of stability changes how precisely he can use them. The more unstable he is, the broader and rougher the attacks. When he’s more stable, his attacks can be more precise and controlled, such as shaping his flames into weapons and other uses.

Anywho, I’ll have to start on making these differences more noticeable for the Rin’s I’m drawing out, because I do like to draw him at different times of his life (if you take note of his hair,,, its one of his best indicators ahah). But yes. Now that I’ve written this concept out (after I drew these sketches whoops) I’ll be showing off a little more of the story once some heavy inspiration hits me. I hope you guys enjoy hearing about this AU as much as I love writing and drawing it!!!!! I’d love to hear feedback or any fic recommendations..! They are my fuel.

Thank you for listening to the end, much love <3

#<3 #iikisa’s tightrope au #tightrope au #aoex tightrope au #art #fanart #aoex fanart #aoex au #ao no exorcist au #ao no exorcist fanart #blue exorcist au #blue exorcist fanart #blue exorcist #okumura rin fanart #rin okumura fanart #rin okumura

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throatgoat4u · 5 months ago

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beneath the surface

word count: 2.5k

summary: ser hates her job :)

a/n: i started this jan 31 and finished today...... welp! anywho, i hope ya'll do enjoy this. if you got tagged and weren't asked to be tagged, that is because you commented and or reblogged any matt and ser content and so i take that as you'd like to see more. if you don't wanna see more or don't wanna be tagged, let me know! enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

you ran the wet rag over the sticky countertops, scrubbing at the stubborn residue of pancake syrup. kids annoyed you to bits and pieces, but what was worse was when their parents didn’t do shit about it. corral your fucking kid, motherfucker.

you stopped and looked up when you heard mandy—your manager—call your name.

"hm? what’s up?" you asked, wiping your hands on your apron.

mandy walked over, a couple of to-go bags in hand. "james couldn’t come in today, and he canceled on us at the last minute, so we couldn’t find anyone to cover his shift. i need to make a few deliveries, and i need you to take over for a bit."

"can’t you get pearl to do it?"

"well, she wasn’t scheduled for today, so..." mandy shrugged.

"can’t you ask?" you folded your arms. you already knew you wouldn’t be able to do it—not today, at least.

see, you had had a pretty shitty shift. the morning rush had been terrible—the diner was packed, and you were rushing around like crazy, trying to appease all the needy customers. one lady had sent her pancakes back four times because they weren’t fluffy enough, or they weren’t cooked correctly, or whatever bullshit excuse she had come up with. when she tried to send them back a fifth time, you’d had enough.

you told her she was going to shut up and eat those pancakes, or you’d shove them down her throat for her—and make her pay for every single one she sent back.

she ate the pancakes. but she also filed a complaint with your father, who made sure to give you a very stern talk on customer service. and you’d think that would be the worst of it, but no—that was just the start.

about an hour later, you were brewing a fresh pot of coffee when a trainee came up to ask you a question. unfortunately, they startled you, which sent the entire pot of coffee spilling all over you. this was bad for two reasons: one, it burned like hell. two, you were wet—very wet.

you barely made it to the back room your father had built just for these situations before your legs gave out, shifting into your tail. luckily, the room was stocked with plenty of towels, so you dried off as fast as possible. within moments, your legs were back.

and now, you’d think that’s where this shit ended, but no, it motherfucking didn’t.

you were taking an order for this family of seven—absolute chaos. the kids were screaming, crying, climbing over the booth, and one looked dangerously close to throwing up. you could barely hear the dad over the madness, so when his order came out and you handed him his food, he took one look at it, shot up from his seat, and started cussing you out. full-volume, veins-popping, calling you every name in the book like you personally set out to ruin his life.

and of course, you couldn’t even clap back, because you were already on thin ice with your father.

to make matters worse, his bitchass wife—who had a resting face that looked like she just smelled expired milk, had foundation three shades too light with an orange neck, and lips so overfilled they looked like they were running away from her face—glared at you like you had just burned her house down. the audacity.

as if that wasn’t bad enough, you could tell she was a trumpie. the energy was just there. like she was one wrong look away from calling you “sweetheart” and telling you to find a real job.

“ser, i asked. she’s with some guy named chuck or something,” mandy said flatly.

you let out a long, heavy sigh. “fiiiiine. i guess i’ll take over. but i’m clocking out the second you get back, okay?”

“sure, sure.” mandy nodded, already making her way toward the exit.

it had been about twenty minutes since she left, and thankfully, the diner wasn’t too busy. most of the customers were regulars—easy to deal with, actually nice, and tipping well. your mood had started to improve. that is, until a certain someone walked in.

matt.

he waltzed inside like he owned the place, bethany clinging to his side, his arm casually draped around her waist, and his little posse trailing behind them.

the moment you saw that smug smirk plastered across his infuriatingly handsome face, you wanted to shoot yourself. and bethany? you weren’t even going to get started on bethany.

the group slid into a booth, and you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself before walking over. “well, hello there! how’s it going today?” you asked, voice dripping with forced enthusiasm as you flipped your notepad to a clean page.

matt leaned back in the booth, a cocky grin spreading across his face as his eyes dragged over you. "oh, you know, just living the dream. but now that you're here, things just got a whole lot better," he said, voice thick with arrogance. "how about you, sweetheart? surviving the grind?"

you sucked your teeth, biting back the urge to snap. over the past few weeks since you’d been back on land, matt had been nothing but a pain in your ass. he made a habit of showing up during your shifts, sitting around just to flirt with you—no matter how often you shot him down. his voice alone was grating, but the pet names? the fucking pet names.

sweetheart. princess. ma’am. miss ser.

and the worst of all—woman.

the way he said it, the way he spoke about women in general, made your skin crawl. it was so dismissive, so objectifying, like they were nothing more than a body to him. he was pure scum, and you couldn’t stand him.

"yeah? well, i’m just here to do my job. keep the compliments to yourself, pretty boy," you said flatly, brushing him off.

matt’s smirk widened, and he leaned in, resting his chin on his hands. “oh, so you do think i’m pretty? thank you, ma’am. means a lot coming from someone like you.”

you scoffed. like hell he was actually thanking you. matt never thanked a woman for anything.

your gaze flickered to bethany, who looked ready to combust. she came here with matt, so why the hell was he flirting with you? not that you cared. that was her problem.

clearing your throat, you refocused, trying to pull matt’s attention away from your chest. “your order?”

you went around the table, scribbling down each person’s order before snapping your notepad shut. “alright, your food will be out shortly.” without another word, you turned on your heel and headed for the kitchen, exhaling a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding.

“hey, larry,” you mumbled, handing him the notepad.

larry let out a low whistle as he scanned the order. he didn’t even have to ask who it was for—he just gave you a look of sympathy. “the kid’s back again?”

all you could do was nod, too exhausted to say anything. thirty more minutes, you reminded yourself. thirty more minutes, and i can go home, get into bed, and sleep.

“you know,” larry mused, still flipping through the order, “he must really like you to keep comin’ back like this. it’s like one of those rom-com things ya show me. the boy’s always pining after the girl, doin’ anything to see her, talk to her—”

“he likes the way i look, larry. not who i am, not what i think, not anything that actually fucking matters. just the surface-level shit.”

“y’never know, kid.”

“oh, trust me, larry. i know.”

you knew you couldn’t hide in the kitchen talking to larry forever. their food wasn’t going to serve itself, so you sucked it up, grabbed the plates—balancing them with practiced ease—and made your way over. plastering on your most painfully forced smile, you started setting the plates down in front of each person.

“aaaalright, now y’all just let me know if you need anything else, okay?" you said, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

the group nodded, and you flashed them another empty smile. "enjoy."

without another glance, you turned on your heel and went behind the counter, wiping down whatever needed cleaning. mandy would be back soon, and you needed the place spotless—needed her to put in a good word with your father.

but for some reason, your eyes kept drifting back to matt. it wasn’t jealousy, not even close, but the way bethany clung to him like he was the last man on earth made you feel… sick. how could someone degrade themselves like that? throwing themselves at a guy who so clearly didn’t give a single shit about them, their feelings, their well-being. it was pathetic. shallow. nauseating.

but then again, maybe it was because he was really good-looking. his sharp cheekbones, the way those messy brown curls framed his face just right, the icy blue eyes that—no matter how hard you fought it—always made you shiver when they locked onto you.

but that was it. that was all. he was hot, and that’s where his qualities ended. just another brainless manwhore who tried to get into the pants of anything with a pulse—and unfortunately, always succeeded.

finally, after what felt like years of enduring loud, obnoxious guys talking about women like they were nothing more than objects—plus one too many crude jokes at your expense courtesy of matt—they were finally done. you handed them the bill, already knowing what was coming. no tip. not that you expected one, but it was still a slap in the face.

luckily, mandy had made it back, meaning you were free to clock out. after saying your goodbyes to larry and mandy, you stepped outside, finally escaping that godforsaken diner. but going home didn’t feel right—not yet. you needed air. needed quiet. so instead, you headed to the beach, veering toward the more secluded area, away from the sand and up onto the hill. just past it were the rocks, your favorite spot, especially at night.

the ocean stretched endlessly before you, moonlight reflecting off its surface in soft, shifting patterns. waves crashed against the jagged rocks below, the spray catching the light as it rose and disappeared into

the night. the air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and something familiar—something that always made you think of her.

merissa.

your mother was the first person to ever bring you here. you remembered that day so vividly. you and your father had gotten into yet another fight about responsibility, about how you’d never last on land if you didn’t start acting right. he always saw you as reckless, as someone who would never learn from their mistakes. but of course you made mistakes—you were a kid. harsh words had been exchanged, ones you could never forget, and the look he’d given you that day still made your stomach churn.

you lowered yourself onto the rocks, letting the cool stone ground you as you stared out at the restless ocean. sometimes, if you tuned everything else out—let the crashing waves drown out the noise in your head—you could still feel her beside you. holding you. telling you everything would be okay. that one day, your father would see you for who you truly were.

matt shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head with that insufferably smug grin. “damn, sweetheart, you wound me. here i was, thinking you snuck off just to get a moment alone with me.” he let out a low chuckle, stepping closer. “but hey, if you wanted some one-on-one time, all you had to do was ask.”

“you came to me!”

“that i did.” he nodded, that cheeky smile still playing on his lips. “now miss ser, if you care to enlighten me, what are you doing here?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you turn away from him. “none of your damn business, pretty boy.” you mutter, focusing back on the waves. “now go run along back to bethany or whatever groupie you’ve got waiting for you.”

matt chuckles, stepping closer as he tilts his head. "jealous, are we? don’t worry, sweetheart, there’s plenty of me to go around—though i gotta admit, you’d be my favorite if you just gave in already."

you shrug nonchalantly, barely sparing him a glance. “if you think i’m gonna fight over your attention, you’re dumber than you look. go ahead, keep thinking you’re some kind of prize, but i’m good.”

matt grins, clearly enjoying himself. “oh, i’m sure you’re good, princess. but deep down, i know you’re curious. why else would you keep looking at me like that?”

you cross your arms, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. “you seriously think i’m curious about anything that comes out of your mouth? you must be real full of yourself.”

he scoots closer, plopping down next to you with that signature cocky grin still plastered on his face. “it’s not just what i say, it’s how i say it. you can’t tell me you don’t feel something when i’m around.”

you scoff, not looking at him, trying to stay in control of the situation. “yeah, what i feel is annoyance. that’s the only thing i get from you.”

there’s a beat of silence. matt leans back slightly, his posture casual, but his eyes study you more intently now. he seems to sense something you can’t quite put your finger on. “sure, kid,” he says, voice a bit softer, though his trademark arrogance is still there. “keep lying to yourself.”

you bite your lip, pretending to ignore the flicker of something inside you, something that shifts just a little when he’s close. it’s so small, you almost think you imagined it. but you don't let it show. you glance out at the ocean, focusing on the waves crashing against the rocks. it’s easier to pretend you don’t feel the tension when you’re not looking at him.

matt shifts next to you, the smallest of pauses before he speaks again, his tone quieter now. “you know... you’re more complicated than you let on.”

you feel the words linger in the air, and even though you want to brush it off, there's a flicker—just the tiniest shift in your chest that catches you off guard. but it’s gone before you can fully recognize it. you make sure your voice stays level. “complicated? or maybe you’re just not paying attention.”

he chuckles, leaning back against the rocks. “maybe. or maybe you just don’t want me to.”

there’s a subtle shift in the air, like a change in the tide. but just as quickly, it’s gone—leaving nothing behind except the faintest crack in the wall you’ve built. you feel it, but you bury it, dismissing it like everything else. because you don’t have time for that. not now. not ever.

taglist: @snoopychris. @mattsturnenthusiast. @isabellewhatt. @milo-the-dog. @faiyaz555. @sturns-mermaid. @chrissysturnzz. @bluestriips. @tsqnflog. @oreocheescake-12. @courta13. @chrattho1. @miguelspvssy. @muwapsturniolo. @alexturnersgooch. @surfer-sturn. @angeliolo. @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni. @mattscherries. @freshloveee. @sturniqlo. @abysful. @hesvoid34. @welovestromboli. @h3arts4harry. @leoslaboratory

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everettswritings · 4 months ago

Note

i ain't sure if someone already asked for this a long time ago or something, but can we get both ler and lee TK Headcanons for Hollyberry cookie? it's the fact that in kingdom version of CR she is canonically ticklish yet no one talks about her very much in the TK part of the fandom that gets me. T-T

For sure! Honestly, I think Hollyberry is the most underrated Ancient in general. Tickling or not, she doesn’t get all the love I see for everyone else, which sucks because she’s one of my all-time favorites. Anywho! Enjoy! (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

Lee:

Oho, she’s quite ticklish! Her worst spots are her hips and tummy.

She doesn’t really squirm or fight back much, especially when it’s her friends or young ones tickling her.

Speaking of which! The kids who adore her and spend all their time playing with her think it’s absolutely hilarious that she’s ticklish. They have so much fun when they mess with her, even though it guarantees that she’ll get them back.

Really loud and boisterous laughter, very much prone to snorting when she gets laughing too hard.

She doesn’t have any particular weaknesses to tools, but she will still swat them away and call you evil for using them.

Gently pushes her lers away when she’s had enough, saying “That’s enough!” Or “Take it easy!” As she does so.

Oh, she gets so much more giggly when she’s drunk. All her tickle spots get all that much worse.

Like I said before, tickling her in any capacity seals the deal for you: she will get revenge one way or another.

Ler:

Since she’s as strong as an ox, she has no problems holding squirmy lees in her arms or in her lap as she wrecks them.

Occasionally teases, mostly the “kitchy kitchy koo” type of teasing.

Unsurprisingly, being the grandma she is, she is an expert with tickling! She never forgets any weak spots.

Also, since she’s a grandma, she loves dishing out gentle pinches and pokes. She also may or may not enjoy playing “this little piggy” with some unsuspecting toes, if they’re in her reach.

Honestly, I can see her incorporating tickling into any game you invite her to. Hide and seek? Hiders get tickled when they’re found! Tag? I think you mean tickle tag! Y’know, and so on.

Raspberries. Big, loud raspberries all over and everywhere she can reach.

Doesn’t see the point in using any tools, her hands work just fine!

Also big on aftercare after tickling, she’ll gently stroke your hair and hold you close until you’re done giggling.

Like I kept saying for the “lee” section, she’s big on revenge tickles! So don’t start a tickle war with her unless you think you can finish it.

And that’s it!

Hollyberry is so fun to write for, I love her so much. She honestly reminds me of my own grandma. Well, technically, she isn’t actually my grandma and she’s just a family friend, but that’s never gonna stop me from seeing her as such. Anywho! All that aside, this was fun. Have a good one 🫶

#everetts writings #headcanon #headcanons #cookie run tickles #sfw tickling #cookie run tickle #sfw twords #sfw tickling community #crk tickles #tickle headcanons #crk headcanons #lee!hollyberry cookie #ler!hollyberry cookie

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echoreconcrew · 2 months ago

Text

Meet Me In the Woods

Chapter 1: Victory Val

Author's Note: It's finally here! Chapter 1 of Vol. 1! So excited to launch the first bit of this story. Don't forget to check back here on Wednesday's and Sunday's every week. This time around, art included in the story is by @legacygirlingreen, meanwhile art in cover art by @leenathegreengirl. If you want to be in the know with story updates just ask to join the tag list! Anywho... without further ado: Vol. 1

Summary: On a day meant to showcase order, Captain Howzer can feel the cracks forming. Irritated by a discovery in the barracks, he walks toward the looming speech with a storm quietly building behind his eyes. The crowd gathers, the tension thickens, and somewhere in the distance, a familiar glint catches the light.

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: General angst/brimming anxiety; briefest mention of order 66, Imperial Crosshair (Granted it's Ryloth but still, know he's not everyone's cup of caf)

The HUB | Masterlist | Next Chapter (coming soon!)

▄︻デ══━一

There was never any question about the quality of the artwork. The craftsmanship was evident—the allure, the realism—it was all there, and Howzer couldn’t deny it. But that didn’t make it acceptable. Had the subject been someone anonymous, someone more abstract, he might’ve brushed it off with nothing more than a sigh. After all, he was no stranger to the pinups his men frequently tacked onto the barrack walls. It was the kind of low-level contraband he typically overlooked. A quiet indulgence, tolerated in the name of morale.

But this was different.

The moment he saw the familiar curves of teal armor—his armor—adorning a Twi’lek figure even more familiar, something in him snapped. The drawing wasn’t just suggestive; it was personal. There she was: Victory Val. Posed as if she had modeled for the piece herself, body angled to exaggerate every flattering line, with the stylized armor sliced and sculpted to show more skin than protection. It wasn’t just distasteful. It was a mockery. A cruel, disrespectful joke at the expense of a woman he deeply respected.

With a sharp breath and clenched jaw, he tore the image from the wall.

His voice followed swiftly, rising in volume and urgency as he reprimanded the men. Not just for the lack of decorum, but for forgetting what their presence on Ryloth meant. They were here to support, not desecrate. To protect, not objectify. The Twi’lek people had suffered enough. Their mission now was one of restoration: peacekeeping, respect, cooperation. Not ogling their own allies like characters from some tawdry wartime fantasy.

Punishments were handed down accordingly. Disciplinary reports, temporary suspensions of privilege. He made it clear that behavior like this wouldn't be tolerated under his command.

Afterward, at the request of his superiors—and likely for his own composure—he stepped away for a moment.

The war was technically over. Peace, however, remained fragile. And in these volatile times, disrespecting one of Cham Syndulla’s leading fighters wasn’t just foolish, it was dangerous. Victory Val wasn’t just a soldier. She was a symbol of Ryloth’s resistance, of its hope. Of its bright future.

And to Howzer, she was more than that. A comrade. A leader. A woman who had earned every ounce of his respect.

Not to mention, she was someone he’d felt an undeniable pull toward from the moment they met. The sharp edge of attraction striking him like a live current the first time he locked eyes with Valérie, Gobi Glie’s younger sister. Her teasing smile, the mischievous glint in her eye, the way she carried herself with both confidence and defiance—it had all thrown him off balance in a way he hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t prepared for. And if he thought he’d kept those feelings under wraps, he was sorely mistaken.

It wasn’t exactly a well-guarded secret.

Everyone seemed to know that she flustered him to no end. His men noticed it immediately: the sudden stiff posture, the half-second delays in his replies when she was around. Cham’s soldiers caught on just as fast, exchanging knowing looks whenever Val strolled into the room. Even Val herself seemed perfectly aware, though she rarely said anything outright. Instead, she wielded that knowledge with playful precision, tossing casual remarks his way that always hovered just on the edge of flirtation.

She had a way of getting under his skin without even trying, and he hated how obvious it had become.

Or maybe… he didn’t.

And the artwork had no place in the barracks. It was crass, disrespectful, and offensive in every way that mattered. Howzer had no doubt about where it belonged: shredded and dumped in the nearest waste bin. He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the lingering frustration as he quickened his pace down the corridor. The address to the citizens was about to begin, and the last thing he needed was to arrive late.

The Vice Admiral would be there. So would a full squad of special forces, stiff-backed and watching everything with too much interest. With the new Imperial refinery operational and the Empire pushing harder than ever to dismantle Cham Syndulla’s resistance fighters, making the mood across Ryloth volatile. Tense didn’t even begin to cover it. One misstep—even one word out of place—and the entire illusion of peace could come crashing down. His men pulling a stunt like that, mocking one of Ryloth’s heroes, one of Cham’s own, only added fuel to a fire already threatening to consume them all. But Howzer forced himself to set the anger aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, not now.

As much as he hated the way the Empire operated, as much as Senator Orn Free Taa’s presence made his skin crawl, Howzer still believed in what he was doing… at least, to a degree. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he believed in the people he was doing it for. Cham. Eleni. Ryloth. They were the ones who mattered. And if enduring the hypocrisy and heavy-handed control of the Empire meant he could help shield those people from worse? Then he would. He’d suck it up for their sake.

He adjusted his posture, squared his shoulders, and stepped through the archway into the balcony suite. Below, a crowd had already gathered, their faces a mix of hope, wariness, and quiet skepticism. He braced himself for the speech he knew was coming. A polished string of reassurances, shallow promises dressed up in Imperial rhetoric. He’d heard them before. They were always the same.

His eyes drifted to Cham, standing nearby.

The man looked older than he had months ago. Not necessarily in age, but in weariness. The kind of exhaustion that came from fighting too long and losing too much. The fire that had once burned so brightly in Cham’s eyes had dulled, flickering low and uneven. Howzer hated seeing it. Hated knowing how much Cham had given, how much he still carried on his shoulders.

But Cham wasn’t the only one to contend with.

Gobi Glie hadn’t surrendered the fight, nor had Eleni. Both still held the line, firm in their resistance. But the inclusion of young Hera into these dangerous conversations... it didn’t sit right with him. She was a child—brilliant, yes, and brave beyond her years—but still a child. She shouldn’t have to carry the weight of revolution on her back.

And then there was Valérie.

Unlike the others, she seemed, if not eager then at least ready, to step away from the past. To let go of the endless struggle and try to build something real. Something peaceful. She’d fought, bled, and sacrificed like the rest of them, but now she walked with a quiet kind of resolve, the look of someone who had made peace with leaving the battlefield behind.

He didn’t blame her. In fact, he admired it.

They were all tired. Some of them just hid it better than others.

And some small part of him, buried beneath years of discipline and duty, wondered what came next. What would happen if this “service” of his actually ended? If he was ever given a choice about where to go, who to be?

He already knew the answer. He would stay.

Ryloth had become something more than a post. More than a mission. He had come to respect its people, its resilience, it's quiet beauty. He had learned to appreciate its sunrises, its traditions, its fierce sense of identity. And, perhaps, he had come to feel a certain affection for a sharp-eyed sniper who always seemed to be watching his six—often with a smirk that made his heart beat a little too fast.

He wasn’t sure what kind of future was waiting for him, or if he’d even be lucky enough to claim it. But if freedom ever came, real freedom, he knew exactly where he wanted to spend it.

"I have a visual. Gobi Glie and his fighters are here," came the voice of Crosshair, sharp and biting.

That snake-like tone was becoming increasingly unsettling. Ever since the war had ended, the steadfast Imperial presence had continued to erode his command day by day. At first, the Imperial arrival had been explained away as "extra security" meant to protect the senator, a flimsy excuse that only grew more transparent with time. His position as Captain, once so pivotal overseeing a legion of soldiers, now seemed less and less significant. As the special forces—led by that infuriatingly insufferable defected clone—made their mark, Howzer’s sense of purpose only grew more frayed. The worst part? Hearing that same clone utter the Glie name with such unmistakable distaste made Howzer’s jaw tighten.

Howzer’s gaze swept over the crowd from his position on the balcony. He didn’t need to search too hard—he knew Gobi would be there. It was where he always was. Cham, the idealist, was the face of the movement, the dreamer who believed in a better future. He wasn't unfamiliar with the fight, but he remained the symbol of hope. Gobi, however, was the military leader, the one who understood the cost of war in a way few could comprehend. But where was Val? Wasn’t she with her brother? Howzer’s eyes darted desperately over the sea of Twi'lek faces. Teal, her striking color, wasn’t hard to pick out in the crowd—it was more of a rare shade—but despite his efforts, he found nothing. A growing sense of unease settled over him.

He shook it off, pushing the thought from his mind as he returned to his post near Cham. At least Syndulla seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. He might not always agree with Cham's approach, but there was a certain clarity in his vision of what the future should look like. Gobi and the others, however, weren’t accustomed to peace. How could they be? Peace had been an impossible dream for so long, a luxury they hadn’t been afforded. Howzer couldn't blame them for struggling to adjust. He understood better than most, that survival had been their only focus for too long. Cham was ready to lay down his arms. Even Val, despite her absence, had seemed ready. But now, with so much still unresolved, peace felt more like an illusion than a reality.

"The crowd appears restless, Howzer," Cham muttered, his eyes narrowing as they shifted to where his wife was speaking with the Vice Admiral and the Senator. "I do not like it."

"Adjustments are difficult, Cham," Howzer replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet understanding. "The people have been on the edge for so long. They've lost loved ones, seen too much destruction. It’s only natural for them to remain skeptical about change. After all, peace was a dream we thought was impossible. And now..." Howzer faltered, unsure how to articulate the unease that gnawed at him. "Now, it feels like the transition is too sudden. The execution of the Jedi, the consolidation of power, this insistence that security means sacrificing more and more..." He trailed off, shaking his head. There was too much he couldn’t make sense of—too much about the past few months that didn’t sit right. The locals’ unease was contagious, and he found himself questioning the very nature of what they were supposed to be building.

As he attempted to offer some semblance of comfort to Cham, the crowd’s restlessness seemed to grow. That was when he heard the most ridiculous and revolting statement.

"I speak for the people when I say this partnership is most welcome," came the pompous voice of Orn Free Taa. Howzer's stomach turned at the sound. The man was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the Senate: gluttonous, arrogant, out of touch. A man who served only his own interests, constantly living in a self-made bubble of privilege. Howzer couldn't fathom how anyone could take him seriously. His very presence was an insult to everything they were trying to rebuild. It was clear that Orn Free Taa had no understanding of the sacrifices made by people like Gobi, Cham, or the countless others who had fought for a better future.

At Rampart’s call, Cham slowly turned away from him, as if giving voice to the bitter truth he had long carried but never quite spoken aloud. "After years spent fighting, peace is what is needed," he said, his voice heavy, as if the weight of the words themselves were more than he could bear. Howzer watched him closely. He had no doubt that Cham wanted to believe in the ideal he was voicing, and in many ways, Howzer could feel it in the man’s demeanor. The weariness of battle, the longing for something more, something better. But the smaller, more cynical part of Howzer knew the truth: Cham was a rebel at his core. A soldier who had fought for freedom, who had lived for resistance. And it was hard to imagine that someone like him could truly embrace peace in a way that didn’t still leave room for conflict. Rebels didn’t just stop fighting—they adapted, they evolved, but they rarely laid down arms entirely.

"And with peace comes prosperity," came the booming voice of Orn Free Taa, interrupting his thoughts. Howzer’s lip curled in disdain, his thoughts immediately turning bitter. Leave it to the bloated, self-serving bureaucrat to see the only upside to peace as a financial opportunity. Howzer almost felt sorry for the man, but that was quickly replaced with a sharp pang of disgust. "This is a new era for Ryloth," Taa continued, his hands sweeping the air as though he were offering some grand vision of hope.

A new era for Ryloth, indeed. But for who? Howzer couldn’t shake the feeling that what was being promised was little more than an illusion, a false hope laced with political opportunism. Ryloth had known war for so long, it was hard to believe it could ever really know peace. They had fought for survival, for identity, for a future free from the oppression of the Separatists, and now it felt like they were exchanging one form of subjugation for another. But the worst part was how quickly the promise of prosperity was tied to the same forces that had enslaved them before.

Part of Howzer—just a small part—wanted to believe that this was just the growing pains of a new world, that change could come, that freedom was within their reach. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the new Empire, however flawed, could forge a path that led to something better, something stable. The idea of conscripting soldiers across the galaxy, of building something strong and enduring—perhaps even a place where he could lay down roots, find honest work, a home—was an appealing thought. It could be a chance to give back to the people of Ryloth, to those who had supported him and his men through thick and thin.

But every instinct in him screamed that it was a dream too far-fetched to be real. Unstable. Unlikely. The weight of the galaxy’s history pressed on him, the shadow of the Empire still hanging thick in the air. Could it truly be different this time? Could peace truly come from all of this? Or were they simply spinning the same wheels that had led them into endless conflict for generations?

And what would be left when all the dust settled?

Cham might have wanted to believe in the dream of peace, but Howzer could feel the unease creeping up his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was the ghosts of the past or the uncertainty of the present, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the road ahead would be far more complicated, and far more dangerous, than anyone was willing to admit.

Howzer watched as the Vice Admiral stalked off to join the Senator, leaving Cham standing there, the weariness of the moment visibly heavy on him. The burden of leadership, the weight of what had been won and what still remained uncertain, seemed to settle in his shoulders. Howzer couldn’t help himself. He approached the man. "Everything alright, General?" The title slipped from his lips without thought, a habit ingrained from years of military service. Even though they were no longer soldiers at war, the respect he felt for the man across from him remained, unwavering.

Cham looked at him, his eyes tired but thoughtful. "I should be content that the war is over. But as you said, change is never easy." He paused, the faintest flicker of doubt crossing his face before he spoke again. "I hope my people will embrace this peace."

Howzer took a breath, unsure of what to say. The words they’d just exchanged lingered between them, both carrying the weight of reality and hope, but neither feeling truly secure. Still, he gave it a try. "Ryloth is safe, Cham. This is what you fought for." He tried to muster a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was what they fought for, wasn’t it?

The truth was, Howzer didn’t have all the answers. The Separatists were defeated, but the victory felt hollow at times. For now, things could be better. He repeated that mantra to himself like a prayer, every morning in the fresher before strapping on his stiff armor and heading out for his rounds. Each day, it felt like the chain of command and all its promises had come in, disrupting the life he had tried to build with the locals. He had come to appreciate the rhythm of this place, the simplicity, the connection to the land and its people. But the empire had changed everything. Every day, it felt more like something else was being taken from him.

Howzer could feel it: the creeping softness in him, the erosion of the old military protocols he had once followed without question. He’d let himself slip into the traditions of the locals, wear their coverings, their clothes. At first, it was just a way for him and his men to connect with the Twi'lek militia—an unspoken gesture of respect. Trust was vital between the Twi’lek and his men when they arrived.

The command that had come before his legion had failed in its duty to the people of Ryloth. They had gotten the Twi'lek to safety, yes, but the planet itself had been lost to the Separatists. And in that loss, Cham had been left behind, abandoned. Howzer could still feel the sting of that betrayal in the air, and it drove him to work tirelessly to rebuild the trust between Cham and the clones. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight, but he believed until it became reality.

He encouraged his men to respect the Twi’lek traditions, to honor their culture. There were things they had to let go of. Old habits, old phrases that had once been the norm but were now offensive. He had worked hard to stamp out the use of “tail heads” after Val had informed him how deeply disrespectful it was to the Twi'lek people. The idea of earning back their respect, of showing that they were allies and not oppressors, was something Howzer took seriously. The cultural divide wasn’t easy to bridge, but it was the only way forward.

And then, of course, there was Val.

Her name lingered in his thoughts like an unspoken truth, a shadow in the corner of his mind that he couldn’t quite banish. The sudden absence of her in the crowd, that feeling of not knowing where she was, gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. She had become a symbol for the delicate balance between duty and desire, between the past and whatever they were trying to build. She was part of this world now, a part of Ryloth's future, and yet she remained an enigma, elusive in a way that was both maddening and strangely comforting.

She was young, but not in the way that most people assumed. There was a quiet wisdom in her, an idealism that wasn’t naïve, but deeply rooted in reality. She didn’t dismiss concerns, didn’t bury her head in the sand, but neither did she let anxiety take over or spiral out of control. She had this rare ability to face the hard truths of the world while still keeping her feet firmly planted. And in doing so, she had a way of lifting his spirits, of giving him a space where he could breathe—somewhere between the weight of Cham’s expectations and the guarded distance of her older brother.

She was the reason he had earned their trust back in the first place. Despite her teasing, her challenges, her refusal to let him off easy, she had always seen through to the heart of things. Her candidness had cut through the layers of suspicion, and her unwillingness to simply follow orders had forced him to prove himself time and again. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

It was just her nature to know how much she meant to him, to understand the effect she had on him, even when she didn’t speak it aloud. And yet, she never let it show. Instead, she’d simply flash him one of those mischievous smiles, the kind that reached her eyes and made the world seem a little less heavy. With a gentle tug on his arm, she’d pull him out of his thoughts, grounding him in the present moment, as if reminding him that in spite of everything, life could still have moments of lightness.

Those moments were rare, of course. They only came when the dust of their work and struggle settled, when the weight of their responsibilities momentarily lifted, and they could simply be. Together.

In those fleeting moments, he allowed himself to indulge in something softer, something more hopeful. A quiet dream for the future, one that wasn’t weighed down by the uncertainties of the past or the pressure of what was to come. And in that, she gave him something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing: a glimpse of what could be, even in a world that felt so fractured.

Howzer’s mind snapped back to the present when Cham began speaking to the crowd, his voice rising above the murmur of unrest. The general was attempting to calm the brewing disturbance, his words carefully chosen to settle the growing tension before things got out of hand. As Cham gestured toward him, Howzer found himself unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight, the General using him as an example of how the clones had done right by Ryloth.

A part of him wanted to square his shoulders, lift his chin, and stand tall. When Howzer had first arrived on Ryloth, speeches like this—full of gratitude and reverence for the sacrifices of the clones—had been exactly the kind of recognition he fought for. The kind of acknowledgment he believed was deserved after years of battle. But that was before he had met someone who had completely shifted his perspective.

Now, the words felt bitter. He wasn’t the model of selflessness. He wasn’t the embodiment of the heroic clone soldier fighting for the greater good. He wasn’t even sure if he could call himself a soldier anymore.

This mission—this entire period of his life—had become far too personal. He had crossed the line between duty and connection long ago, and now, there was no going back. His loyalty had shifted, his focus had changed. His last few years on Ryloth, the ones spent fighting beside the locals, were no longer about the broader war or some grand idea of serving the Empire or the Republic. They were about the citizens he had come to care for—people who had become more than just comrades in arms.

Hera. Eleni. Gobi. Cham. And… Val.

Each of them had left an imprint on him, some more deeply than others, but all of them had tugged him away from the rigid, cold doctrine of a soldier’s life. He had fought for them—with them. They had shown him a new way of seeing the world, one where duty and compassion could coexist, where there was room for hope amid the ruins of a war-torn galaxy. But in doing so, they had also made him question everything he once believed.

As he stood there, Cham’s voice a low hum in the background, confirming that his people should respect his brother-in-arms, Howzer’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t need to hear the words; his instincts were already on edge. That’s when he saw it: a glint. The solar flare of a reflection, sharp and unmistakable, bouncing off the lens of a scope.

He knew his men had set up parameters around the walls of the city, but this—this was outside the established bounds. A flash of movement atop a distant cliffside to the right, just beyond the edges of their perimeter. Brown eyes narrowing, he shifted his focus. Then, a flicker of color. Teal. The smallest, almost imperceptible flash of it, just behind the ridge.

He should’ve known. She should’ve been the first thing on his mind. Always within earshot, always close, always ready to assist if the situation called for it. But this time it was different.

The Empire had confiscated every weapon the locals had. Every last one, except for the few who had managed to keep theirs hidden, and she was one of them. He’d always known she’d find a way to keep it. But seeing the glint of her scope trained at the city, pointed at their heads, sent a cold jolt of panic through him. It wasn’t for his safety: he didn’t care about that. It wasn’t even for the Senator’s safety. It was for hers.

If the Empire found out, if they discovered she was holding a weapon, it wouldn’t just be a reprimand. She’d be in serious trouble—immediate, deadly trouble—for defying Imperial orders. Worse still, he’d be the one tasked with handing down the punishment. The weight of that responsibility, the gut-wrenching knowledge that it could fall to him to turn her in, to sentence her, gnawed at him with a bitter sense of inevitability.

He scanned the cliffside again, his heart rate picking up as his mind raced. There. Just a shift in the air. He could sense her presence even if she wasn’t visible. With a subtle shake of his head, he gave the smallest of gestures, just a hint of movement. A silent order for her to put the weapon down. It wasn’t just reckless; it was dangerous.

With Crosshair, the special forces sniper, roaming nearby—his every movement designed for precision, his defect almost tailor-made for tasks like this—Howzer knew the risk was amplified. He would be scoping their surroundings, looking for threats, looking for any sign of movement. The thought of her on that cliff, exposed, risking her life for nothing, made his blood run cold.

For a moment, he didn’t see the flash of the scope again, nor did he hear Crosshair’s usual cold, detached commentary about spotting targets. But that didn’t mean it was over. He couldn’t let it go. Once this gods-forsaken speech ended, once the crowd had been dealt with, he’d find her. He’d get to her before anyone else did. And then, he’d make sure that rifle was stashed away, hidden out of sight, out of reach. Her safety depended on it.

The thought of what might happen if anyone discovered her, if she were caught with the weapon, sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t afford to lose her. Not like this.

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