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word-wytch · 6 months

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door.

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative.

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning.

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself.

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together.

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates.

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town.

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by.

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge.

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon.

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another.

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check.

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri.

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good!

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations.

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van.

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum.

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint.

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment.

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed.

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling.

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die.

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him.

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten.

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow.

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.”

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied.

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos.

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived.

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself.

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap.

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back.

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street.

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now.

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format.

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title.

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins.

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain.

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.”

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance..

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.”

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness.

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.”

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile.

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder.

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition.

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now.

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath.

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all.

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern.

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside.

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold.

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?”

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose.

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?”

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.”

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.”

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero.

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm.

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air.

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked.

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals.

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat.

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more.

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.”

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.”

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind.

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail.

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory.

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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copperbadge · 11 months

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Every time, you guys. Every time I look into alternatives to Lulu.com for self-publishing I come up with “Wow Lulu really is the best of a bad set of options, huh?”

Recently, Draft2Digital bought Smashwords in order to bring a print book company under their aegis; they’d formerly only done ebooks. I thought I might investigate them as an alternative to Lulu, which I’ve used for about twelve years now. For ebooks I would venture D2D is probably top of the line. For print books they are....not.

I’m writing this out half so other folks can see it but half so that in the future I can look this up and remind myself of why I’m still with Lulu.

TLDR: Not only does Draft2Digital want 60% of my print book royalties where Lulu takes 0%, and $30 for a proof that costs me $11 at Lulu, but I also appear to have solved the problem of why Lulu was making me price my books so goddamn artificially high. Which is like. Honestly the best anti-anxiety drug I’ve experienced this week.

Basically there are a number of elements that go into self-publishing with a print-on-demand service. For some publishers, there’s a “setup fee” which doesn’t really set anything up, it’s just there to be a fee, everything is done by computer on the back end. Traditionally, Lulu has not charged a setup fee. Smashwords used to charge $50, but Draft2Digital currently waives it. I was heartened by that because the setup fee was keeping me from migrating, since I can afford $50 but I balk at knowing I’m paying them $50 for nothing.

Next is the cost of printing -- what it costs the company in paper, ink, machinery, labor, etc, to just make a book with no profit. Lulu’s price calculus isn’t super clear and I’ve never bothered looking at what the breakdown is, because they’re pretty up-front -- they tell you in the process of setting the book up how much it’ll cost. In this case, a 140-page 6x9 trade paperback, no frills, which is how all my books are printed, is $5. Draft2Digital doesn’t tell you the flat price anywhere but they do offer the breakdown information; it costs $1.22 flat plus $0.0133 per page. So, for a 140 page book, the at-cost is $3.08. So far so good.

Now, if you’re going to sell through Lulu, the “at cost” is the minimum price. You won’t make any money but you CAN charge just $5 for a $5 book. Any pricing above that is your cut. So -- let’s price this 140 page trade paperback at $13-$15. That’s a bit high to be honest but let’s just see. At Lulu, your take is roughly $6-$8 based on those prices, because you’re just dropping out the cost of printing from the retail price.

At Draft2Digital, the same 140-page trade paperback, which remember is quoted as costing roughly $1.20 less to print than Lulu charges, gets you $2.75-$3.50 in royalties per book.

....wait, what?

So now we need to sidetrack a little but I promise it’s for a reason. One of the motivations for looking into a change to Draft2Digital is that I didn’t like that Lulu was setting higher “minimum prices” than I was accustomed to -- they would tell me the book only cost $5 to print but require me to sell it for $12 or similar, and I couldn’t work out why. I’m an idiot but the penny did finally drop: it’s because when you distribute them outside of Lulu (say, on Amazon or Barnes & Noble or similar) your royalties drop like a stone. $7 in royalties purchased through Lulu comes out to like twenty-five cents purchased through Amazon. So Lulu forces you to price the book at a point where you even GET royalties and don’t end up weirdly owing Amazon money. The “global distribution” is what’s driving that minimum up.

So in price-quoting a competitor I actually solved the problem with Lulu.

Which is good, because the fun doesn’t stop there. If you want a proof copy of a book from Lulu, it’s the at-cost of the book, plus tax, plus postage. Buying a proof copy of this book from Lulu would cost me $11. Lulu makes you order a new proof copy every time you make a change, which is shady, but usually I only need to make 1-2 changes across the life of a book, so at most the cost will probably be $35 and for that I’ll get three copies of the book. Draft2Digital doesn’t give you an option. If you want a proof pre-publication, it’s $30 flat. If you want to publish and then buy a copy you can, but you can only make one change to the book every 90 days once it’s published. If you want to make more than one change, it’s $25 every time you upload a new version of the manuscript within that 90 day period.

So Draft2Digital’s books cost less to print but they take a massive cut of your royalties out of the retail cost of the book. If the book costs $3 to print, and I price it at $15, that’s $12 in profit on the book. Of that $12, however, I only receive $4. Draft2Digital literally wants 2/3 of my royalties per book. They want $20 more than Lulu to send me a proof copy. If I need to correct the proof, the correction is free, but I’m assuming the second proof will also cost me $30. Any changes after that, within 90 days, will cost $25 plus $30 for a new proof.

Which means my upfront costs at Lulu are about $35 per published book; to do the same thing at Draft2Digital is between $60 and $105 depending on whether I need to make changes after the second proof copy. And even after that, my royalties at Lulu are just about twice what they would be at Draft2Digital per purchase.

So, well, Lulu it is. And the problem I was having with Lulu is solved if I decide to just retail through Lulu rather than selling globally. Which...selling globally has done two things that I’m aware of:

1. Fucked up my author page so badly on Amazon that one of my books is still attributed to Kathleen Starbuck, and one of her books is for sale on my author page.

2. Raised the minimum price I’m allowed to set my books at by like, 40%.

So I think probably what’s going to happen is going forward my books will be for sale only on Lulu. I can still assign them ISBNs and they still will ship worldwide, and the prices will fall significantly. My deepest apologies to those of you who have paid an artificially inflated price for the last few books; I’m going to fix that going forward, I’m going to go in and try to fix it retroactively in the books that are already on Lulu, and if it’s any consolation at least the cash came to me, and TWO THIRDS OF IT didn’t go to Lulu.

It’s gonna take me a little time, untangling Lulu’s relationship to other retailers is tricky, but eventually the Shivadh Omnibus and Twelve Points should come down significantly in price, and there ought to be a dollar or two drop for the older books as well.

This is why it always pays to do the math, even if like me you are dreadful at it.

#selfpub #self publishing #publishing #draft2digital #lulu #archive

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 3 months

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Pining Katsuki | BKDK Headcannon 💚💥

It's 3am and Katsuki can't sleep.

He's thinking back to training earlier, when the two were sparring in one of the school's gyms. Izuku had tripped backwards over some debris from one of Katsuki's explosions. In a rush, Katsuki reached forward and caught Izuku around the waist.

Time had seemed to slow down. Katsuki remembers that he had instinctually wrapped an arm behind Izuku's head to cushion the fall. When they had hit the ground, Katsuki felt the hard impact on his arm and elbow, but luckily Izuku was safe and sound - wrapped in his embrace.

They had stared at each other for a moment - nose to nose. Izuku's face burned brightly - his adorable freckles lost in his flushed cheeks.

"Hey guys - get a room!" Denki called out from the sidelines, breaking the moment of tension. Katsuki roughly disentangled himself from Izuku, shoving his green haired classmate away, as he had stumbled to get to his feet.

"Watch it, Deku! Pro Heroes can't be clumsy as hell." He scowled, waiting for Izuku to get to his feet so they could resume their mock fight.

"Thanks for catching me, Kacchan!" Izuku had sputtered out, getting to shakily to his feet and starting to power up again.

Katsuki had ultimately won the fight.

He turned over the moment again in his mind - the way his hand had felt gripping Izuku's slim waist. The way tucking Izuku into his chest had felt so natural as they were falling.

Now, in his dorm room in the middle of the night, his face burns hot as he thinks about laying over his childhood friend - nose to nose in the heat of battle. What would have happened if he would have...

Katsuki shakes the thought from his mind before it can fully form. He whips out his cell phone and quickly opens up one of Izuku's social media pages. He does this every once and a while - when his feelings are all mixed up and he can't decide if he likes Izuku, or if he hates him. He likes scrolling through Izuku's Instagram page the most. He always rolls his eyes as he types in his classmate's IG handle - AllMight89. "So lame, Deku." He whispers under his breath as the page loads onto his phone screen.

Katsuki starts to scroll through image after image of Izuku. There are so many photos from the past year at UA - pictures of Izuku with classmates and Pros. Katsuki scrolls back a few months to one of his favorite pictures - a close up of Izuku at the beginning of the Sports Festival after he had won the obstacle course.

He loves the way Izuku's face shines with pride as he looks out into the stadium full of people, basking in the glory of his win. His curly green hair is absolutely wild and his UA uniform is charred from navigating the minefield. He looks so...goddamn heroic. Looking at this picture makes Katsuki's heart squeeze in a way he doesn't like.

When he's too tired and can't police his thoughts, he imagines Izuku looking at him that way - proud, exhilarated. What would it be like, to be the sole focus of his friend's intense gaze? To have it be just the two of them, alone. Would the world fall away? Would all of the unspoken things that Katsuki wished he could say come tumbling out of his mouth? Would he be able to apologize to Izuku for all of the goddamn bullying he had subjected his friend to in order to hide his terrifyingly intense feelings? He wonders if Izuku knew how he felt...could he ever forgive him?

Katsuki keeps scrolling through the page. Every once and a while, he clicks on an image to expand it and see Izuku's bright face as it takes up the length of his phone screen. He does this for a bit, zoning out as he clicks through the images. He's pulled from his mindless scrolling when his phone buzzes with a new text...

...It's from Izuku.

Katsuki checks the time - 3:45am. Why would Deku possibly be awake at this hour!? He hastily clicks open the text to read -

Um Kacchan - why did you just like one of my photos from 8 months ago on Instagram?

Katsuki's heart plummets. The hell? Hastily, he scrolls back up on the Izuku's profile grid. His eyes dart across the screen until he finds it. There - he's accidentally hearted a picture of Izuku celebrating his last birthday with his mother. The image is sweet - Izuku is blowing out a cake full of candles as his mother looks on with pride. They are both adorned in triangular All Might party hats. Just a few minutes earlier, Katsuki had thumbed through the picture and briefly smiled at the look of joy on Izuku's face. Now he looked down at his phone screen in abject horror at the tiny pink heart his tired fingers had accidentally awarded to the image.

DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT

Hastily, he unlikes the image - but it's too late! The damage has been done. He thinks the best way to get through this is to deny everything.

The hell you talking about nerd? Leave me alone it's 4 fuckin' AM.

Katsuki's rolls over in bed, panicking as he sees the three dots pop up on the screen to indicate that Izuku is typing. An image appears on the screen - a screenshot of an Instagram alert "Katsuki99 liked your photo."

"SHIT!" Katsuki yells out angrily, tossing his phone to the ground. He doesn't know what to do. He's embarrassed and mad and secretly happy that Izuku has texted him in the early morning when the rest of their class is no doubt asleep.

He sits in his bed, glaring at his phone that is now laying on the carpeted floor, abandoned. What the hell should he do!?

Suddenly, the phone screen lights up, casting a fuzzy glow in the pitch black room. Katsuki scrambles out of his nest of blankets and drops to the ground, grabbing the device up in shaky hands.

It's not a text this time, but an Instagram alert.

"AllMight89 liked your photo."

Fingers quaking, Katsuki clicks the alert and it takes him to Instagram. A few moments later, he sees that Izuku has liked one of his own posts from earlier in the year. It's a photo of Katsuki standing in front of UA on one of his first days of school. He's staring down the camera - mean mugging in his brand new school uniform. The caption simply says "Pro Hero in the Making."

Katsuki remembers making the post - he had been so excited to put on his crisp new uniform and to start taking classes at his dream school. He had made his mother take the photo, happy in the moment even as she roasted him for having such a nasty look on his face.

Katsuki clicks back to his alerts. AllMight89 liked your photo. His chest fills with warmth at the statement. His phone buzzes with a new text - from Izuku again.

That's my favorite photo of you.

Katsuki's heart does double time in his chest as he stares at the message. He has no idea what to do or say. After a few agonizing moments, he taps a hasty reply back.

He types out "You damn nerd." But what he means is: "I love you."

Izuku doesn't reply, and Katsuki is unable to get a wink of sleep for the rest of the night.

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

Thanks so much for reading!! Check out my other 🌶 <spicy> 🌶 BakuDeku fics on My Master List :)

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moonbaby26 · 26 days

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Title: Black Swans

(Chapter 10 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (implied), Smoker x Reader (implied)

Chapter Warnings: language, violence, blood, unprotected vaginal sex, physical abuse, obsessive/toxic relationship

Chapter Synopsis: As Big News Morgans’ spin on you and Doflamingo’s new relationship hits the front pages worldwide, enemies and allies react. The past is also reflected in the present as Doflamingo’s need for you remains a danger for you both.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

——————————

It was barely dawn, the perfect time to be going through her morning stretches as Tashigi swung her sword gently. Moving slowly from one stance to another, extending her body and holding her balance in each position as she did so.

Being on deck this early gave her more room, and less snickering from some of the other crew. But still being one of the youngest aboard, she had been working on getting a thicker skin about that kind of teasing. So many of her fellow sailors still only treated her like a little sister at best.

But, that wasn’t wholly unwarranted either as her glasses slid down her nose and she did nearly fall, ducking as a large bird swooped right past her head abruptly.

And then another, and yet another as she straightened up in surprise while the watchman in the crow’s nest above called down to her. One bird had landed by the swordswoman, but many more were still passing overhead as they were spreading out to the other ships dotting the horizon this close to the island they were patrolling past.

“Grab it, Tashigi! What’s got the news coos so riled up this morning?” The watchman yelled.

“I’m trying!” She had to push her glasses back up to even see the bird clearly. And it spread its wings a bit impatiently as she did reach and take one of the many papers from its leather pouch before it flew again for its next delivery.

“Well!? Who did what, sword girl!?” The watchman still was calling out loudly.

“Hold on!” She was now fighting to get the paper unfolded in the sea breeze to view the front page as she started to read the headlines first.

“Princess Nefertari Vivi was almost kidnapped!” Tashigi yelled back. “Um, she wasn’t though. And then Warlord Doflamingo got engaged…to her? Huh!?”

“What!?” Some other deckhands shouted in unison from the railings above.

“No, wait my glasses are dirty! That can’t be right…” Tashigi was getting flustered, realizing some of the salt spray of the waves had gotten onto her lenses again.

“Someone take the paper from her!” The watchman shouted back to the other deckhands.

“Why are you all goddamn screaming!?” Smoker barked back at them all then, now coming up the stairs from the galley.

He had his cigars already in his mouth. A mug of hot coffee still steaming as he carried it in one hand.

“Smoker, sir!” They saluted. “Captain on deck!”

But he was scowling, seeing Tashigi nearly lose the paper to the wind as she’d been trying to clean her glasses against her shirt.

“Just give me that already!” He chided her, snatching the newspaper away with his other hand.

More crew had wandered back to deck at the commotion and were clearly waiting as their captain’s eyes went to that front page.

But everything went silent. Silence except for the wind fluttering against the sails and rigging above. At least until Tashigi abruptly yelped. The young woman having to quickly move her feet away from that splash of scalding hot coffee as Smoker’s cup fell to the deck.

“Smoker-san!?” The others called out in surprise.

Both his hands were gripping the paper now as he quickly turned the pages, glaring eyes slightly widening in disbelief the more he read and saw the pictures that accompanied it.

“Get me the long distance snail, now!” He yelled back to the crew members still hovering in the doorways.

—————————

“They are not engaged, Garp. Goddammit quit making this worse!” The Fleet Admiral snapped back at his friend, speaking loudly over the cacophony of snails still ringing throughout the office.

“In our day, if you took a girl’s hand and made a picture like that, that’s an engagement! The little shit knew damn well what he was doing!” Vice Admiral Garp insisted just as stubbornly. “And that’s not the worst. The worst is coming for you. Tsuru tells you to watch out for that girl and now you won’t even let Momonga intervene? You’re just going to have that pink jackass carry her off without a fight!? Tsuru’s going to skin you alive! As she should!”

“Listen to me for once in your wretched life, you idiot! I was specifically ordered to stand by! You think I want to sit here and do nothing!?” Sengoku still argued back, their competing voices more than echoing down the hall at this point. Even before the door had swung open and in come Kizaru and Aokiji to join in on the already chaotic scene.

“Sir, that pirate doesn’t have the authority to do any of this! King of Dressrosa or not.” Aokiji spoke immediately, uncharacteristically awake and even riled this early in the morning as he came to stand before the desk.

That contrast of Aokiji’s strong reaction all the more stark in comparison to Kizaru’s who merely strode over to the couch against the wall. Taking a comfortable seat there instead as he spoke easily. “Just send me, Fleet Admiral. I’d be in and out in no time to pick her up if Momonga is too worried about the optics of it. They wouldn’t even see me long enough for a photo. Just say she had another assignment that came up is all…simple.”

Sengoku’s currently harsh gaze moved from Aokiji, then to Kizaru before he started to speak in return.

But yet another voice cut through before he could. The last of his three admirals now filling that open doorway, large arms crossed like a wall across his chest. “This mess is what Momonga deserves for letting that woman board his ship in the first place.”

Kizaru only raised a curious eyebrow at those new harsh words, but Aokiji fully pivoted to turn in an instant and face Akainu as they stared one another down.

“Oh, get over it.” Akainu answered in response to that new look of insult on Aokiji’s face. “Every thing that girl touches ends up this way, doesn’t it? Think with your real brain for once, Kuzan. The best thing you ever did for your career was to let that one go.”

Kizaru whistled in reaction to that genuine barb, the very slightest smirk on his face before multiple things happened all at once.

Steam shot to the ceiling as Akainu had raised his forearm to block the incoming ice. The ice which had hit his magma skin then sending scorching heat in all directions as Kizaru disappeared with a yellow flash from the couch.

Aokiji was thrown immediately down before he could even attempt another blast however, Vice Admiral Garp grabbing his former student by the back of the collar and taking him to the floor in one decisive shot like a misbehaving child.

As Aokiji’s chest had slammed to the ground, Kizaru only appeared again at the other side of the room. The yellow suited admiral now holding the bleating pet goat that had previously been in the damage radius of all that steam.

Sengoku sighed loudly as Kizaru walked the unharmed animal back over to him, its little bell ringing while it kicked its legs helplessly before it could be set back down near its master.

Aokiji shifted then, pinned to the ground on his stomach still, and too surprised to properly resist really as Garp’s other hand had twisted the ice admiral’s arm so easily behind his back to further hold him there.

“Bet you didn’t think this old man could still move that fast, did ya, kid!?” Garp laughed loudly. Not even putting in that much effort to achieve such an iron grip before he did let Aokiji up again once Akainu had reverted back from his magma state.

All this transpiring just before a large part of the now heat damaged ceiling collapsed into a haze of dust and cracked plaster right down onto Sengoku’s new carpet.

The Fleet Admiral’s teeth were fully grit as he pushed his glasses back up his nose while that dust cloud spread. His blood pressure rising with it as his new voice left zero room for further disagreement.

“Here is what we will NOT be doing any further this morning! We are the pride of the goddamn navy! And we will not be instigated into infighting all because of one, spoiled brat of a pirate!”

Garp scoffed, unimpressed and prompting a brief glare of death from Sengoku, who only continued unabated.

“And going forward, none of you three are allowed to engage Doflamingo without my explicit approval!” His eyes locked directly onto Aokiji’s in that moment as well.

Intel had of course gotten back to Sengoku by now of Kuzan’s unsanctioned trip to the warlord’s residence on Sabaody. Sengoku hadn’t known the extent of things then. But Doflamingo’s new behavior in addition to Aokiji’s reaction to it were now more than enough to make this picture of jealousy all too clear. “And if these orders are disregarded, strongest disciplinary measures will absolutely follow!”

And all three admirals gave varying signals of surprise to those words. At least seeming to agree on one thing, that the choice of inaction was never the preferred path when faced with a pirate’s clear disrespect of the uniform.

And Sengoku’s voice did lower again even as he still seethed. His hands were far more tied than they could ever understand. Not until one of them finally sat in this chair one day.

“This comes straight from Mariejois as well. The government is intending to milk this fiasco as a public distraction I’m sure.” It was already being framed as some goddamn fairytale thing. A king publicly falling for a soldier, or more specifically a sailor in your case.

But Big News Morgans had to go above and beyond even that interpretation as always.

In Morgans’ version, you were actually the knight out there saving your princesses. A subversion of the normal children’s archetypes. And King Doflamingo had taken notice, now choosing you the knight instead of said princesses.

The only thing Sengoku truly couldn’t tell his men was that a warning of this very thing had already happened, years ago. And that both himself and Tsuru had clearly misjudged the longevity of that danger.

She was going to be furious, just as Garp had said. But more at herself than anyone.

Because Rosinante had insisted to them many times that tragedy would be the result if they didn’t keep you far enough from his brother’s influence.

You were only one of many topics that had come fast and desperate in those shorter and shorter phone calls before the end. But one that the marines would now be forced to face as their own failure once more.

——————————

You could walk again at last. But with that return of feeling also came terrible pain. Your thigh ached all the way to the bone, skin pulling against those makeshift, string sutures with every step. It was all you could do not to visibly limp as you’d walked past all those leering pirates on either side of you while you boarded Doflamingo’s ship.

Your head was still held high, rope dart weapon wrapped on one shoulder, and your long marine coat moving behind you in the last of that Scyllian breeze.

The characters on the back of your coat read boldly as “justice” in stark contrast to the struck through, smiling jolly roger now being hoisted above you to shadow the deck below.

The Donquixote pirates had concealed their ship’s true ownership when arriving. But there was now no further need for discretion, especially in the spectacle that this morning had already become.

No, you knew full well that Doflamingo wanted those reporters on the dock to document his victory while his banner flew proudly above your head. Every additional photo from their flashing cameras having to be something you chose to ignore as you did your best not to falter before so much public scrutiny.

But even you didn’t have the mental endurance right now to stay above deck for long after. As soon as you felt you’d put on enough of a show of indifference, and that the camera lenses were too far at last to reach you, you’d disappeared down the first set of stairs you’d found.

Down into the tight wooden hallways of someone else’s ship as you put your back to the wall and finally trembled.

Whether from mostly anger, or exhaustion, or still just plain shock, you couldn’t separate the emotions trying to overcome you anymore.

The pirates did keep their distance from you then at least. You suspected that they’d been strictly ordered to. No one following you into that dimly lit hallway but their captain himself.

The small space feeling all the more claustrophobic then as you looked up into those reflective red sunglasses while his large palm splayed on the wall above your head.

Pink feathers brushed against you in that closeness. His scent so apparent again as you tried not to stare at his bared chest from beneath the now open coat and shirt.

He was back in full form now, body heat radiating as he bent in enough to speak against your ear.

“You did well…I’m proud of you. But it’s enough now. No one’s going to hurt you here.” And yet even as he said that, his other hand was feeling up across your injured thigh.

You did wince without being able to help it at even that light pressure, and you heard Doflamingo’s resulting smile in those words which stayed contrastingly soft beside your ear. “My wounded little bird…come rest those wings with me. You have no reason to fly anymore.”

And you knew what he was going to do before he did it. He’d done this last night as well when helping you out of the ballroom when you still couldn’t walk.

You heard him chuckle too as your arms went around his neck instinctively this time. Making it easier on yourself to not be jostled as much while one of his arms went behind your knees and the other behind your back as he lifted you up to carry you the rest of the way down the hall.

All the way to the captain’s quarters as his strings had pulled the door handle down. His knee easily nudged the door open before he carried you across the threshold into his bedroom.

You heard the door shut and lock behind you almost immediately. Likely his strings doing it all now even as he kept carrying you straight to that oversized bed.

He clearly preferred these luxuries, even at sea as your back was finding his plush mattress soon after.

And he was still smiling, reveling in this really while you watched him push his sunglasses up as you now laid beneath him. He let those glasses rest in his blond hair, exposing his then prideful eyes so soon to you again before he leaned back down to kiss you.

You were absolutely done by then. You’d never slept last night. You’d never had a chance. Awake the entire time, arguing and then eventually pleading to Vice Admiral Momonga. You didn’t understand why nothing could be done. You knew Momonga had called Sengoku. That they had argued too. But nothing had changed.

All your things had still ended up offloaded from Momonga’s ship and handed over to actual pirates instead with the simple report that you were indeed being assigned to Dressrosa for now. Effective immediately and with Doflamingo gloating all the while as he had never left your side last night. He hadn’t slept either, just having his servants pack back up the villa that you’d only briefly gone back to to clean yourself and change before this walk of shame to port this morning.

And now here you were. In a bed with him all over again as he kissed and stroked you. But with a rare gentleness that you were sure was only temporary and brought on solely from his current high of success.

You’d let him slide that coiled rope dart right off your shoulder. Your weapon placed onto the nightstand before he’d untied and slid your boots off for you as well. Then kicking those curved black shoes off his own feet before he pulled his legs back up to further ensnare your body as you lay together.

With his arms holding you too, you disappeared a bit into all those soft feathers of his coat. But he kept his face against yours in the open air above all that pink. Still smiling even as he let his eyes already start to close.

“Sleep for now, love… We won. And we’ll be home soon.” The demon promised.

———————————

“Hey, what’s he doing now? He was the one telling us last night that we’d have to hurry before we’d miss the tide this morning!” The boy with the orca shaped hat exclaimed.

“I don’t know, he’s been staring at that stupid paper since we left him here earlier.” The other boy with the penguin hat answered.

They were fussing amongst themselves, struggling to carry all the supplies they’d purchased in town as they made their way back to the cove.

Their equally young, teenage captain was currently sitting on a rock near the water’s edge. The crew’s yellow submarine listing gently as high tide began to recede around it. This morning’s news coo paper still in his hands.

“Um, Captain?” The polar bear mink that had been walking beside the other two boys asked almost timidly next, sitting his own supplies he’d been carrying down into the sand before he moved forward.

Law’s eyes shifted, coldly glancing to the side at his friend as the bear approached.

Bepo squirmed immediately under that stare, but didn’t give up yet. “The tide’s going out…we won’t be able to clear the rocks if we wait…”

“I know that. It’ll be another twelve hours until the water’s deep enough again.” Law sighed at last, that stiffness in his shoulders breaking somewhat.

“Sooo…are we’re staying here then?” Penguin questioned with a head tilt.

“No, get in the damn submarine!” Law stood from off of the rock, the newspaper now rolled in his hand as if he might smack them with it.

“What are you so moody for!? We’re getting in the sub!” Penguin whined, nearly running into Shachi as they both clamored to get back onto the deck of the Polar Tang in such a rush now.

But Bepo held back, fidgeting a little as Law still stood there in the sand.

While the others loaded the vessel, the mink noticed how his captain had already unrolled that paper again. At least enough that even Bepo could now see the tall blond man in one of the main headline photos. That man’s eyes concealed by a red mask, but his smile entirely unsettling. At least to someone like Bepo as that man also held a woman’s hand who was so close to him in the photo.

“She looks afraid.” Bepo said before he could help himself. Noticing that detail too, even where someone else may not have. It looked like a nice, even loving picture of a couple otherwise. Except for the man’s off putting smile and the woman’s concerned eyes.

Law’s chest rose and fell, he looked to the ground a moment before staring back to the bear. “He’s the pirate I used to work for, Bepo. He’ll do anything to get what he wants. I’ve seen him do it.” Law’s voice actually even wavered there, just for a moment at least before that emotion was buried again.

Bepo’s dark eyes widened though, picking up on that too before a warm paw went onto his captain’s shoulder then.

For once, Law did allow that attempt at comfort too. Only bristling slightly, but not pulling away as he revealed even more. It was so rare for him to talk about his last pirate crew. Yet when he did, these negative feeling always tried to force their way out of him.

“I thought she looked familiar.” Law said. “But I saw her name and then it finally clicked. Corazon…the guy I told you about. He tried to help her too once. To keep her away from him. But Doflamingo always wins. Even after this long. Just like he got Dressrosa. Just like he got immunity with the government.”

Law sneered then as well, almost in a mirror to that strange smile from the photo in the paper in that moment. “What kind of karma is that, Bepo!? Why can someone like him just keep getting his way every time!? While people like Cora…they just disappear. They just get erased and forgotten!”

“But you didn’t forget Cora.” Bepo answered so sincerely then. Bravely really, and with no hesitation as Law stared at the mink in return.

Law scowled as his bottom lip shifted just a single time before he pulled away. As if it had wanted to quiver. “Yeah. I didn’t. But we’ve got a long way to go before I can do a thing about it.”

And he’d stormed off at that to help the others finish loading the submarine before the tide would leave them. Bepo then hurrying faithfully behind him as they regathered the stack of supplies now falling over into the sand.

——————————-

But later that same day, after the supplies had all been packed away and the course to the next town fully set, Law had still slipped back away from the other boys. Further into the submarine under just the excuse of sitting to practice his powers again.

They hadn’t even left the North Blue yet. They didn’t even have a real crew yet. Not in his critical mind at least. They were still just kids sailing around in this submarine that Wolf had gifted them.

Everything right now was just the very first building blocks to the dream Law had had…or the nightmare rather. The things he wanted to accomplish one day with this second life that Cora had given to him.

But he hadn’t been ready to feel these emotions again so soon, nor had he realized how raw it all still was for him. Not until the very moment he’d seen Doflamingo’s hungry grin on that newspaper this morning,

A monster that was still feeding on others even now, still taking, never sated as he only ruined one additional life after another. It was the same kind of destruction that Cora had given everything to spare Law from.

And as the boy sat there alone, making small rooms atop the table with the movements of his hand, that newspaper and its triggering images still lay before him.

There was finally a shine of wetness in Law’s eyes then, no one else to see it now before another flick of his fingers had that paper levitating before him. Just for a moment before he jerked those same fingers to have one of his pencils shooting right into the newspaper. It stabbed a hole straight through the throat of that man he still hated this intensely.

It was like being there all over again though. Law remembered exactly who you were now. It’s not that he particularly cared about you as an individual of course, you were just another victim in a sea of the same. But the difference to him, was how clearly your capture showcased Doflamingo’s true tenacity. That devil’s willingness to play the long game every time.

Because it’d been so long since Corazon had spoken of you. All that time that Doflamingo could have fully moved on to literally any other obsession with anyone else. But true insanity didn’t work that way. And Corazon had understood, and thereby feared that part of his brother more than anyone.

——————————

It had been several years ago. The Donquixote crew celebrating as they always did whenever narrowly escaping Vice Admiral Tsuru’s warship. Partaking in their usual routine once returning safely to their hideout in the North Blue.

But that night had still been different. Doflamingo had been different. The change even noticeable to Law. The young boy, pale and tired sitting on a torn blanket on the floor as he dismantled and cleaned each of the many guns one by one that the older crew members had handed off to him. His assigned task that Buffalo was supposed to assist him with, but somehow never did.

Baby 5 had been giggling, also skirting her normal post mission responsibilities, playing instead in one of the treasure boxes. One of the heavy chests that Senor Pink and Gladius had just dropped on the middle of the floor before they went back outside for more.

Law knew that Buffalo and Baby 5 often got additional leniency in exchange for the usefulness of their powers in battle. But Law had nothing like that. Just his brain and his aching hands, the amber lead spots larger on his skin every passing year as he still cleaned the guns dutifully.

Doflamingo himself was sitting in the leather armchair nearby. One glass of red wine after another downed. Not participating in any of that tedious manual labor of course, but smirking at Baby 5 all the same as she’d run over to him with a gold crown she’d found in all the loot even that quickly.

“Young master! This is for you!” She beamed, with some oversized, jeweled necklaces already hanging down her dress nearly to her knees as well while she offered the headpiece only to him.

That was when Law had first realized the odd mood the Donquixote leader was really in as he’d leaned down all the way, having to bend at his waist to bow his head enough for Baby 5 to crown him, her arms fully outstretched and on her tip toes as she did.

And once that crown was on his head, he cocked it slightly to the side intentionally, straightening back up with a grin as Baby 5 curtsied before him. “Your majesty!” She giggled again, then running back to the additional treasure boxes as Senor Pink and Gladius had returned with yet another one behind it.

Buffalo grew interested in all that gleaming gold too of course. The larger boy and Baby 5 starting to then bicker over some stupid antique coins they’d found, before they’d dropped them all and some went rolling.

Law was still most intent on their leader though, too used to the other children’s immaturity already. He had seen Doflamingo look over to Corazon next who was seated on the couch beside the master’s chair having a smoke.

“What do you think, little brother? Too much or not enough?” Doflamingo was outright fishing for compliments then, wine glass still sloshing in his other hand as he motioned to the crown.

But cigarette smoke was all that came out from the other Donquixote in a silent puff as usual, Corazon shrugging before stretching out his lanky legs across the floor without much opinion.

The pirate captain only looked somewhat disappointed at that lack of reaction, before an interruption of annoying laughter had both brothers looking back to the doorway anyway.

“Behehe! It really suits you, Doffy!” Trebol barged in then, with Diamante close enough behind him through the door. Something white was folded in Diamante’s hands. “But we’ve finished unloading the ship now, and we have one more surprise for you!” Trebol declared.

Of course Doflamingo’s eyes could not be seen beneath those red glasses. But Law had noticed the way Corazon’s eyes had instantly widened, if ever so briefly as that white fabric was unfurled from Diamante’s grip.

Doflamingo too had straightened up in his seat at the reveal however, cruel smile reforming across his face so instantaneously. “Oh? And who exactly did that get ripped away from?”

It was a marine coat. The standard issue, long and white. At least formerly white, with small blood stained holes and rips now marring it here and there. Particularly where one sleeve had partially separated at the shoulder.

“Well, Doffy, you’d told us you’d seen that girl again this morning. But only through the spyglass when she was with Tsuru.” Diamante now spoke, wearing a wide smile of his own from almost ear to ear. “Well, this afternoon while you were indeed occupied with Tsuru, we found the girl again on our own. They were trying to sneak up on us from behind. Between Trebol and a I, we were able to separate her from her colleagues.” At that, Diamante tossed the coat across the room in one smooth movement.

Doflamingo caught it easily, but still watching his officers.

“My apologies though.” Diamante added. “I did have her by the back. But she still slipped right out of it. She’s quite fast. We knew you’d still appreciate the trophy regardless though. But I assure you we won’t miss such an opportunity again.”

And even still being that much younger then, Law remembered the way his stomach had oddly turned as Doflamingo’s long fingers had probed through one of the bloody holes in that fabric, finger curling alongside his ever darkening smile. As the Donquixote captain’s head had tilted, he’d pumped his fingers briefly through that blood stained tear as well, as if in test. “So this is really hers?”

“It is.” Trebol assured, voice also different then in a way that had made Law completely forget the gun oil still in his hands.

Law almost spilled the bottle of that oil actually as Doflamingo had suddenly pressed that collar and the shoulders of the dirty coat to his face, taking an audible inhale of whatever scent may still remain from its owner.

Law had never seen a person actually do such a thing. And Corazon was staring as well as Doflamingo began to laugh, one fist still clutched into that coat as his white teeth gleamed in real pleasure.

His laugh was loud and shaking up from within that deep place those most intense ones came from. Enough so that even Baby 5 and Buffalo had finally stopped their bickering, silencing as they looked to the young master.

“Well done. All of you.” Doflamingo finally managed. And he’d spread his legs as he leaned back in the chair, yet another glass of wine soon down his throat as he let that coat lay across his lap.

His cheeks were actually slightly flushed by then, whether from the intense laughter or all the alcohol. He was not himself.

At least not the Doflamingo that Law had long learned to both respect and fear as Corazon had also seemed uncomfortable, watching his brother as well.

Staring enough that Doflamingo had finally looked back to Corazon. Those red lenses reflecting the light, some other king’s crown still caught in his spiked blond hair.

“Don’t be so judgmental, Corazon…don’t you want your brother to be happy?” And there was still an edge to those words, almost a challenge.

And suddenly Doflamingo had stood. He grabbed the wine bottle itself as he did. Not the glass. He turned that entire bottle up, his adam’s apple moving up and down with the sound of the remaining liquid leaving the bottle as he drank every last drop.

He left the empty bottle as it fell. Just the coat was still in his hand as he walked, but his other hand grabbing Corazon by the back of the neck as Doflamingo had passed behind the couch.

Corazon did nothing to fight back, nor did he react with any surprise. Still smoking his cigarette as he tilted his head back for them to then look at one another as Doflamingo loomed over him.

“Tsuru thinks I won’t have that girl…but I will. And you two can both be wrong together then.” He was smiling wide again, before he leaned down. That cruel mouth nearly against his younger brother’s ear before he whispered something else into it.

Law could only watch as Corazon’s breathing stilled at whatever those words were, an unreadable look in the Donquixote officer’s red eyes before that moment had passed just as quickly.

Doflamingo then shoved Corazon abruptly by the neck as he rose back to his full height. Seemingly just taunting his little brother all the more. But rough enough as Corazon, clumsy as he was anyway, nearly fell forward off of the couch. Embers dropped from his cigarette to sear little spots into the top of his pants.

And Doflamingo just watched as his only blood family tried to sit back up and brush off those hot embers simultaneously before they could burn him.

“I’m going to bed.” The captain did announce to everyone though, pulling at his pants a little as he did, like they were bothering him. His face still seemed somewhat flushed. “You all do whatever the fuck you want.”

“But it’s only nine.” Buffalo said somewhat stupidly. Normally all their drinking and eating after successful missions went well into the night.

“He didn’t say he was going to sleep.” Diamante grinned.

None of the kids understood this part of it then.

But Doflamingo only chuckled, truly a little drunk by then and fully unashamed as he carried that coat with the marine girl’s blood and scent on it into his bedroom and slammed the door.

Corazon had stood up not long after as well, looking somewhat stricken still and flashing a piece of paper to the room that said he was going out for a walk.

Law had ended up following him too. Not immediately of course, but long enough after. When the other adults were too drunk to give a damn where anyone else might disappear off to.

Things had already started to change between himself and Corazon by then. Corazon knew about the D. in his name. And Law knew that Corazon could actually speak.

So when he did find the younger Donquixote, far from the hideout and sitting on a pile of scrap metal in the moonlight, Law hadn’t wasted any time.

“What the hell is going on with the captain? He was being weird all day.” The boy fussed abruptly.

And Corazon had immediately startled, nearly dropping his cigarette as he glared back to Law.

But he also saw Corazon look around. Very carefully in fact before suddenly the ocean waves in the distance could no longer be heard.

“Is everybody else passed out already then?” Corazon still spoke low, even while using his devil fruit power.

“Well yeah, I’m not stupid.” Law retorted, the chip on his own shoulder still so big at that time in his life.

“Strongly disagree.” Corazon deadpanned anyway, taking another drag on his cigarette. “You wouldn’t be out here otherwise, kid.”

And of course Law snapped right back, more of that young petulance front and center. “Well you’re out here! So you’re as dumb as anyone!”

And that painted smile had spread a little there. Corazon looking down at him again. This time, not hardly as cold. “Heh. You don’t know the half of it.” But he did flick his cigarette, letting some of the ash fall before he put that bad habit right back up to his lips.

He mustn’t have felt like arguing right now though. He’d looked more tired than normal even for Corazon. “And as I know you won’t damn go to bed until you’re satisfied…fine. Let’s talk. The answer is that my big bro is having a rough day today. He’s got marriage on his mind.”

“What!?” Law had stammered immediately.

Loud and abrupt enough that Corazon had almost dropped his cigarette again. “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop saying stupid things! Our captain’s not going to marry anybody! Did you fall and hit your head again, Corazon!?”

“Well…maybe. But calm the hell down! Trust me, that word has an entirely different meaning for Doffy. It’s not a nice thing.”

“Huh?”

And Corazon sighed. “Look, do you swear you’ll go back inside and go to bed if I tell you this? You need to quit damn worshipping him anyway. Maybe you’ll start to believe me for once.”

“Okay, I swear.” Law had just said without hesitation.

“Quit holding your fingers behind your back you little jerk.”

“I wasn’t!” Law lied.

Corazon rolled his eyes. “You’re too young to understand anyway. But my brother doesn’t just like things. He owns them. He controls them. And if he really likes something, then hell…it’s over.”

“What?”

“See! You are just a dumb kid!”

“I am not! It’s not my fault you can’t explain anything for crap!”

And Corazon groaned. “Okay. I’ll give you an example. Your parents were both doctors right? So you know how bodies work? ….But have you ever held a bird? Especially a really small one? Did you know they don’t have a diaphragm?”

Law’s eyebrows had lowered in more confusion. But yes…he actually did know that from old biology lessons. But he was shocked that Corazon would. And he still didn’t understand how it had anything to do with the topic at hand.

“Well what happens to something without a diaphragm if you put pressure on its chest?” Corazon asked next.

And Law did have to think about it, just still completely caught off guard in the random turns of this conversation. He knew exactly what the muscle of the diaphragm did. It was used for expansion and contraction of the chest, allowing the lungs to inhale and exhale.

But birds used a combination of air sacs with rib movements to achieve similar if he remembered right. But without the strength of a diaphragm, the force they had available to expand their own chest would be much less. So he quickly reasoned that a strong enough external pressure would stop that movement completely. They’d be helpless.

“It…wouldn’t be able to breathe?” Law answered, still unsure if these were the pieces he was supposed to connect.

And Corazon did blink. “Yeah…I guess you’re not so dumb after all.”

But before Law could fully react to that additional teasing, Corazon had looked far more serious.

It was an expression that actually made Law nervous again. Because both of the Donquixote brothers had a similar way their facial muscles stilled when they were really considering something.

And it was intimidating. Even on someone like Corazon.

But the man had already seemed to make up his mind to say even more though as he eventually kept on. “Well, we weren’t always pirates you know. When we were just kids, we did have some pets. I guess that wasn’t too weird compared to everything else. But Doffy had a favorite. See…our mother had these birds, swans actually. And then those birds had babies. But only one liked Doffy. This little black one that never bit him.”

And Corazon sighed then, fully putting out what was left of his cigarette as he shoved the butt into the dirt beneath the scrap metal pile. His broad shoulders had sank somewhat. “So can you guess what happened to that little bird, kid?”

Law just stared for a moment, but finally nodded. Corazon’s somber body language making it all too clear as Law watched the man stand then.

But somehow Law still felt like he had to say it out loud. Because this was the lesson that Corazon had wanted him to understand. The only reason all of this was being confessed at all.

“He held it too hard…he killed it.” Law spoke into the darkness.

And Corazon’s eyes were pained. Proving that this conversation was also about far more than a child’s one time mistake. “And he’s never learned since.” The lanky man replied before he had started to walk, Law still following behind him as he did.

It wasn’t really a conscious thing yet to want to stay together. Neither of them fully realizing that shift in allegiance already beginning in the boy.

“Hey, Corazon…” Law did look back up at him after a while too.

“Yeah?”

“What did your brother whisper to you back there to make you run off? You looked really weird when you heard it.”

And Corazon scoffed. “I already told you. He’s got the future on his mind. He thinks he needs to check some certain boxes once we’re in the New World. And she’s one of those boxes. You really don’t want to know what the rest was about though. Let’s just say it must be flamingo breeding season whenever she’s around and leave it at that.”

“Ew! That’s gross! You’re not supposed to tell me that!” Even then Law was pretty sure you weren’t that much older than him. And he did know how reproduction actually occurred. He knew in the context of old medical textbooks at least.

“Well then don’t ask! That’s your wonderful leader, kid.”

The now former leader who was still smiling this many years later, so disconcerting in that newspaper as Law continued to glower down at his pierced photo in the present day.

And the more Law stared at that image of you and Doflamingo, the more he realized that the black feathers in the mask you wore were the same as a little bird’s who had stopped moving within a child’s hand once.

The same black feathers that had been stained with so much blood in the snow as Corazon had also taken his last breath.

Doflamingo was now on his third black swan.

———————————

Something was tickling your cheek as you finally opened your eyes and lifted your head slightly within the feathers.

The haze of sleep was slow to recede as you tried to get your bearings.

A heavy arm was over your back. Those pink feathers encircling you as you tried to silently blow away the loose one that had landed on your face.

It all carried his scent. Those expensive colognes you hated to admit as already becoming so used to. He didn’t always wear the same one. But you could pick any of them out immediately by now.

And you assumed you’d see those bicolored eyes of his watching you hungrily as always when you’d finally glanced up from your place against his warm chest.

But you did pause at the view that met you instead this time.

Doflamingo’s eyes were closed, lean face relaxed. His lips were parted as he breathed audibly, deep and steady. The red sunglasses were still barely hanging on in his hair where he’d left them, completely skewed now and almost endearing in that lack of care.

He was absolutely out.

And you could not stop staring, a bit in awe at how truly different he looked this way.

One of your hands was still on his chest as you realized in this new stillness that you could even feel his heartbeat beneath your splayed palm.

You bit your lip slightly in your further odd reaction, the responding warmth and tightness in your own chest making little sense.

Of course he had a heart to move his blood around. Of course he couldn’t hold those face muscles into a look of cruelty even in his sleep.

But he looked younger like this. He looked like a man that would have had real friends. A man that would have woken with a real smile for you. A man who never would have hurt you.

An extremely pretty lie once more.

Gently, you removed those sunglasses from his hair regardless, sitting them quietly on the nightstand before they would fall to the mattress. You sat those infamous glasses on top of your weapon there beside the bed. Not missing the significance of those barriers both being set aside willfully now.

And you laid back down as gently as you could afterward. His bare chest still your unexpected refuge while his rhythmic breathing never changed.

It should have made you even angrier, that he could do so much to you and still sleep this soundly. No guilt to be had in him at all.

But it was far more complicated than just this. He was both the cause and the relief to so much pain as your eyes had soon closed again.

——————————

The transponder snails in his quarters must have all been put on do not disturb that morning. Because you and that warlord did sleep half the day together like that.

The first thing you’d remembered next was him finally stretching. That warm torso you were still pressed against tensing and then relaxing again as you felt large hands starting to roam over you. It felt like he was checking how much clothing you were still wearing actually.

Which was all of it. Both of you had only taken off your shoes before passing out here. And you did contemplate feigning like you were still asleep to see how much longer he would leave you alone.

But it was quickly pointless. A hand was then beneath your marine coat and starting to tug your skirt down from your hip already as you grabbed his wrist in response.

Your injured thigh was still so sensitive of course. You were trying to protect it as your sudden movement did earn a chuckle from him. “Relax. I’m not going to open up your wound…though you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d quit trying to save every brat you come across.” He both greeted and chided you simultaneously as you’d awoken.

“They were going to kill her.” You argued, albeit without much bite to it yet as you were still not fully awake.

“Maybe…probably.” He smiled at your lingering sleepy tone. “But it happens every day, love. Much easier just to focus on your own family going forward and leave it at that.”

And you felt your skirt being pushed up then instead. Him changing the tactic slightly, but still clear on his intent to get that fabric out of his way. “I still think you’d like one of your own.” He said next though. Voice just as taunting while his fingers were now playing with the sides of your underwear.

“I already have a family,” you said plainly, but still not really looking at him.

“I don’t mean our crews and you know it.” His tone darkened some at that, his grin back all at once as his hands grabbed you by the arms.

And before you could fully process, he had pulled you even closer to bury his face into the collar of your white marine coat. Fully into the fabric while you heard him breathe you in.

The sound was like an animal, catching onto a scent it so desperately wanted more of. And he stilled for that moment, only breathing in your body and warmth. Like your coat itself was triggering him as much as anything. Stirring up something even older as his voice finally came out again, albeit far more stressed. “Have I told you how very many times I’ve wanted to rip this uniform right off of you…”

You cursed though as he bit your fucking coat without warning after, right over your chest. That switch in him had flipped again. Something you had yet to learn to fully predict.

The pressure from his jaw still badly pinched your soft breast even underneath the two layers of fabric. His saliva coming off that long tongue as he only released the bite long enough to move your coat further open.

And when it was, he then had that wet maw back on just your shirt instead. He was sucking your breast even through the thin fabric. Bra also be damned as one of his hands did reach under your shirt to roughly push those cups up and out of the way before he bit down yet again.

“No.” He said, short and harsh then. Lifting his mouth just enough to scold you as you’d tried to of course push his face back away at the pain. “This is what I need….I’ve thought of the day I could really bring you home. I’ve wanted it so much…”

And you couldn’t possibly understand.

But that already growing bulge was tightening behind the bright capris pants as he pushed his still clothed erection between your legs next.

Your shirt was now sticking, wet over your breast as he started gradually thrusting as well. Almost fucking you without actually fucking you as your hands gripped into his hair in the growing pain.

If he thought this was somehow less rough than the real thing, he was fully wrong. All that pressure on top of your wounded leg, and against the bruises from bullets that had never pierced your skin. It was almost intolerable.

But he was spiraling quickly into his own problems, his own memories regardless. With his tongue then fully hanging out, he’d now jerked your underwear down your legs.

Your skirt was already bunched up around your waist. While the tented front of his pants ground against your then exposed slit as he groaned, tongue only briefly receding with his additional words.

“Why do you always do this to me…” He questioned, real irritation forming in that odd tone as his fingers started to claw at the drawstrings of his waistband all the same. Like he just wanted to shred them too in his growing impatience. “Fucking making me so hard it hurts…then goddamn running away all those times. I hated it so much.”

And he had risen back up, your hands falling away from him as he used both his own to pull his pants down. Open and loose around his ass then as his already precum smeared cock moved out into the air.

You made a pitiful sound of course as that wide head of it was immediately being drug between your folds instead. He had his hand around his shaft as he pressed the tip of himself against your clit and started so roughly rubbing the two against one another.

“You know how often I had to pump this goddamn cock for you?” He still asked, sounding angrier all the while. Even as he was edging your entrance and stroking his own shaft simultaneously. “I wanted you…but you started fucking marines instead. So I had to go fuck so many nobodies and a goddamned prick who still backstabs me every chance he gets.”

And you were starting to pant, hurting so badly as he was no longer paying any attention to his weight on your wounds while he straddled and berated you with this escalating nonsense.

“I didn’t even know you then!” You finally yelled back at him.

“And whose fault was that!? I was waiting for you!” He just snapped in return, just as he did push inside of you, making you cry out as always as you stretched.

But he still laughed even on top of that, starting to pump his hips as his hands grabbed tightly to your body beneath him. His fingernails dug in for purchase as he started fucking you harder and harder.

“Regardless…we’ve still got to make up for lost time…Scylla was just the beginning. You owe me so much more.” He hissed, the bed shaking in rhythm with his pounding into you.

That pink feather coat was still over his shoulders. Enveloping the two of you on either side as his animalistic drive showed no hint of slowing.

You were outright gasping in pain, and it was only encouraging him.

But the thing that finally put you over the edge was when you felt a new wetness beneath your leg. Warm and red as those string stitches gave up at last.

He had broken his word and done exactly what he’d said he would not do. Too rough, too needy, too much all at once.

The blood was pooling to stain your white coat still beneath you as your body then reacted on its own accord. His mind was too far gone in this current tangent, seemingly needing to torture you for crimes you couldn’t even know.

So you snapped on him in return.

Your fist slammed into Doflamingo’s bare abdomen so incredibly hard. Compressing it violently, with haki crackling out even the other side of his back as he had not had a single defense ready for you.

The gasp that came out of him was full of spit and even bile from his stomach as he crumpled forward.

His cock was still inside you as time seemed to stop. But the way his body reflexively pulled in on itself, and the way his arms came up defensively with his head ducked beneath them was still something you’d never seen from him before.

Because his mind hadn’t known he was in danger, he’d had no warlord level fight response ready. By surprising him that fully, you’d seen almost a cowering posture if for just that single instant in that man.

A body language you knew immediately as you’d experienced it in the past yourself. In that single moment, you actually saw the muscle memory from someone who’d been beaten before. An abuse survivor who’d grown into an abuser themselves.

That final thought weighed heavy in your mind before time restarted.

Strings jerked your arms viciously, holding them away so hard that your joints burned. Burned and stretched so that you could not possibly block before his own strike came down across the side of your face from his hand. The sound of the crack echoing through the room as you spit blood over the pillowcase.

You swallowed reflexively, moving nothing else but your eyes as you stared back up at him then panting above you.

Spit and the smallest bit of vomit was on his chin, his eyes wide and staring down at you.

But then he’d seen it at last. The red growing beneath you both on the bed.

——————————

Doflamingo was still in shock, mind trying to catch up when he realized how wet his leg really felt. For the briefest moment he’d thought you’d somehow stabbed him as well. He truly didn’t understand.

Arousal and adrenaline and confusion were all one big knot in his mind as he still felt like he needed to puke from the force of that surprise uppercut straight into his guts.

And by comparison, you were calm. Lying motionless beneath him even after all of this. As hard as he’d hit you in return, your eyes were still clear and sharp. You were waiting for him to catch up on the situation. One animal watching another.

And finally he did have that higher moment of clarity.

“Goddammit,” he breathed at last, wiping the mess from his own chin with the back of his hand. That adrenaline which had been burning through his chest then changing to a more complicated feeling once again when he realized what he had done.

He’d misjudged his strings’ longevity on another person’s body was what it came down to. The makeshift sutures’ hold was apparently not as good when on anyone else but the String-String user themselves.

It wasn’t like he ever did this for others to really know any better though. His strings were for cutting down foes, not for mending his treasure.

And all he could do right now was replace them. Fresh strings as he ran his fingers over your wound yet again, smearing that new blood as he laced you back together. He’d just have to keep changing them until reaching Dressrosa now. He didn’t have a good enough doctor on board to handle this otherwise

Not one that he’d trust you to anyway.

And only when the blood flow had stopped again did he finally look back to your face. You still watched him quietly with blood staining down your chin. Some had even run to drip onto your throat and chest.

He hadn’t held back when he’d hit you.

And the composure you maintained, even with his strings glistening tight against your arms and all that blood remaining across your leg and down your chin made it impossible for him to lose his erection. He hadn’t even pulled fully out.

“I didn’t keep my word.” Doflamingo finally admitted however, still hard as anything between his legs as he watched you below him.

But his desire couldn’t be overstated. Every memory, every need, and all the times he’d laid awake fucking his own hand or whatever remnants he could find of you while just thinking of tearing you down one day. That had stayed with him so much more than even he had realized.

You were a fantasy become real. He didn’t know what else to do.

“I felt it ripping open…I just reacted.” Was what you said at last though. Not emotional, not accusing, just telling him why you’d done what you did.

And he did smirk at your straight forward approach. Oh, you were absolutely still a wounded little bird to him. But you now had so violently just reminded him that this little bird would still bite.

You were so unlike the random, pretty strangers that normally passed through his bed and cowered all the while. But also different than the indefinite danger of conquests like Crocodile who may “bite” him the entire encounter unless properly muzzled.

You were a blend somewhere in between those two extremes. Soft enough that he would still trust sleeping beside you and offering you his blind side. Because somehow he did know that you didn’t actually loathe him by now. And you had that core code of honor as well still dictating your every life choice.

But you were also hard enough that there was still a line there somewhere that he would have to keep exploring. A boundary in you that when crossed, his little bird would absolutely turn and try to take a piece out of him.

Yes, everything happening now was actually only cementing his belief in having made the correct choice to take you with him at last.

And as that heat pulled back into his chest, he moved his hand again. Releasing you from his strings that he knew you’d still been using haki to not be cut by.

You must be in a lot of pain right now.

“I can finish without pressing down on you…” He assured again.

His stomach still hurt as well as he slowly began to pump in and out of you once more, albeit actually controlling himself this time even as he smiled through the pain. His thighs he spread wide enough so that they were not against you any longer as he held his weight off of your body as well. Only his cock was still sliding in and out of you in a near gentle rhythm.

“We’re both going to cum, lover…and then we’re going to have a warm bath together.” He said as his newest promise. One he could actually keep this time as his thumb moved affectionately back over your clit.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to stand up long in the shower right now. So drawing a bath after this was the very inviting alternative. His quarters had both options.

And he didn’t fucking care if sitting too deep in the bathwater would make him feel weak by the curse of his devil fruit. He still wanted the privilege of doing it with you. He wanted to be the one to wipe away that blood that he’d made you spill, and almost tenderly clean his mate for the spotlight that would surely now be awaiting you both in Dressrosa.

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x you #doffy x y/n #doffy x you #doffy x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #doflamingo’s marine

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buggy-samaaa · 1 month

Text

Caught, part 15

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Word count: 406

Content: NSFW — mdni, gender neutral reader, no y/n, second person POV, voyeurism, anal, masturbation, misuse of devil’s fruit powers, man musk, pillow humping, auralism, degradation

Tag list: @hey-august, @bbnbhm, @genius---jester, @lostfirefly, @ane5e

——

Buggy wasn’t sure what his “O-face” looked like, but he’d be hard-pressed to believe your drawings were inaccurate.

His eyes traced and retraced the flurry of images, each of them more lewd than the last. You had only seen him from the back when you had walked in on him — it definitely couldn’t be explained away as recording an event in your journal. No, you were undeniably taking the time to imagine Buggy’s expression the moment he came. And you had decided to keep the pages.

Do you intend to revisit them?

Have you already?

Do you… touch yourself… while you look at… …him?

Buggy’s face was as red as his nose as he covered his mouth, breathing heavily and continuing to stare at the open book. He suddenly slapped it shut, clambered out of your hammock, replaced the sketchbook on its shelf, and rushed out of the crew’s quarters.

Buggy hobbled to his room and locked the door, then stripped his clothes and started the water in his shower. He leapt in before the water was even hot and grabbed his throbbing cock in his fist, pumping it furiously.

“Oh– oh, God,” he huffed, his eyebrows screwing up as he closed his eyes tightly. “Ohh, God, you fucking pervert,” he muttered with a trembling laugh that shifted into a moan. “Goddamn freak, drawing me like that… Fuck, you liked it, didn't you?” He grunted and changed from moving his hand to rutting into it, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “You fucking liked seeing me fuck myself, you dirty little–” Buggy cut himself off with another moan. He pressed his forehead against the wall of the shower as he fucked his fist, grunting with each sharp thrust. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” he said through another little laugh. “Want you— so—” Buggy groaned deep in his throat and held his fist in place as he came, then he slowly thrusted a few more times to release all he had.

He let out a long breath and relaxed entirely, then cleaned himself off, his body thrumming from his high. He closed his eyes and let the water run over him as he grinned widely, thinking of what this whole discovery meant regarding a potential relationship with you. Then his grin faltered as he gained some post-nut clarity.

There was no way to justify any sudden advances without admitting that he’d snooped in your sketch-journal.

Shit.

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #opla buggy #one piece smut #buggy smut #x reader #my fic

54 notes · View notes

thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Note

About language brainrot. Imagine writer creator reader who finally learns how to write in Teyvat's weird symbols and they want to publish their book. They decided to do it anonymously to avoid the "aaaaaah our creator wrote the holy scripture" sort of situation. Except it didn't work. The reader's style is too different from the rest of the world, so even if they tried to simulate the flowery speech it wasn't effective.

Another thing. Reader who decided to read some local books to practice their reading. They asked for something simple and similar to their speech. But the only books merely similar to it are 2000 and more years old. It's funny how the older text is the more you can understand it. On this note. If reader write something i feel like it would be hard to understand for Teyvat's people.

Imagine a reader who is autistic or has any other NDs imparing their communication skills. They practically trained themselves to say sertain phrases in sertain situation. But it doesn't work in Teyvat. And everything just stacks at each other. Difference in speech, being a God (so people react weirdly to you), bad communication skills, not understanding nonverbal cues and so on. There's gonna be a lot of misunderstanding. I imagine how followers would walk on the eggshells not to upset and angry their God and reader who does the same not to say something people will get wrong. Again.

Reader who regained all their memories of creating Teyvat, they're super powerful and stuff. But they still struggle with the modern language. Because all the memories are like millions years old.

✨️NEXYLAZA UR SO FUCKING SMART AND CREATIVE✨️ UR BRAIN>>>>>> EVERYTHING

GIF Akashi (black hair) is all the people who read the Sagau/Isekai Genshin tag and Bokuto (silver) is STILL ME RANTING ABOUT LANGUAGE IN TEYVAT LMAO

They cant escape me, sorry people who just wanted to read SAGAU normal things, im filling up the tag💀

I HAD OTHER ASKS BEFORE THIS ONE AND AS I GOT THRU EM I WAS "OMMGGGG WE'RE GETTIN CLOSER TO NEXY'SSSS ASSSKKKK EEEEEEE"

YOU ARE A GODDAMN GENIUS

DHALALWKDHDHS

ME ABOUT THIS ASK:

(^ lol biblically accurate deadaquarius)

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGINNNN

BRAINROTTING OVER UR ENTIRE ASK!!

♡

Also, its getting kinda old now, so here is the blunt language v. Teyvat's flowery language post for reference! :)

Hhhhhhhhhhh

IF U WRITE STUFF

AND UR IN WORDY TEYVAT LAND

AINT NO WAY,👏

U COULD EVEN, 👏👏

GET CLOSE👏👏👏

TO THESE BITCHES SPEECH👏👏👏👏

◇

Like,, imagine right now if i told you to write me 4 pages of an essay in entirely early 18th century vernacular.

(For reference: when the story Pride & Prejudice takes place)

... like??

Bitch aint no way u can do that and actually show that to a historian or an actual living person from that time period

and them actually say "wow! An excellently worded 18th century essay!"

💀.

◇

So tying into that whole, "the only simple texts are like literal cunnieform clay tablets or sm shit"

Your writing to them just sounds like if a scribe just copied off what one of those tablets said just onto paper HAHA

And like, if u try and dress it up, it just ends up sounding like its from a slightly later time period

Like if ur casual writing sounds like 1 million years ago, u being flowery sounds like 8-7 thousand years ago u cant win LMAO

◇

Omg ur trying to go to that-

wait whats it called,,fuck i dont know Sumeru good enough yet

The.. HOUSE OF DAENA GOT IT

Yeah so ur thinking "Oh what better way to learn a dialect?/vernacular than reading books by them!"

And u basically snatch Alhaitham at the soonest possible chance to take you there

(Bc when i went in, it was just random lore books everywhere so)

Needless to say you have no clue how this place is organized, so u convince him to direct you to books u can easily read first

Like as close to your speech as possible!! U tell him :)

...lol

It literally takes like 3 hours to get something readable LMAO

Bc when the poor feeble scribe initially brought you smth he thought was pretty old and close to ur speech, like just first thought,

... It sounded like it was from the middle of the 18th century to you lol

So, with a "hmm" and a squint at the dusty book you'd already given up on

Alhaitham slowly went around the library making a stack of books, dropped them off in front of you... not a single sentence.

...then he made a stack of scrolls...

..nope..

...a stack of stone tablets...

.....getting closer?? it was really weird seeing Shakespearean language carved into stone....

...and then, with a conversation to a second library secretary deeper in the library, past a caged area of shelves to protect them...

...he escorts you behind the restricted section towards the back filled with glass display cases.

(Several of which contain the most ancient looking sets of artifacts you've ever seen)

...Finally, u arrive at a long glass case of several clay tablets.

Half of which sound like they're from the 1910s-20s, and the other, even older half, sounding straight out of the 2000s..

....

......

...Good god.

(Good..you??)

These crazy speaking bastard-previously-video-game-characters were right.

...

You are suddenly, viscerally hit with the image of Zhongli's idle, "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, but where are those who share the memory?" 💀

◇

Alhaitham side eyes you,, (he looks,, very interested, yet also kinda concerned??? HIM, CONCERNED????!!!)

"Ahem, the texts before thy Greatest Lord art the eldest- well, perhaps, more appropriately, the eldest and most intact, pieces of written language known to our humankind."

...

....aYOO MAN 😭😭

...Ur just staring at these half cracked, baked clay tablet thingys, full of slang from like 2003-

Alhaitham coughs.

"Uh, thanks. ...Sorry about all the.. trouble with this..."

BRO HOW OLD DOES HE THINK U ARE NOW-

"This task assigned to mine own person was of no trouble to my mind or spirit, Greatest Lord, fret not about it any longer."

And with a sort of shell-shocked atmosphere surrounding both of you, Alhaitham walks off to check out some other restricted books, hovering nearby yet also trying to give u space LOL

Top 10 cursed images: Seeing "Chillax, bro, dude, and weeb" carved into ancient clay tablets that look like they would be part of the Egyptian exhibit back in ur world 💀

◇

You eventually just kind of end up writing a couple pages after studying the writings, going younger and younger (nothing has ever made u feel more powerful...yet also more old..)

You stretch, just as Alhaitham finally has made his own little stack of creaky old books

He seems very curious to read what u wrote, peaking a glance over the top of his book every so often (lol nerd, cute nerd... but NERDDD)

You just offer the academic lunatic what he wants 🙄

"Haha, wanna take a look? Some drafts are... closer than others..."

The scribe immediately puts his book down, not even saving his page,

"I would be honored, Greatest Lord."

Is he excited?? 💀 omfg

U very slowly hand ur most recent practice pages over, he curls his hand under his chin "hmm" ing

...Alhaitham shakes his head

"My..deepest apologizes My Creator, but this still seems, at the earliest, from when papyrus was invented, and not yet even into scrolls..."

OK BUT ALHAITHAM WOULD GENUINELY GIVE NO FUCKS ABT CRITIQING YOU, HE MAY BE MORE POLITE ABT IT BUT EVEN IF U DID MAKE THE WORLD HES GOING FOR IT

KAVEH HAS A HEART ATTACK BC HIS ROOMMATE GOT ONTO GOD LMAO

U let ur head plop on ur pile of papers, srry babe youll never be as fancy as Mr. Darcy 😕

And as ur resting there, contemplating just walking out and finding smth to eat instead- same

Alhaitham picks up another draft.

Except it's your first attempt.

As in, you didn't even try, first attempt.

You just made some bullet point notes or some Bs, in ur regular. modern. language.

Alhaitham knocks his chair over standing up so fast-

(HE GETS SHUSHED BY THE RESTRICTED LIBRARIAN LOL, also another person unafraid to scold God lol)

...he says its a perfect example of the oldest records they've found of writing on the continent, most of which they haven't even translated yet

He asks u to teach him how to read this/speak like this lol

♧

(^^^not my best work but hope yall got smth outta it💀)

I WAS LITERALLY GONNA MAKE A WHOLE POST ON THE NEURODIVERGENT EXPERIENCE OF BEING A GOD IN TEYVAT

ESPECIALLY OF THE LANGUAGE BARRIER VARIETY!!!

THERES JUST

ACK

aCK HDHAKD

SO MUCH

TO SAY

!!!

AHHHHH

OK BUT LIKE

IF WE ACTUALLY TOOK THIS TO THE EXTREME IM IMPLYING IT WOULD BE

LIKE TEYVAT SPEAKS SEVERAL DECADES BEHIND U- MAYBE EVEN ACTUALLY

CLOSE TO PRIDE AND PREJUDICE TIMES SPEECH

THEY WOULD LITERALLY BARELY COMPHREHEND YOU

IMAGINE TRYING TO TALK TO MR. DARCY 😭

THATS LITERALLY ALL OF TEYVAT

JUST

???¿¿?????!!! <- THEM ALL THE TIME

ESP IF UR NEURODIVERGENT

I THINK IT WOULD BE EVEN MORE PROOF FOR THEM TO THINK UR GOD

BC UR BEHAVIOR WOULD BE "OFF" TO THEIR NEUROTYPICAL ASSES,

YOUR FACIAL EXPRESSIONS,

LIKE UR MASKING MAYBE BUT

U CANT KEEP THAT SHIT UP ALL THE TIME-

ESP IN CRAZY ISEKAI CIRCUMSTANCES

AND LIKE-

(ok ill tone it down before i also get shushed)

U used to be a player!!

Which would maybe mean u got rlly comfy playing Genshin all the time!

...like i know im kinda stimming when im gaming (and my natural stim is rocking so yeah no way they wouldnt notice that 💀)

So, since u may be still yknow unconsciously wanting to be comfy (esp around ur mains/team/favs)

U probably have stimmed a little around them, which, not that neurotypicals dont stim, but like

They would notice after awhile

And esp people like Alhaitham, Zhongli, Ningguang, Xiao, Ei, Aether/Lumine, Kaeya, Diluc, Kazuha, Heizou, Shenhe, Kokomi, Sara, Albedo, Dainsleif- !! GASP- !! <- my bbygirl omg i forgot abt u before now im so sorry </3

(once again i have not checked a character list, forgive my sins my readers)

^^^ Are like pretty focused on you/observant, so they'd eventually pick up on it first probably

...

....which allsssooo means they're like, collecting all ur neurodivergent thingys lol to compile as EVIDENCE AGAINST YOU AS TO WHY THEY KNOW UR THE CREATOR LMAO

◇

Honestly the biggest factor against u is definitely social interaction,, srry love :/

(if it helps, its bc i know itd be my downfall too thats why thats there ^ 😔)

Mostly bc i have this idea/theory? obervation? that when I especially met Adepti for the first time

Esp ones that werent as close to human society for as long as some others (like think Xiao vs. Ganyu)

And for literally every other non-human people we've met so far in Genshin-

They kinda- they kinda, radiate neurodivergent energy??

Like, they're not adherring to social norms, and not in like a bad way,

But its still rlly obvious (i mean also its probably exaggerated for us as an audience) that theyre not human pretty quickly

coughzhonglicough

COUGHVENTICOUGH-

oh geez wow excuse me, cold weather must be gettin to me- ahem hem-

Anyway, like what Nexy said in the ask,

...

...Yall are all just tiptoing around each other 😭😭

Bc these ppl arent from Earth countries,

All their behavior is weird to you 😭

U dont know how to mask with them yet 😭😭

THE UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF MISCOMMUNICATION THAT HAPPENS ALREADY WHEN UR NEUROSPICY VS. NEUROBLAND PPL

IS LIKE, ALMOST WORSE??

Bc they cant even understand ur phrasing bc its so simple 😭😭😭

◇

Tldr: "Being Neurodivergent means ur a god, confirmed." - says all of Teyvat's denizens

◇

NEXYLAZA.

MY BELOVED.

I AM IN LOVE WITH UR BRAIN.

IF I COULD GIVE IT A HUG I WOULD🫂✨️👏👏👏👏

BC I WAS ALREADY LIKE IN THE BACK OF MY MIND LIKE-

*rubs my little rat gremlin hands together*

"hmHmHMMMM BuT wHaT iF mAYbE yOU reMeMbeREd cReATinG TeyVAT, hmHMHMMMMM"

AND FOR VERBALIZING IT WITHIN BLUNT LANGUAGE AU- !!!!!!!

(one of my favs, if u cant tell)

I would (platonically) kiss you right now dude.

Instead I give this:

♡ ily

And also, I AM GOING TO MAKE A WHOLE POST ABOUT THIS-

MAYBE EVEN A FANFIC, OR ONE SHOT AHDHAKFHSKLAAL-

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY BELOVED PARTNER IN CRIME <333

PSPSPSPSsppspspspssss Last Time! CLOSES TOMORROW @1pm CST: VOTE on my 100+ followers celebration POLL :)

Tell me what u wanna see me write about! PSPSPSPSpspspspssss

(U can vote even if ur new! :] )

THANK YOU FOR SUBMITTING THIS ASK

THIS IS A TREASURE OF MINE NOW

GONNA HIDE IT IN MY LITTLE CAVE OF SCREENSHOTTED SAGAU POSTS <333 hehehehehehehehehehe

THIS IS LIKE PT2 TO MY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE POST AHHHHH

NEXY BIG BRAIN ILYSM <3

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza lol ur own ask im a menace sorry

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