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slowd1ving · 1 month

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KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs.

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives.

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building.

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often.

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted.

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs.

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time.

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition.

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there.

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head.

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.”

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious.

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell.

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men.

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of.

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt.

But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze.

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does.

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth.

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up.

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material.

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together.

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin.

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too.

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break.

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that.

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way.

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason.

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking.

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons.

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more.

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good.

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front.

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you.

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away.

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice.

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor.

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze.

He’s never seen it before.

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you.

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t.

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene.

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been.

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste.

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz).

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow.

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts.

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of.

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point.

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence.

You’re harsh as winter.

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment.

Or two.

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen.

Fucking his hand has never felt like this.

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin.

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing.

But he forgets how cruel you are.

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile.

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred.

What the hell?

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock.

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet.

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously.

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences.

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange.

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood.

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense.

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage.

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night.

“A-ze. What do you want?”

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you.

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation.

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke.

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please.

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons.

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips.

What a mess.

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together.

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him.

Fuck.

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from.

He’s beautiful.

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks.

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words.

Well.

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones.

・゜゜

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emdeerm · 11 months

Text

Past saves Present

Og fic ig

In some cultures, it is believed that children are able to remember bits of their past lives till the ages of 3-5.

For Danny, the opposite was true. He got his memories at exactly the second he turned 5.

And he had to promptly dodge the blade of the boy in front of him.

His brother, his mind supplied. His twin.

Danny stopped swinging his own sword, focusing on dodging and avoiding the fate of being a slashed pillow. His new/earned skills especially helped with that greatly as his head was seriously trying to re-kill him.

"I yield," he rasped as he jumped away from his brother and looked at their Mother. "My head hurts, Mother," he added pitifully.

His twin looked slightly concerned for a second, before schooling his face in a way Grandfather has been teaching them.

"Tch." But he did put away the blade before their Mother, said a word.

"Dynial, Damian, you are not to stop until you have received permission in the future."

The boys nodded. Mother took their hands and led them out of the private training ground back to their rooms.

Danny spent the rest of the day lying down, slightly feverish and miserable as his brain was processing and acclimating the new set of memories. Clockwork said it wouldn't be too bad. We'll, the clock bustard has been wrong. It fucking sucked.

His brother was hovering. Their Mother was always around, not letting anyone into their space. Ra's is being kept in the dark.

A peaceful rest was all he needed for his brain to finish sorting out new information. And Danny was stuck in a bit of a dilemma.

You see, Damian and Dynial love their Mother, strive to be the best Demon Twins, and see nothing wrong with their life so far.

Their hands are still clean.

Danny, on the other hand, has many MANY choice words for his current situation and one Clock Ghost.

You want to try reincarnation ONE time! No wonder others don't really do that.

-------

Their days continued like they did before he got his memory back. It wasn't hard to be Dynial when he actually was him.

The nights were filled with planning. And a personally assigned mission: get Damian to be interested in normal things.

Stars weren't much of a hit. Uncultured child.

Animals were a little intriguing.

Simple art and craft projects seemed to hit the spot.

Keeping their little meetings and activities hidden wasn't as hard as one would think. Mother still had her missions. The two of them were often left alone in their wing of the place, the supervisors being allowed only till the doors. Ra's was the Head. He didn't check in on them all the time. The two of them weren't slacking in their training either and were considered prodigies.

Danny wanted out of this Cult.

A many months after feeding different information, facts, crafts and so on to his brother, Damian was curious. He was suspicious about the sudden knowledge but he was also 5. He only had to reference the Lazarus Pit (unfiltered and dirty ectoplasm? Seriously? Clockwork, you can't expect him to work on his vocation) once to convince the child.

They snooped around and found out that they had a father out in the world.

Danny got a plan.

It was super stupid. And dangerous as hell. As well as literally (half)suicidal. But he felt it in his chest and knew he'd succeed.

His Core was here. But it was sleeping. And if he wanted to be safe and away from here, he needed to start it up again.

The big pool of Ecto would do just fine. His Core would filter out the impurities.

He didn't want to stay here until his hands no longer protected. He didn't want such life for his brother either.

---

Damian infiltrated the Lazarus Room just in time to see his brother jump into the Pit.

He ran to the edge.

He was sinking.

The green was too bright. The smell around them was too much. His ears rang.

He reached towards the water, eyes unseeing and hands numb. His heartbeat was too loud.

His brother's wasn't loud enough.

"Don't touch the puddles, Dami, you'll get sick," a gentle, cold hand stopped him from diving.

The child looked up. His brother was floating above the water. He looked all wrong. But he was there.

"I didn't want you to see this part..." his brother laughed awkwardly as he landed next to him. A bright ring of light blinded Damian for a second.

And his brother was back.

-----

Getting used to his powers again felt nice but tedious. Soothing his twin was heartbreaking. He didn't think this through hard enough.

Their Mother was none the wiser to the fact that one of her children died and came back. Nore was she privy to the escape being planned by both.

On one moonless night, when Mother wasn't there, the shift was changing and the world was asleep; two boys phased through the walls and flew. Small bags of stuff were strapped onto them as they traveled to their father.

Mother's notes called him Bruce Wayne, Batman, Beloved and Detective.

It wasn't hard to find him when they arrived.

Though, Danny didn't expect a furless furry and a pantless child to be their new family.

Can he ever get a normal Family???

1K notes · View notes

catskets · 8 months

Text

A more in-depth guide for creating visual novels, especially in the horror, horror-romance, etc circles

Some of you have seen my previous, smaller post on crafting visual novels, especially in this little space of Tumblr that a lot of us have found themselves in. Since that post took off, I've wanted to create a longer guide to help touch on some points I've thought about for the past few months.

In case you've never heard of me, I'm Kat, also known as catsket. I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Game Design. I've been making games for nearly 5 years, and I've been doing visual novels more "professionally" for 2. You may know me for Art Without Blood, 10:16, God is in the Radio, or Fatal Focus. I'm here to help you make your first visual novel.

Please note that my advice does not fit everyone, and you may disagree with what I say. That's okay! It doesn't work for all. That's why there's thousands of resources out there.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE NEVER MADE A GAME

So, you have an idea for a huge visual novel. Horror, a shady and obsessive love interest, a little bit of woo-hooing. 100k words. Maybe a million. What is this, the 07th Expansion?

I notice a lot of people getting into visual novels are artists first. That's okay! I wanted to do art for games before I realized how much I enjoyed writing. And even less of you have probably touched Visual Studio. Again, perfectly okay. We all start somewhere.

My number one piece of advice? Make shitty games.

What does that mean?! My recommendation to those who have never done games is to make a bunch of shitty ones. Think of a theme, or hell, even join a game jam, where you make a game that fits a theme in a short amount of time. Spend about a week on your game. Focus on making something polished. Polish your mechanics. Polish your output.

I recommend, if you can, to make at least 4-6, if not more, kind of shitty games before hopping into longer projects. Making a game is a skill, just like art, just like writing. And game development is combining ALL of these together into one big soup being stirred by a skeleton hand puppet. You'll get into the rhythm and see what works for you.

It also helps you learn, perhaps, the second most important thing here: do you even like making games? There are cases out there where people have created video games (not saying visual novels) just for clout. That's no fun for you, that's no fun for your players. And you might go through this process and find that you don't like making games. That's completely okay! It's not for everyone.

Also, you can use these shittier games to gather an audience. I've built my audience because, for the past few years, I've been releasing games that slowly give me growing fields of eyes every day. A success story overnight is a rare one. It takes time. It's like building a brand, but you aren't a brand, you're an artist.

REV UP YOUR ENGINES!

Ren'py is the number one engine you will be recommended. It is very beginner-friendly, with lots of tutorials, assets on itch.io to use and download, and support. The engine comes with a few tutorials in the form of games, whose code you can freely browse. This is the engine I use most often. Most visual novels you see are made in this engine.

Twine is a text-based engine that most people use for interactive fiction. You can add images and audio, though, if you don't mind messing with HTML. I use Twine for text games and for outlining for my larger games. Ever played Degrees of Lewdity? Yeah, I know you have. Don't ask why. That game was made in Twine.

RPG Maker has multiple versions and has been used for exclusively VNs if you don't mind fucking around with plugins. It can definitely give your game a super unique feel. I recommend RPG Maker MV, since it has the most resources. This line of engines usually costs money, but it often goes on sale for under $5-$15.

People will recommend TyranoBuilder, but as a user and player, the lack of options and the format the games often come in is just...not fun to navigate. It advertises itself as little to no code, but it's often evident in the final results. Some good games have been made in it, though, so if you want to use it for prototyping/practice, you can. I'm not a fan, but that doesn't mean that fans don't exist! This engine costs money.

Not an engine, but check out Ink! Super useful scripting language that's used for more professional projects.

DEMOS, DEMOS, DEMOS

You've got an idea for a long-term project, and now you want to show it to the world! But wait, wait, don't do that yet!

When should I start advertising my game? This is a personal opinion, but I say that you should not start advertising your game until 50-60% of your demo is complete. Why? As I've discussed with some fans of indie VNs, they can name quite a few projects that have been in the "working on the demo" age for 1-2+ years. I've been in the Kickstarter MMO circles. If you, making a single-player experience with little mechanics to balance and polish (aka a visual novel), are taking that long on a demo, I am going to assume the game is not coming out. There are some games I have seen out here that have been in "working on the demo" phase where I haven't seen a single ounce of what the project will look like.

What should I put in my demo? The purpose of a demo is to showcase the mechanics and the vibes and the mechanics of your game. It's a demonstration. In my last post, I pointed to the Dead Space 2 demo that was showcased at E3 (RIP), that takes place about 2 hours into the story and shows how enemies are defeated, some animations, bits of the story, etc. Usually, because it's less about mechanics and more about vibes, visual novel demos showcase a certain percentage of the full thing (5-10%.) Can you showcase the vibe of the game here and what players should expect? If not, show off another portion.

How long should I work on my demo? Before, I said 3-4 months. That can be true, that can also not be true. Think about how long the demo takes you in proportion to how long the actual game should take you. Don't put too much effort. The demo is to showcase the vibe. It's to see how much the public and fans may enjoy the game.

My game is 18+, what should I do? Make a splash screen when the game is downloaded to let players know your game is 18+. If it's going to contain sexual content, you can hide it with itch.io's adult content filter. Write it on the page itself that your game is for adults only. Don't put your demo behind a paywall. This is genuinely ridiculous. The purpose of a demo is to showcase what a game is like before a player purchases it. That defeats the point of a demo. I've seen this happen, and it discourages players from approaching, especially because most demos never make it past the demo phase. So...I'm paying you $10 for 2-3k words of a game that may never come out?

Should I make a social media for my game? YES! Go for it. These anchors are how people will find your game. Make a Tumblr and open that ask box. Make a Twitter. Go to BluSky. Advertising is not bad. Some YouTubers even take e-mail suggestions from developers. Feel free to shoot your shot. The worst they can do is not respond.

HOW TO SET UP YOUR ITCH.IO PAGE:

Getting your itch.io to a presentable state can be very challenging! There's many ways to do it. I highly recommend using this page image guide for learning how to size your images to make your page pop!

Itch.io themselves has suggested to not publish a page until the game or demo is released. You can make the page and keep it as a draft, but do not publish it until you're ready!

Your cover image is the image that will appear in the search of the website, on any front pages, in collections, and on your profile. What have I seen that works? Key art of one of the characters up close and the title of the game! If you can make it a .GIF, do it! Bitches love .GIFs!

Itch.io recommends 3-5 screenshots on your page. I recommend 1 of these 5 be a .GIF that shows how gameplay feels. This is effective, even for visual novels!

Write a 3-5 sentence summary about your game for the description. What is your story about? What is the draw?

DO NOT BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO IS GOING TO SAY "This is not like other visual novels. It doesn't have that cheesy this or that or-" No one cares. Genuinely. You're putting down other games in your genre and elevating yourself to the pompous level.

TAG YOUR GAME! itch.io gives you a list of tags to choose from when you go to tag. DON'T USE THIS! Try to go for more specific tags. Arimia has a very good guide on how to use itch.io's tagging system to your advantage.

GENERAL GAME MAKING ADVICE

SCOPE KNIFE IS SUPER USEFUL! Everyone makes games that are way over their workload. It's okay to cut out features and add them later. Prioritize making a finished game before hitting those stretch goals.

PLAN, PLAN, PLAN! Writing outlines is super helpful. I use Twine for my outlines, because you can connect your passages together and make really well-thought webs.

IT'S OKAY TO ASK FOR HELP! Whether it's from friends, professionals, or anything in-between. They can help with assets, editing, etc.

HONE YOUR SKILLS OUTSIDE OF GAMES! Write some poetry. Do some sketches everyday. Improve on your craft to improve your games

MUSIC IS HARD. THERE ARE RESOURCES. Most of us aren't musicians. That's okay. Make sure the music you get for your game is allowed to be used. You can use anything non-commercial if your game will not cost money or donations. I try to do songs in the public domain or free to use overall with credit if I don't have a musician. Consult the Creative Commons website if you're unsure how you're supposed to use a certain piece of music. If you don't use the right stuff, not only can it put you in legal trouble, but it can put streamers in hot water if they play your game and they can't upload the video because music is copyrighted.

PLEASE, DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR UI. Wanna know an easy way to get your game to look more professional? Edit the damn UI for your game. Make a new textbox, even if it's just a black box. Change the font. Eventually, players recognize the defaults and patterns of games made in certain engines and may attribute a lack of UI changes to a developer being lazy. It doesn't take very long to change the colors around and move text! Please do it to add a little pop to your game.

DEADLINES ARE AWESOME. Not everyone works well under pressure, but if you give yourself an infinite amount of time to make something, it'll never get done. Set goals for yourself for how much you can work on something.

IF YOU HAVE TO GIVE UP, GIVE UP. Making things is hard, especially long-term. Emergencies happen, jobs happen, life happens. Let your fans know that a project isn't happening anymore. Don't leave them in the dark. You don't need to tell strangers your medical history or anything, but transparency + honesty are really hot traits. You should use those in your creative work. This is one reason why I advocate for not publishing or advertising things until you know it's stable.

SHOWCASING YOUR CONTENT

People love to see WIPs for games! This is what the devlog is good for! A devlog is a post where a developer talks about and showcases some things happening in the game? What can you add to your dev log?

PERCENTAGES! How much of the artwork is done? How much of this character's route is done?

SNEAK PEEKS AT ARTWORK AND SPRITES!

GIFS! GIRLS LOVE GIFS!

Anything else to showcase your game's content! Posting consistent updates retains and even gains a fan's attention for your work.

RUNNING YOUR TUMBLR

You've joined us, and you've made a Tumblr for your blog! Link it on the itch.io page, so people can come find you after playing your awesome demo!

Do I have to respond to every ask? No. It's your blog. Delete whatever asks you want.

I got a hate comment! What do I do? Delete it and move on. I have a more detailed section on hate below.

I want to interact with [blog]! How do I do that? Reach out to the devs for silly little collabs. If you come onto a developer slightly headstrong, they might feel you are being abrasive or using them for content.

If people make fan content, interact with it! Encourage it! Reblog it. Show your love.

OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS

PROFESSIONALISM IS KEY. These may be pet projects, but you want to appear some level of professional on your actual itch.io page.

Being dismissive of player and fan complaints or criticisms will make you appear childish.

If your game is broken, fix it. I have been told by some amateur developers to ignore game-breaking bugs. It does not make me, a player, want to engage with your content. It seems messy and unfinished.

With the above point, it's 100% okay to have bugs and errors upon release. Every developer and their brood mother has. To decrease these issues, get playtesters. Friends can play your games, spot any errors, and help you point out things that can be improved upon. I recommend having playtesters at every stage of development.

Make sure your game runs before you publish it. Please.

You can still be silly and giddy! There's no reason to not be, especially when you get positive comments! The point of this is to not be outright rude to potential players and fans.

IGNORE HATE COMMENTS. In this case, a hate comment is a statement that contains no constructive criticism and are only here to be insulting or malicious. People are going to leave you with actual piles of dog shit in your ask box. They are trying to provoke you. Giving hate comments any attention, even if you're there to "clap back" proves that they got to you, even if you don't take the hate to heart. They will continue to pester you. Delete any hate comments and ignore them completely. Laugh about them with friends in a private setting, sure.

THINK BEFORE YOU REFERENCE! I know one big thing in this community is adding references to other games in yours, such as plushies of other characters or putting them on posters. The best thing you can do it ask the developer before adding this. How would you feel if some random person you've never met put your character in a video game? Most of us would feel weird and potentially violated. Open communication with devs is awesome. I am usually okay with it as long as someone asks for permission.

As a complete aside, I prefer more tasteful references to other games as opposed to 523482346 plushies and posters. These have been slightly overdone. Why not theme a candy after another game's character? Maybe your characters know each other.

OTHER RESOURCES I RECOMMEND

Devtalk is a server dedicated to independent visual novel creators. You can find jobs, resources, advice, talks, and, like, everything there! Devtalk is super useful. Everyone in there is so cool. They have a really great and comprehensive list of resources that I could not even begin to cover.

Visual Novel Design is a great YouTuber. No other words, check the guy out!

Ren'py and whatever other engine you're using has documentation that's super useful to follow.

Arimia not only has amazing VN resources, especially for marketing, but she also just has? Amazing games that you should check out?

And for a shameless self plug, I'm the lead of Sacred Veins, a collective of devs creating narrative games, whether it be horror, humor, romance, or everything in-between. Come hang out with us!

#visual novels #game development

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hyunnie04 · 6 months

Text

muse

hwang hyunjin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 2.1k

synopsis: you can't decide what to give hyunjin for his birthday. a/n: very self indulgent theme/fic!! i like to draw myself so i thought i'd write about it for his birthday :> i apologize for being a bit late, irl obligations have been kicking my ass lately i'm sorry my hyune but i hope you guys like it! T-T

march was a month full of new beginnings. the year was only starting, january and february flying by like a breeze. remnants of winter still clung in the air and on the branches of the trees, pillowing them with the softness of white snow. it was also getting warmer, the chill no longer having its harsh bite and welcoming the inevitable pinks and greens of spring to come. and for you, new beginnings also meant taking on projects that you never thought you would be able to do.

hyunjin's birthday was only a few days away, just a little less than a week from now.

you've spent the entire afternoon in a panic after the realization, racking your brain for any ideas, thinking what you could possibly do for his present only to come up empty handed. buying a gift for him is certainly the easier option and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, seeing as hyunjin was the type of person to appreciate whatever you give him, be it big or small, expensive or not. it was just the matter of wanting to surprise him with a gift that he most likely doesn’t already have.

you sigh and rest your head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. your eyes silently wander towards the painting that hung on the wall of your tiny apartment.

it was painted by hyunjin himself, a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he had given you for your own birthday. you always loved staring at it, earning a place in your favorite corner of the room.

you often stare at it, delving into the intricacies of each brush stroke, how the colors come together in harmony, the symbolism and sentimentality behind it all, and just how much love was poured into making it. hyunjin truly had a talent in capturing the likeness and essence of his subjects, even the simplest ones.

it was almost tradition, how he makes his closest family and friends paintings when it was their birthday or when there was a special occasion. he used his oil paints that you've become familiar with, the dozens of tubes and pots of color messily strewn all across his little studio back at his dorm.

it was a such thoughtful gesture, painting that was. taking his time out of his day to make something out of nothing, showing that he truly cared about the person. whenever you would visit him on his days off, he was always immersed in his craft. adept fingers swiping over charcoal, hands dipping into paint, a sight you always love seeing. you still remember the photo you took secretly of him in his studio, blissfully painting the night away.

you drum your hands on the arm rest, returning to brainstorm for ideas, still in deep thought. and then it all suddenly clicked.

you have always admired hyunjin and his work, so why not make him one in return?

he was always giving others gorgeous pieces of art, he certainly deserved to have his own. you were no picasso and certainly no hyunjin, but the act of gift giving has always been your favorite way of showing your love.

you had a basic grasp of how the medium was used, having watched hyunjin more than enough times. the techniques he had taught you during one of your art sessions together might come in handy as well. the one and only problem was that it left you with such little time to finish it. oh well, it was better to start late than never.

the next day, you picked up and gathered the necessary materials from the art supply shop you knew hyunjin frequented, recognizing the different kinds of paints, sizes and types of canvases, and brushes that he likes to use. you laid them out on your living room floor upon arriving home, finally starting on your little project.

the remainder of the days leading up to his birthday were spent awake during ungodly hours into the night, full of endless trials and errors, scrapped ideas and tons of caffeine. your living room became your makeshift studio, a tarp laid down the center to catch the unavoidable mess you surely would be making. learning a completely different and unfamiliar medium from what you were used to was difficult, but you were determined and your mind was set.

hyunjin was getting worried. it had been a few days since he last saw you, nonetheless heard anything. he understood that the two of you were quite busy people, not always finding the time to talk. but after five missed calls and maybe a dozen texts over the span of two days and no reply? he was ill at ease.

maybe he was overreacting, but he knew that you would've at least sent something to acknowledge his texts. he decided to ask his friends about your whereabouts, asking if anyone had contact with you, only earning head shakes in return.

"have you tried going to their place?" chan asks the ravenette, leaning his back on the dance practice room’s mirrored walls. hyunjin huffs, mouth forming into a slight pout, shaking his head no. practice was getting more challenging as the comeback and schedules started to pile up, his attendance becoming crucial.

"you can go later, we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow." his hyung removes his cap, fluffing his curls underneath. hyunjin breathes out a sigh of relief, sending him a quick thank you.

the older of the two nods in understanding, reaching a hand out to hyunjin upon standing on his feet. back to practice they went.

it was the night before his birthday. getting stubborn paint off your brushes was the worst, is what you've learned these past several days of non-stop painting. even with the appropriate solvent, the paint can and is still clinging stubbornly onto its fibers; leaving you in the bathroom sink to scrub them tediously under soap and some warm water.

your hands start to ache with all the scrubbing, perhaps growing tired as well from the painting, but you'd like to think that the momentary pain was worth it. the composition of it was finally starting to come together. the work flow became easier once you figured out a concept and a theme you were happy with, inspiration and motivation coming in effortlessly now. it only needed some last few touches, you could only hope he would like it as much as you ended up liking it too.

after the brushes were cleaned to the best of your abilities, you pat them dry, leaving them on the counter for the time being.

"y/n? are you home?" your hands still at the sound of the front door opening. it was undeniably hyunjin's voice.

you and hyunjin lived apart despite dating for quite a long while. it was a mutual agreement that it would be more convenient for the two of you to live separately, his job requiring him to live closer to his place of work. you gave him a spare key so he could come by whenever he liked, but you didn’t expect him at all to drop by today.

you originally thought nothing of it for a moment, even brushing it off. but then the panic started to set in. he would see it right away, the canvas sitting right in front of the living room with no cloth to cover it. if you go out now, you might have a chance of covering it up before he finds out.

rushing out of the bathroom after wiping your hands dry, you've quickly noticed how it had suddenly gone quiet. you peak around the corner, seeing him standing idly in the middle of your living room, still unaware of your presence.

it was too late. you see the familiar ebony locks greet you upon arriving. his mouth practically hanging open as he stares at the easel facing him, winter coat slung heavily on his left arm.

"surprise?" you flush upon seeing his head whip towards your figure, leaned against the arch of the doorway. it was also a little embarrassing, not having the time to clean up.

"is...that me?" he says in quiet disbelief. you can’t quite decipher if his reaction was good or bad but you nod, coming up to stand beside him. he stares at the canvas once more, no doubt taking in the details of it. you start to feel a little anxious under his gaze, silently wondering if he likes it.

"it's not done yet, that's why it looks a little rough." you pause, hesitation lacing your voice. he would eventually find out, having already seen it. “it was supposed to be your surprise birthday present.” is what you ended up saying, speech meek and low, barely audible.

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he turns his eyes back to you. a noticeable redness staining his cheeks.

“wow,” he breathes out, tilting his head closer to gaze on the finer details. hyunjin pauses for a moment before replying. “this is beautiful.” his voice light, feathery. his fingertips, slender and lithe, hovering above as if to trace it. relief washed over you hearing him say it, your nerves easing and cheeks warming in return.

“you think so?” you purse your lips before smiling gratefully at him, noting the masking tape still plastered on its borders and small parts of it still unblended but thank him earnestly nonetheless.

“i figured since you always make people art on their birthday," you took to move to the couch, the ache in your body starting to take its toll. "i thought i'd give back and make you one too."

hyunjin was, in short- moved. the portrait was of him sitting in his art studio, the sun falling and spilling on his form peaking through the windows. although his elegantly curved back was turned and it was impossible to see his face, it was unmistakable that it was him.

he was truly not expecting anything, he was just happy with the prospect of just being with you on his special day. the thoughtfulness, sentimentality, and affection that came with making gifts with him in mind, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he already did. his eyes are lost in yours, the contours of his handsome face highlighted by the dim lights of your living room.

“i know it's bad but-”

hyunjin doesn’t let you continue, pulling you into a sudden kiss, throwing his coat on the couch haphazardly. your immediate response was to wrap your hands around his neck, hands wandering up and towards his hair. you could feel his smile on his mouth as he kisses you, grabbing the nape of your neck to steady your form. the kiss is intoxicating, feeling the love upon his soft movements, his warmth contrasting the chill from outside.

when he parts from you, he’s giddy, and jumping around like the happiest ferret you’ve ever seen. the wisps of hair fall to his temple, framing his beautiful face. “thank you, darling.”

“even if it’s not done yet- i love it,” he presses another kiss to the side of your mouth. “so much.” you could only laugh in response, completely flustered and enamored by his reaction.

hyunjin pulls you towards his chest, both arms locking around your shoulders. you could smell the perfume he always likes to wear. “is this why you weren’t picking up your phone?”

“my phone?” you pat your pockets in search, only to find it missing. your mind must’ve slid away, not knowing at all where it was but you could search for it later. “oh, yeah. m’ sorry.” the apology is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he hums, his worries fading. you thought he was going to let you go, but he retaliates by resuming to press more kisses into you.

“okay, okay! thank you. i’m glad you like it.” you untangle his long arms from your body in order to stand up while hyunjin watches you do so, curiosity in his eyes. you already miss the warmth he radiated.

“but, technically-” you start by grabbing the easel and placing it near the wall and out of his view, grabbing the stray tubes of paint off the floor and putting them away in their basket. “it’s still not your birthday.”

his plump lips form into a pout as he continues to watch you clean up. “and i’m not quite done with it yet so you have to wait.” placing a quick ‘boop’ to his nose, you head to the bathroom to freshen up for bed.

hyunjin checks his wrist watch as he follows you suit, his white teeth poking out. his arms catch you once again, wrapping you from behind. "it's 12."

amused by his antics, you let out another laugh before turning around in his hold to face him again, pressing a kiss on his soft lips.”in that case, i’ill finish it as soon as possible and-”

"happy birthday, my dearest."

please reblog or leave a comment if you like my work! it motivates me to keep writing ♡ all works are written by hyunnie04, please do not repost on other sites.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fluff

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chaoticbardlady99 · 10 months

Note

Hello! I really enjoyed your fic with the Tav who couldn’t see well. It was really sweet! If you’re still accepting requests, may I request a similar one where the reader needs glasses to see and during a battle they break or get lost. Now they can’t see well and they’re trying not to panic while there’s threats everywhere, but thankfully Astarion notices something’s wrong and helps them. Thank you!

Admiring from Afar (GN! AFAB Reader x Astarion) Part 1- MDNI 18+ ONLY

Part Title is inspired by the song “She” by Dodie (I feel like it reflects Astarion’s POV/feelings towards Tav in this story)

This was not originally supposed to be as long as it is, but the concept started taking on a life of it's own. I hope you enjoy! I will hopefully be positing Part 2 within the next few days!

CW: Angst (?), violence, jealousy, fluffy (hopefully very? But who knows), smut because apparently I’m in a giving mood (I’m sorry I had to make the joke.), MDNI 18+ only, dom/sub sexual relationship.

Note- this is Unascended Astarion x GN! reader

*This has been proof read one time. It is 2:04 am and I have work in 6 hours LMFAO

Gif belongs to- ibacchante from Tumblr!

The campfire crackles in the distance and you think you even hear the faint sound of music. You desperately yearn to be near the warmth of the fire talking to or watching one of your companions give a dramatic retelling of their experiences in battle.

The warmth of your companions made places like the Shadow-Curse Land feel a lot less scary and foreign- they provide some normalcy in this strange journey.

Unfortunately, you are hunched over in your cold tent with nothing but a light cantrip and your will power. You squint as you etch details into the oxen bone, taking the time to add the touches of silvery white dye to add an ethereal effect. Your hands cramp as you work to keep the paint within the designs you carved into the bone.

You have been painstakingly working on this necklace for a little over a month- maybe two? You have lost count at this point, but the calluses on your fingers tell you it’s been a while now since you started this project.

You polish the bone with your cloth, wiping away the debris from your knife. You admire your handiwork; a perfect carving of the Elven Rune- Cadaith. You were able to create a loop at the top of the necklace for the long, thin, black leather strip you had been holding onto since the day after the Tiefling party- the same day you decided to take on this hand numbing project.

You and your crew of oddballs had come through for the locals and obliterated the Goblin Camp Leaders- the tieflings had come to your camp and had decided to celebrate.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to parties, but you’re not the most social person despite your profession as an Artisan. You miss the calm, quiet group of Druids you used to travel with- you even miss the hardwood floor of the Caravans and how much of a pain in the ass they were to fix. You miss not having to spend every waking moment and all of your strength on battling and the art of deception. You miss your tools and the landscapes you use to find your resources. You love to make crafts out of anything in the wild.

Back to the rowdy tiefling party- again, you aren’t necessarily against parties, but they are overwhelming.

And the men! They are entirely too vulgar after a couple drinks. Silvanus help you if you had another drunk man stumble up to you and ask if he can, “fuck your brains out.”

Another man had begun to make his way towards you when you felt a cold hand grab you by the elbow and haul you off into the forest. It had been Astarion- who you had agreed to share a bed with that night. You had shared a bed before- after a camp party to celebrate killing Auntie Ethel, but nothing could have prepared you for the second time and how mind-blowing it would be (you had been excruciatingly awkward as it was your first time ever- he was pretty understanding thank Gods).

“Astarion-”

“Yes Darling?”

He stops and looks at you- you look around and realize you are far from camp. You fiddle with your hands nervously- picking at your nails.

“I um-” you clear your throat, “I really appreciate you- well- um… coming to my rescue, but I really don’t want to be a bother to you- you don’t need to stay wit-”

You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before he was gently kissing you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your glasses are entirely foggy from your breathing and you smile at him coyly as he pulls away. He gives you a genuine, real laugh before taking your glasses off and wiping them clean for you. You put them on, your eyes back in focus as you avoid his eyes.

He leans in and begins kissing along your neck, along your jawline, and back to your lips. He kisses you roughly, his tongue flicking across your lower lip, asking for access. He lifts you up from under your thighs before backing you into a tree.

He grinds up into you- his erection pressed against the burning heat in your core. He pulls at your shirt strings and gives you a look as if to ask if he can continue. You grab his face in your hands and kiss him as an answer to his question.

He discards your shirt and makes quick work of your trousers and under garments- all while kissing you so deeply the world is spinning and your entire body feels numb.

Suddenly he has you on your back as he smiles down at you mischievously. You look away, embarrassed as he takes in the sight of your body; a breathy chuckle leaves his lips as he gets up and makes quick work of his own clothes.

You feel the space between your legs grow warmer and needier as you watch him stroke himself before he settles himself between your legs. He presses soft kisses all over your face as he inserts a finger between your folds and begins to toy with your clit. You whimper and moan as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

“Good girl,” he growls into your ear and inserts another finger, picking up the pace.

A soft, gasp escapes your lips as your walls stretch to fit around his other finger- getting to the point of borderline tears as you feel your orgasm get closer and closer. Astarion watches you use a stream of profanities, your hands gripping the grass so hard it's ripping. He kisses you on your forehead then- he stops.

You keen in protest from the emptiness between your thighs, but your words die on your lips as he pushes himself all the way between your folds, all the way to the hilt. You claw at his back, a pleased whimper escaping your mouth. He begins to kiss your jaw before you capture his lips with yours- he’s still not moving inside of you as you kiss him feverishly- your hands entangling themselves in his hair. He groans against your lips, holding you down by your waist and not allowing you to move. When you attempt to move your hips upward, desperate to get some friction, he groans in your mouth before pulling out completely and then thrusting himself roughly back into you. You look at him in anticipation as he gets off of you, still inside you as he adjusts your left leg so that he can get more access and he begins to massage your sore, neglected nipples with his fingers.

You are desperate for any movement from him and you can tell he knows it- even in your drunken haze.

“Please.”

“Please what, my dear?”

He says before pulling out to thrust into you completely again. You cry out, tears streaming down your face as you look away from him, trying not to let him have the satisfaction..

He hums as he roughly grabs your jaw, making you look him in the eyes.

“Tell me, Darling,” a sly, teasing smile on his beautiful face, “do you want me to fuck your brains out?”

You nod and he pinches your nipples roughly- you arch your back and you feel him lift your hips up before spanking you hard.

"You don't get anything until you answer my question," he goads, his hand snaking it's way around your throat, "so tell me, do you want me to fuck your brains out?"

"Y-es. Yes I want you to fuck me ple-" he cuts you off with a snap of his hips.

He grabs your jaw roughly with his hands, "You know that's not what I asked you."

He begins to slowly move in and out of you, teasing you mercilessly. You groan in frustration- he knows he’s the only person who can say this to you and demand you to say it back to him.

"Please Astarion," you say tearfully, your need for pleasure taking over, "please fuck my brains out."

He smiles at you widely, "it would be my pleasure."

You whine and he pulls out of you, rolling you over onto your hands and knees. He comes up behind you and his hands find purchase in your hair as he begins to pound into your mercilessly. You lose yourself in pleasure- surely alerting everyone and their mothers to your activites- and if it's not the vulgar moans, it's the filthy sound of your bodies colliding.

He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, switching to putting his hand around the upper part of your throat, and puts his fangs to your neck, teasing the skin as he fucks up into you. You have one of your hands wrapped around his arm as he chokes you and the other is touching your clit- the coil of pleasure building up in your stomach as you whisper your consent between moans for Astarion to drink from you. He gives you a pleased hum in response.

The moment his fangs are piercing your neck is the same moment your orgasm rips through you and you have to fight not to slump against him. You feel his strong arms hold you up as he keeps fucking your sensitive mound, chasing his own orgasm. He stops sucking from the bite marks on your neck, lapping up the blood that begins to slowly trickle down towards your shoulders and chest. He let’s go of his grip on your throat and pushes you back onto your belly before roughly inserting himself inside you again.

"You are such a good girl," he grunts, "you are taking me so fucking well."

You begin to feel lightheaded when he finally cums inside you. Good thing you have a potion for that.

You both get your clothes on and he whisks you away to his tent- where you cuddled and talked for almost the entire night.

The sex, as noted, is amazing, but you also enjoy so much more of him than just his body. You know Astarion struggles to believe you find anything about him interesting outside of sex, so you make a point of reminding him about all the other wonderful parts of him and you don't ever ask for sex or sexual favors. That ball is in his playing field as far as you are concerned.

You find yourself gravitating back to Astarion’s tent every night to listen about a new book he is reading or just to let him shower you with (arguably) questionable knowledge about the higher ups in Badlur's Gate . Sometimes you just talk about your lives, tangled in each other’s embraces, and falling asleep that way.

You had begun sleeping in the same tent shortly after he drank from you for the first time. You had been scared during a storm one night and he had heard you sniffling in your tent. You missed the safety of your Caravan during those first two weeks.

He had quickly dragged you over to his tent- griping about his hair, how “I told you that you needed better camping equipment”, and “really darling? Why are you wearing clothes with holes in them? No wonder you’re scared.”

You have had an incredibly close bond ever since and you speak very freely with one another. You still become closed off every now and then (mostly from being socially and emotionally exhausted) but he was content to sit in the silence and just be in each other’s company. If he's in a grouchy mood, you sit with him in silence or let him just talk at you, and you support him when he wakes up from a particularly grueling nightmare. You rarely, if ever, go to your tent or stay in your tent anymore.

However, your current passion project was not to be seen by his eyes until it was completely finished- hence the reason why you are in your freezing, semi abandoned tent. You enchant the amulet with “Invisibility” and after a test, you can proudly say your necklace for Astarion is ready.

Shortly after the fight with the Goblins, Astarion had been complaining to you about how Gale “ate” the last necklace of Invisibility that they had found.

“He did call finders-keepers.”

“Finders-keepers my ass, Darling. If he really believed that rule he wouldn’t have inhaled it the way he did right after finding it.”

“It was rather unbecoming of him, wasn’t it?”

“Cazador has done a lot of horrible, vile things to me over the last two centuries,” he scoffs, “but, Gale eating a perfectly good Amulet of Invisibility has somehow landed in the top 20 of worst things to happen to me.”

After that, you began your work on the Amulet and now that it’s finished- you get to give it to him.

The idea makes your stomach turn.

What if he hates it?

It’s not really his style, but you don’t make gaudy jewelry and you tried your best to make it look like it shimmers (you succeeded FYI, Nat 20 all the way). You hope he appreciates it on principle alone and doesn’t criticize you too harshly if he dislikes it. When you ran the idea by Karlach and showed her your sketch, she was immediately convinced that he would adore your gift.

“Don’t worry about a thing Soldier,” she said cheerily, “Fangs is going to adore it as much as he adores you!”

You wrap the necklace in the nice, silk handkerchief and stuff it into the little leather bag. You take one final deep breath before pushing through the tent flap. You look around camp and see that mostly everyone is in their tent- Astarion included- but Wyll is by the fire dancing. You remember joking about him giving a demonstration for the camp. As you begin to walk towards Astarion’s tent- Wyll calls out to you.

“Tav,” he says brightly, “join me for a dance?”

Another thing you love about Astarion- he is very good at telling people ‘no’ for you. Yes, you should be sticking up for yourself and setting boundaries on your own. You are so wired to make everyone else happy that it impedes your ability to say no. Astarion is helping you learn and supports you when you freeze up, but Astarion is not here in this moment and if he hears what Wyll has said to you- he has made no indication of it.

You smile tightly and put the pouch in your pocket before taking his hand. You are basically robotic as you go through the motions and yet- for some Gods forsaken reason Wyll plants a kiss right on your lips. As he pulls back and sees your look of absolute horror- he begins to apologize profusely.

“Honestly Wyll,” you awkwardly squeak out,”it’s totally fine. I just- um- well… I really like Astarion and I’m not looking elsewhere.”

“I understand and as disappointed as I am- I am grateful for your forgiveness and I hope we can remain friends.”

You smile brightly, “Thank you Wyll and of course. Good night.”

He bids you farewell and you walk with extra pep in your step. You set a boundary and you are over the moon excited to share with Astarion.

Except when you get inside the tent- all of your stuff is right in the entryway. Astarion has his back facing you and is pretending to be interested in a book. You frown.

“Star?”

“Oh don’t worry Darling- I figured I would save you the uncomfortable conversation,” he says with apathy in his voice, “we both know those aren’t your strong suite.”

You flinch at his cold, blank tone and the harshness of his words. You feel yourself becoming consumed with confusion and hurt. Your hand is clutching onto the pouch in your pocket. He looks at you and he looks far away despite the smile on his face.

“Well go along now, I’m sure your new lover is waiting for you. I’m happy for you honestly,” he pauses, giving you a cold, malicious grin, “pretending to be invested in this connection has really been bothersome these last couple weeks.”

Logically, a part of you knows he is just jealous and is lashing out. You should stay and try to explain what happened- reassure him even?

Emotionally? You feel like you just got stabbed over and over again. Oh and then someone came up to you and used a shocking grasp. You try to open your mouth, the tears welling in your eyes as you look at him.

He just looks at you coldly, “Well, leave.”

You wordlessly nod, dropping the leather pouch back into your pocket and you grab your things and numbly head back over to your tent. You roll out your bed roll and stare up at the dark tarp above your head; you let the tears stream down your face as silent sobs wrack your body. You already miss him.

_________________________________________________

You didn’t sleep well that night- you woke up with puffy eyes and a sore throat. You had spent the majority of the night freezing and jumping at every noise. You would get the occasional thirty minutes of sleep here and there, but if you weren’t scared awake, your bruised, broken heart woke you up. Your heart thumped unevenly all night- worried the bumps in the night were Astarion packing up his things and leaving.

Your chest aches as you get ready to leave and you are grateful that the Shadow-Cursed Lands are so poorly lit because it allows you to hide the rough night you have. You are also grateful to see Astarion is still here.

You, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Wyll set out to explore more of the Shadowlands. Karlach told Astarion he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to- you were too tired to say anything in response to his complaints and you suppose Karlach became fed up. He’s quiet after that, so quiet you think he might have left. Except you hear him chatting with Wyll during a short rest.

Shadowheart walks happily next to you- chittering about Dark Justiciars and how she can feel Shar or whatever. You are just trying to focus on her and stop thinking about him. You have been successful in avoiding him and not looking at him for the entirety of the morning and you need to keep it that way.

_________________________________________________

Astarion can’t place where in the conversation he went wrong, but the fight with Malus Thorm has been nothing short of a disaster. The Sisters are ruthless and Malus is much stronger than any of them anticipated at first glance.

Astarion usually fights right at your side, but he assumes that your new lover will be keeping you safe. He suppresses the bile and tears that threaten to come up. He has your protection still and he knows that because Wyll would have thrown him out of camp otherwise. He was never meant to end up with you- you were always meant to be a means to an end.

If anything, he should be thrilled for you. Wyll is a good, decent man and much worthier of your affections than Astarion could ever be.

So why does it hurt so fucking much? And why did he want to kick Wyll over a ravine when he kissed you?

He shakes the thought as he strikes down two more Sisters. He steals a glance in Wyll’s direction (to check on you) and immediately notices that you are nowhere in the premises and the Blade of Frontiers was battling with Karlach. Astarion scans the room in a frenzy of panic.

He turns around just in time to see Malus lift you up by your neck and fling you into a column. Your glasses fell to the ground as your back makes contact with the stone and the sound of shattering bones echoes through the room as the Sisters begin to move forward.

Astarion watches in horror as you are struggling to pop up and begin touching the floor around you , but by the time you seem to realize finding your glasses is a moot effort- the Sisters descend on you as Malus turns his attention to Wyll and Karlach.

Wyll acknowledges what just happened, but doesn’t go to help you. Anger rips through Astarion like a wildfire as Wyll turns and tells Shadowheart you need help. He’s about to help Malus take out Wyll- until another scream for help pierces the air as you throw random cantrips at your attackers.

Astarion rushes forward, cutting his way through the remaining Sisters in the middle of the room. He really could give a shit less at this time if it pisses Wyll off that he was the one who protected you- in fact, he’s probably going to be stabbing Wyll when you all get back to camp.

Astarion destroys the Sisters surrounding you in a flurry of gore and steel. He ignores his other companions as he searches for you frantically.

You had disappeared by the time he came to your aid. Astarion knows that you have a tendency to slip into your Cat form when you are particularly scared and can’t see- using the animal’s powerful nose to guide you away from danger.

Astarion goes near the beds and crouches down- a sigh escaping his lips.

All 8 pounds of you and your black fluff is crouched under the bed and you hiss in surprise when he clicks his tongue at you. You squint your eyes at him before sniffing the air. You cautiously walk forward and sniff his outreached hand. You begin to purr loudly and rub your head against his knuckles.

He laughs with a mix of hysteria and joy as the realization that you are okay settles into his bones.

“It’s okay Little Love, the Sisters are dead,” he says softly, “I’m so sorry, I should have been next to you. I just assumed a beast with such prowess as yourself would be able to fend for themselves.”

You meow in indignation as you climb on top of him to bite the tip of his nose and he can’t help but laugh.

“Does your ego hurt less now, Little Love?”

You give him an amused look that makes him bust out laughing again.

He had asked you once why you were just a Black domestic cat instead of a Panther. You had argued that you are just as ferocious as a Panther in that form. Not to mention, you would have a better chance of shooting an arrow straight than turning into a Panther, but you weren’t about to admit that (even though he knows).

Astarion scoops you up in his arms and pauses- the smell of your blood floods his senses. He grabs you by your scruff and you yelp as he inspects you for injuries.

You scratch at his hand and he drops you. You yowl in pain and leer at him as you begin to change back into your humanoid form.

If Astarion was capable of feinting, this would have been that moment. He drops to his knees beside you and begins trying to find a healing potion to take the edge off.

You have a compound fracture where your shin was and it’s bleeding heavily. Your right shoulder is out of place, your left wrist is twisted in an atypical fashion, and your left cheek is blooming with an angry, purple bruise. He winces when you inhale a sharp breath as you try to breathe in, clutching at your rib cage.

He doesn’t catch the choked gasp that climbs up his throat in time- your eyes search for him in the dark before finally settling on him.

“Your beautiful eyes are really helpful when it’s blurry.”

Your voice is so tired and he can hear the pain in your voice.

“How come?”

“I can actually find you,” you pause, “you make me feel safe.”

You look at him, your eyes glassy with shock. You smile brightly at him and he smiles brightly back at you. He never thought anyone would associate him with protection, safety. Your words echo in his brain.

You’re make me feel safe.

You go to say something again before you look at him with wide, scared eyes and promptly lose consciousness. The scream that comes out of his mouth is foreign to his own ears. It sounds fearful, angry- heartbroken. Astarion tries to shake you awake, yelling your name over and over.

“Please wake up Darling- you’re safe,” he whispers through choked sobs, “come back to me please.”

Nothing. He can barely tell if you are breathing still as your heart thuds softly in your chest. He calls for Shadowheart two, three, four more times.

"Please," he whimpers, "I don't want to have to be without you forever- I can't be."

The weight of his words hits him like a train- his plan had well and truly failed. Under normal, non- life threatening emergency situations, he would probably panic about the strength of his emotions. Instead, he sits here begging for the chance to be able to tell you how he really feels. He wants to move so badly, to drag Shadowheart over here to heal you, but he can't bare to leave you in your vulnerable state. He keeps calling for Shadowheart- his voice begins to crack.

Astarion feels the worst of his anxieties vanish as you suddenly start taking long, ragged, tired breaths. He grabs a healing potion out of his pocket and tilts your head as he pours it into your mouth. You swallow the fluid gingerly. Your eyes are barely open when he hears you communicate through the tadpole.

Thank you for saving me. Again.

Astarion slowly strokes the side of your face, brushing the flyaway hairs out of your eyes.

"I saved you for my own selfish reasons," he whispers, while taking your right hand gently, "close your eyes and rest- I will keep you safe. Shadowheart is coming."

You nod lazily before closing your eyes, your hand in his still. Astarion sighs in relief when your breathing gets stronger, but he is no healer. Where the hells is that damn Cleric!?

“Shadowheart!!!!”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion x you #bg3 #karlach #smut #shameless smut actually #astarion acunin #bg3 tav

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rollinouttahere-writes · 10 months

Note

platonic yandere Crocodile ad daughter reader

As you can see from the word count, I got extremely carried away. Hope you enjoy it!

Was It Worth It?

Yandere Sir Crocodile x Daughter Reader

7.5k words

Most would say that you’re spoiled.

Honestly, you can’t argue against it.

Your father was committed to giving you the best of the best in life and made no exceptions. As far as he was concerned, you were the only person in the world that was worthy of luxury and relaxation. And given that your father was renowned warlord Sir Crocodile, giving you such a lifestyle was an easy feat.

Designer clothes and accessories filled your closet and fluctuated as styles evolved, all of your meals were expertly crafted by either a personal chef or the staff of a high end restaurant, and you had everything you could ever need for your hobbies. You even had your own pet bananawani, Lady Camorra, though she was still just a baby. Despite that, she was already the size of the lengthy dining room table and had to stay with the other bananawani in the basement.

All of this was accepted eagerly. What can you say? You’re a daddy’s girl.

The only responsibilities you had was to your dear pet and your studies, something that your dad was adamant about. Becoming a pirate like he did is distinctly not an option for you, that much has been made clear. What options you did have for your future were still very much a mystery to you, it was hard to believe that he would ever let you go out and get a job.

You couldn’t even go outside by yourself.

Not that it bothered you all that much. Despite the restrictions, you made outings with your dad (and typically his most recent assistant, Robin) frequently. He was a major public figure here in Alabasta and made many appearances for the sake of his reputation. Naturally, you would be brought along as well.

Most of the time, these were casual trips to go out to a nice restaurant or shopping. The only people that would be there at the same time as you would be the staff. You honestly wished there would be more people around, but when you voiced this, Crocodile would simply state that it was for safety and leave it at that. Which did make sense, you suppose. You weren’t so sheltered as to not be aware that your father has many enemies.

You were grateful for how pleasant your life has been and appreciated how hard Crocodile worked to provide it to you. Which is why you wanted to get him a gift for his birthday next week.

The most you’ve been able to do in the past is make him a card and some simple craft project you worked on. As much as you’ve wanted to get him a more proper present, you didn’t exactly have the means to do so. That, and he kept insisting that he doesn’t need you to get him anything. Usually he would say something cheesy along the lines of ‘your being here is gift enough’.

This year was going to be different, though. It took a great deal of planning, but you’re finally going to be able to surprise your dad with a real present this time! It took months of saving, but you’re pretty sure you’ve scraped together enough to buy him a new ring from a local jewelry store. It would probably surprise many to know that you don’t receive much for an allowance. It made sense though. Crocodile buys you everything you could ever need or want. The allowance was just some pocket change for you to go buy snacks from the casino you lived above.

Today was the day. Everything was going perfectly. You’d woken up early to get your studies done ahead of time. If you didn’t have everything finished, your personal bodyguards weren’t permitted to escort you down to get a treat. The timing of finishing early was crucial because Crocodile was due to make a public appearance at a neighboring city today, but it was only a brief one so you needed to make your excursion quick.

The biggest hurdle ahead of you was being able to ditch your guards and slip out of the casino unnoticed, but you had a plan. Once you got downstairs, you would go to the bathroom, put on your desert cape and a scarf to cover your face, and make a run for it. It’s far from being fool-proof, but it’s your best shot. Your guards aren’t allowed to take you out of the building, and you know no amount of begging will sway them. Though you do hope they won’t get fired over this, that would make you feel terrible.

All that you could do in this moment was try to get through your schoolwork as quickly as possible. Ideally, you wanted to leave shortly after Crocodile did since your window of time to do this wasn’t long. Three hours at most, based on how long these types of appearances usually take.

The door to your private study is opened, and you don’t need to look over your shoulder to know who it is. Heavy but precise footsteps come up behind you, and a large hand rests on the back of your chair.

“I’m going to be heading out now, do you need anything before I leave?”

As per usual, your dad’s main concern was you, feeling the need to ask the question despite knowing full well that you would absolutely be fine until he came back.

You giggled at the inquiry, “I think I’ll be okay for a couple hours, dad.”

Crocodile loomed over your desk, checking up on what you’re actively working on. His eyes narrowed as he read over your shoulder, “You’re typically still working on mathematics at this hour, why are you doing your history lesson already? You didn’t skip subjects, did you?”

Internally, you cursed at how observant your dad was. Of course he would notice this! The grip you had on the history book tightened as you scrambled to explain yourself, “Oh, um… No, I woke up early today and decided to just go ahead and get my schooling done.” You looked up at him and plastered on the most sweet and innocent smile you could, praying that he would buy it.

Crocodile’s eyebrows raised slightly, but the rest of his face remained neutral. Teeth ground against the cigar in his mouth as he considered your words. After a moment, he switched his focus to the books on your desk. Without responding to you, he brought one of them over to himself and began flipping through it, and then proceeded to do the same with a few more books.

He nodded, seemingly content with what he found, “Good work, that was very responsible of you.” His one hand gently pet your hair and he offered a small but genuine smile. “How about we get dinner at that one restaurant you really like tonight?”

Your eyes lit up and you bounced in your seat, “The one that has the really good ice cream?!”

“Of course you’re already thinking about dessert.” Crocodile chuckled, “But yes, that one.”

Lurching out of your chair, you wrap your arms around his torso and squeeze him into a tight hug. One that he returns gently while lightly laughing at your enthusiasm, “I’ll assume this is your way of saying that you would like to go.”

“Oh, yes! Please!”

“Very well, I’ll make the reservation now.” By that, he means he’s going to call and tell them to have the place cleared out before you two get there. “I have to leave now, be good and finish your studies.” With that, he exited the room and you could faintly register the sound of the front door opening and closing.

You resumed your work, eager to finish your final subject so you could get on with your plan. You bit your lip as you mulled over your newfound dilemma. Crocodile probably won’t take you out for dinner if you sneak out for a bit, even if it is for a good reason.

Maybe you could do this without being caught? If you really hurried and were successful at sneaking back into the casino, you might be able to gaslight your guards into thinking that they simply didn’t see you leave the bathroom. It would only be natural for you to keep walking and assume they were following you. They would likely be too embarrassed to bring this situation up to your father. Yeah, that should work. Hopefully.

With a newfound sense of determination, you complete your studies.

Gleefully, you scurry back to your bedroom to grab your purse. Your dessert cloak and scarf were already compactly folded and stuffed inside. You just needed one more thing and you would be ready to set your plan into action.

Unfortunately, there was no way for you to ask about your dad’s ring size without raising suspicion, so you would need to borrow one to bring with you. This wasn’t a problem, however. You frequently help him pick out which rings to wear in the morning, so you know exactly where to find them and what the combination to the safe is.

It was crucial that you didn’t leave a single clue that you’d been in his room while he was gone, so you were careful not to disturb anything besides the safe. Airing on the side of caution, you even take note of the exact position the knob is in so you can keep that minute detail the same. It would hardly be shocking for Crocodile to notice something like that.

After the safe door is open, you pull out the first ring you see, not wanting to disturb any of the other rings in here. It’s a sturdy golden ring with small but dazzling rubies decorating the band. He wore this one on his index finger somewhat regularly.

You slip the ring into your purse and spin on your heels, eager to leave so you can get on with your mission.

Making a conscious effort to keep your face neutral so as to not allude to being up to something, you open the front door and greet the two guards stationed outside of it, “Hi! I wanna go downstairs to that cute bakery in the lobby!”

One of the guards, an absolutely massive man named Abasi, regards you lightly, “We can’t do that until you’ve finished your schooling, you know that.” His voice was naturally gruff, but he spoke to you politely. His head was shaved clean minus the well maintained goatee he sported.

Summoning your best acting skills, you pout dramatically, “I am done, though! I woke up early and already did all of it.”

Tabia, a lean but distinctly tall woman with a scar running down the side of her face and parts of her neck eyed you warily, “Really, now? Then you won’t mind if I confirm that, yes?”

“Not at all!” You chirped happily, gesturing for her to come in and do just that. Continuing to stand in the entryway, you do your best to look as sweet and innocent as possible while Abasi continues blocking your way.

It doesn’t take long for Tabia to return, giving Abasi a silent nod to verify that your story was true. He nods back and finally steps out of the way, “Apologies for the inconvenience, Lady (Y/N).”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” you hurried past him so you could lead the way, but also avoid them possibly seeing something in your facial expression that could give you away. Now that you’d gotten the ball rolling, anxiety was starting to bubble in your stomach at all the ways this could go wrong.

All three of you enter an elevator at the end of the hall to bring you down to the lobby. The bodyguards are standing between you and the door, both with their backs to you as the lift begins its slow descent.

It’s quiet for a moment, but Tabia breaks the silence, “I’m surprised you wanted to do this, you haven’t requested to visit the lobby in months.”

Briefly, you wince at the observation. You suppose this fact would be suspicious in its own right. You’re quick to throw out an excuse and pray it sounds believable, “Haha, yeah. I guess I just got kinda burnt out with everything down there, but I’m really craving some baklava right now.”

“Makes sense,” was the only reply you got. You have to suppress the sigh of relief from them accepting the answer. This is going well so far, you can only hope that remains the case.

The elevator slows to a stop with a quiet ding and the doors slide open. Both guards step out first and scrutinize the surroundings before motioning that it’s okay to come out. Now that you’re where all the other people are, Abasi and Tabia station themselves on either side of you.

This was it, time to really get things started, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Tabia’s eye, the one with the scar over it, twitched ever so slightly, “Can you not wait until you’re back in the safety of your home?”

You pressed your legs together and bounced slightly, “No, I really need to go. Like, now.”

She exhaled sharply, but changed course for the nearest public restroom, “Very well, we’ll wait outside for you.”

“Thank you!” You rushed past them and into the bathroom to maintain the fake urgency you’d just created. Of course, you didn’t actually have to go. Frantically, you run into an unoccupied stall and rip the clothes out of your purse to throw them on. There’s no time to make yourself look nice in them, you need to be out of here tout de suite. They’re going to be expecting you to finish your business in a few minutes, not a few seconds, so doing this as fast as humanly possible was the key here.

You grabbed the wallet and ring from your purse and inverted it. The handbag you’d chosen for today was reversible, something done intentionally so as to make it less likely for the guards to recognize you when you walked past them.

Your belongings were stuffed back into the purse and you ran out of the stall with the same speed that you entered it in. The handful of people in here with you shot you weird looks, but none of them appeared to have gotten the chance to recognize you when you came in. After a brief glance in the mirror to confirm that your scarf was obscuring your face, you ran for the door.

Time to act casual. Despite your previously frenzied state, you open the door and exit calmly. You keep your head down and do your best to look as unassuming as you can. Abasi and Tabia are silently standing outside, observing the crowded casino. They pay you no mind as you walk past, barely sparing you more than an instinctive glance before looking away.

They didn’t recognize you!

As much as you want to squeal in excitement, now is definitely not the time. You weren’t out of the woods yet. There was still a chance that you would be recognized at the main entrance. That, and you’re pretty sure the guards would immediately put the casino into lockdown as soon as they realized you weren’t in the bathroom. Which wouldn’t take long, Tabia has come into the bathroom to check on you before if she thinks you’re taking too long.

The casino itself was extremely loud as per usual. Between the chatter of the patrons and the noise of dozens of slot machines being played all at once you were positive that no one will be able to hear your heart pounding out of your chest. Guests were bumping into you as you slipped into the crowd to blend in better, which was a new sensation thanks to your guards always keeping people well away from you.

It was a touch overwhelming. You didn’t hate it, though.

The sparkling glass doors of the entrance came into view, and as much as you wanted to run through them, you refrained. That would look way too suspicious. The doors were already propped open, all you needed to do was walk through them and you would be in the clear.

You clutched your purse tighter to your person in a weak attempt to soothe your nerves. The instant your foot passed the threshold, one of the employees at the door spoke up, promptly causing your heart to leap into your throat. This is it, you’ve been caught!

“Have a nice day, miss! Please do come again!”

Oh, okay. You’re fine. You offer a small wave and a little ‘mhm’ because you can’t risk them figuring out who you are based on your voice.

As soon as you’re outside, you break into a power walk. Both to put space between you and the casino, but also to get to your destination quicker. Luckily for you, there was a jewelry store just down the street. If you really sped through the process, you think you could be back home in about ten minutes.

Convincing your guards that they simply hadn’t noticed you leaving the restroom would be difficult, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

No one paid you any mind as you jogged down the street, likely having more important things to worry about. This was another unique experience. Whenever you would go on an outing with your dad, people would gawk and even cheer to see him. Naturally, their fondness extended to you, though it was debatable if it was genuine or if they just saw you as an excellent networking opportunity. Right now, though? You were just some girl in a hurry, that’s it.

The jewelry store came into view. Blue Diamond Waterfall was etched into the sign outfront in an elegant, blue font. This was considered to be the best place to get accessories in all of Alabasta.

With your hopes high, you march into the store and make a beeline for the men’s section. High end watches glinted at you from their cases, but you ignored them. You were here for a ring, and only that. Finally, you see a display case containing just what you were looking for.

Unsurprisingly, all of the rings are gorgeous. The bands are expertly crafted with masterfully done engraved patterns, and the gems were cut to perfection. You smiled widely under your scarf. Crocodile would love these!

As your eyes rake over the wide selection, a thought strikes you. There are no price tags. You get an uncomfortable pit in your stomach as you suddenly question if you had enough for any of these. Was the absence of price tags a stylistic choice, or was this a case of ‘if you have to ask you can’t afford it’. You weren’t able to save up a particularly large sum of money, so you really hope it’s the former.

Before your anxiety can gnaw at you any further, an employee approaches you from the other side of the display case.

“Good morning! My name is Lapis, is there anything I can help you with today?” The individual standing across from you was an older woman with a kind face and graying hair.

“G-Good morning,” you were starting to feel embarrassed at the possibility that you would be leaving here empty handed and that your efforts would be for nothing. “Um, I was wanting to buy a ring, actually.”

“Well I can certainly help you with that! Might I ask what the occasion is that you’re shopping for?” Her voice was chipper and welcoming, which did help soothe you slightly.

“It’s for my dad, his birthday is soon and I wanted to get him something special.”

Lapis’s eyes softened and she brought a hand to her chest, “Oh, that is so sweet! I would love to assist you with that! As you can see, we have quite the collection of men’s jewelry here. Was there a specific price range you were wanting to keep to?”

Oh, boy. Here it goes. You fish your wallet out of your purse and pull out every bill you have in there before handing it to her, “However much this is… it’s um, all I have.”

She gracefully took the money and quickly counted all of it. Her lips pursed when she finished, and you could feel yourself begin to sweat. Were you about to get laughed out of the store for not having enough?

The berry was handed back to you and she spoke up again, “Alright, if you’ll follow me, we have a selection just over there that’s within your budget.”

Just like that, a weight was lifted from your shoulders. This excursion wouldn’t be a waste after all!

Lapis stops at the case at the very end and unlocks the cabinet to pull out one of the trays, and that’s when your heart falls again. Oh. These were the cheap rings. None of them had gemstones and there was little to no detailing done on the bands. That’s not to say that the rings were hideous, but they lacked the level of flashiness that your dad tended to gravitate towards.

You must have been visibly crestfallen from the realization, and Lapis was quick to reassure you, “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be upset over! It’s the thought that counts, I’m sure your father will be happy with whatever you give him. I understand that these may not be what you had in mind, but rest assured these are held to the same level of quality as any other ring in the store.”

In all honesty, you do believe that your dad wouldn’t care about the price tag, but if you’re going to be getting yourself into trouble getting him a gift you would at least want it to be something really nice. Still, it’s not like you have much of a choice. You’re not about to leave empty handed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you muttered lamely.

“Do you know what his ring size is, dear?” If she noticed how bummed out you still were, she elected not to comment on it.

“Oh! I almost forgot, here,” you pull the ring you took out of your purse and handed it to her. “I didn’t know what his size was, so I just brought one of his rings in. I hope that’s enough.”

She pulled a key ring out with a bunch of loops on it and began comparing them to the ring. After trying a couple, she nodded, “Excellent, that was a smart idea on your part.” Lapis examined it for a moment before handing it back to you, “That’s a lovely ring, your father certainly has a keen eye for quality.”

Yep. And here you are in the cheap section.

As if she read your mind, she added on, “Which is why he’ll be happy with whatever you get him from our store.”

Whatever, now was not the time to mope. You were working off of a very limited amount of time right now and needed to get back to the casino sooner rather than later. You focused on the rings in front of you in hopes that one would stick out to you.

One did. While there was no stone in it, the band was carved out in a way that it resembled scales. Crocodile did have an affinity for reptiles. You could see him wearing something like this.

Lapis took notice of your lingering stare and smiled brightly while plucking the ring from its stand, “This would be an excellent choice, you must have inherited your father’s tastes.”

It’s placed in your hand and you take the time to carefully examine the piece of jewelry. You must admit that Lapis was correct about the quality here. There wasn’t a single flaw to be found, and it was in your price range. What more could you really ask for?

“Do you have this one in his size?”

She beamed at you, “I need to check, but I’m fairly certain we do. One moment, please.” She took the ring back and put it with the others before placing them in the safety of the display case. Briefly, she left the room to go look for the ring you want.

Your fingers drummed along the case while you glanced around the store. No one was paying you any mind, which was a blessing. Getting recognized out on the streets without guards would be disastrous. Even if the people didn’t have ill intent, you would be in deep trouble for getting caught outside.

Lapis came back looking quite proud of herself with a velvet ring box in hand. She cracked it open so you could see for yourself that your desired ring was inside, “Lucky you, it was the last one in stock!”

Lucky indeed. You would have cried if you couldn’t have gotten this ring. You followed her to the register to complete the purchase, ready to get out of here.

To say that you cut it close would be an understatement. You didn’t even have a hundred berry left over, but you did have enough and that’s what’s important. Lapis offered to get a bag for you, but you declined saying that you wanted this to be a surprise. An answer she accepted easily.

“I’m sure he’ll love it! You should come by again and let me kn-”

Suddenly, the doors up front were kicked open and crashed into the walls with deafening thuds.

“Everyone get on the ground, this is a robbery!”

You froze immediately and felt sweat drip down your neck. This could not be happening. No way.

A gunshot echoed through the store and a nearby display case exploded, showering Lapis and yourself with bits of glass. You shrieked and immediately dropped to the ground while a different voice repeated the previous order.

The box was tightly clasped in your hands, and in a moment of panic, you covertly stuffed it into an inside pocket on your desert cape. Just in time, too.

One of the assailants stomped his way towards the front desk where you were. Had you not been keeping your head down, you might have seen the kick coming. His foot connected with your ribs and sent you rolling away from him and through more glass.

“Out of my way, bitch!” He barked at you while you curled in on yourself and tried desperately not to cry. You glanced up just enough to see that you had apparently been sitting by where the door to get behind the counters was. Why couldn’t he have just asked for you to move? Asshole.

You tried to crawl out of the puddle of glass you were in, only for another man to point a gun at you and tell you not to move. So naturally, you resigned yourself to laying in shards of glass and your own blood as they continued to cut into you. Better to be injured than dead.

Risking another glance at all the people piling into the store, you picked up on something. They’re pirates. No wonder your father loathed them so much if this is how they act. These are exactly the kinds of lowlife brutes that he had described pirates as being.

Funny, now you’re hoping that Abasi and Tabia somehow figured out where you went and would be here any second to save you.

Well, more than that, even though you knew he would be furious, you just want your dad. You’ve seen him dispose of threats before on the rare occasion someone was stupid enough to try and challenge him while he was out with you. Of course, you had been a little frightened at their display, but you knew that your dad would take care of it. And he did.

But now he wasn’t here. He was in a whole different city. All you could do was hope that they didn’t hurt you more than they already have.

And that you wouldn’t be recognized.

Glass crushed under someone’s feet as you were approached. You flinched and curled up tighter in fear of what could come. A hand gently pulls at your shoulder.

“Sit up, honey, you’re hurting yourself,” Lapis whispered while slowly adjusting you into a sitting position. The pirates didn’t bother saying anything this time, instead being much more focused on bagging up everything they could as the shop owner went around unlocking the cases at gunpoint.

Once you were up, she began carefully brushing away the glass from your clothes. She sighed when she looked at your face and saw the tear tracks. Using part of your scarf, she did her best to clean off your face, “It’s going to be okay. They care about the jewelry, not us. They’ll leave once they’re done.”

Her light ministrations ceased, and she looked at you with furrowed brows. Then her eyes widened and your hood was pulled further down your face with shaky hands.

What? Why did she-

She saw your full face when she moved the scarf. She knew who you were.

“Keep your head down no matter what, okay?” Her voice was so low and strained that you could just barely make out the words. This was really bad, but at least Lapis was on your side here.

“That’s a nice purse you got there.”

The voice belonged to one of the pirates, the one that had kicked you. All you could do was cower. That was definitely directed towards you.

Despite you being frozen, Lapis acted quickly. She slipped the purse’s strap off your shoulder and tossed it away from you two. The pirate growled in annoyance, but ultimately turned to fetch it. You couldn’t care less about it being stolen, it’s not like there was anything in there that couldn’t be replaced.

Wait. Crocodile’s ring! The one you brought here with you! Shit!

You need to get that back, but what the hell were you supposed to do? Confront a violent pirate that has already attacked you once? Fuck it, the ring isn’t that important. At least the one you just picked out was still safely tucked away on your person.

The pirate let out a long whistle, “Damn, this is nice. How does someone with a ring like this have barely anything in their wallet?” He came over and crouched down next to you, shoving your shoulder when you didn’t answer, “C’mon, speak up. Wait, don’t tell me you were here to rob these bastards, too. Oh, that’s hilarious.”

Lapis pulled you into her side firmly, “Leave her alone, she’s just a child.”

“A child? She’s practically full grown from the looks of it,” he leered at your body, taking in every part of you that he could. From your peripherals, you could see his hand reaching for your hood, “Let me see your face, sweetheart. If you did steal that ring then I think there may be a place for you on my crew.”

You cringed and attempted to duck out of the way of his intruding hand, but all that did was anger him. Roughly, he grabbed your cape and yanked it off you so hard that it sent you tumbling backwards. Much to your horror, when you look up you see him holding not only your cape, but also the scarf.

You were entirely exposed.

The pirate, the captain of this whole awful crew, stared at you hard. Then, he doubled over and started cackling. His cronies looked back and forth between him and you as he laughed hysterically, visibly puzzled by his reaction.

“Forget the jewels boys, this girl is worth more than this whole damn city!” Not giving you a chance to even attempt to get away, he grabs you by your hair and forces you to stand. As if yanking you around by your hair wasn’t enough, you feel the chill of cold steel being pressed against your throat. A quick glance confirms your fears.

“What are you talking about, captain?”

The dagger at your throat is pressed even closer, enough so that you can feel the warmth of blood droplets dripping downward.

“This is Crocodile’s kid, and he’s going to pay us some damn good money to get his ‘little girl’ back in one piece,” the captain snapped at the crew member who dared to question what was going on.

“Cro- Did you say Crocodile?! Oh hell no, I agreed to help you rob a couple of places, not fuck with a warlord!” The pirate protesting this looked like he was about to bolt.

“Fucking relax, we’ve got him over a barrel by having her in our clutches, he won’t try shit. Besides, that government lapdog hasn’t done anything important in years, and he’s obviously losing his touch and becoming careless if he lets his kid walk around on her own.” He kicked at your heels and snarled at you to move it, “Let’s get out of here before anyone can try and stop us.”

You tried to struggle out of his grip, but it was useless. Frustrated tears poured down your face and mixed with the blood on your neck. Your sobs did nothing to deter the pirates who only laughed at your terror.

A sickening crunching sound cut through the air, followed by the dagger clattering to the floor and your hair being released. The captain’s body hit the floor with a loud thud and a tense silence fell over the store.

You can’t explain what possessed you to do it, but you slowly turned around to identify what happened. As soon as you laid eyes on the sight before you, bile rose in your throat and you stumbled back.

His neck was mangled and twisted, bones pressed against the skin in unnatural ways that made your head spin.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Were those arms?”

The pirates seemed to be just as disturbed as you as they paled from witnessing the horrifying demise of their captain.

Running was the most obvious course of action for you, but you couldn’t. Your body refused to move. Until you felt a hand on your wrist. Immediately, you screamed and tried to wrench yourself free, but the grip was like an iron shackle.

You crashed into a solid form and the smell of an expensive but familiar cologne filled your lungs. More tears stung at your eyes, not ones of terror but relief, “Dad?” You whirled around and latched onto your lifeline as your sobs began anew. You tried to articulate how scared you had been, or how happy you were that he was here, but you couldn’t form a single coherent word in your state.

The hand that had brought you over settled on the back of your head, holding you close. It was borderline crushing, but it helped to ground you.

When you found the strength to look up, you saw that he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes are locked onto the surrounding pirates who were all too scared to make a move. You’ve seen your dad irritated before, but you’ve never seen such raw fury on anyone. There wasn’t so much as a miniscule trace of humanity behind his eyes as he sneered at the people before him.

Without so much as a glance at you, you were shoved into someone else’s arms, “Take her home. Now.” Sand billowed off his body as his devil fruit went into action.

“Of course, sir,” you recognized Robin’s voice instantly and clung onto one of her arms helplessly as she guided you out of the store. You attempt to look back only for her to cover your eyes, “Don’t. You don’t need to see that.”

—

Hours would pass before you saw your dad again. The time passed in a haze as you were fussed over by doctors to treat your plethora of injuries. None of them were particularly serious, much less life-threatening, but there were many small wounds that all required the utmost attention. The worst part of it was them needing to pick out the tiny bits of glass from your knees, but compared to everything else that happened today, it was manageable.

Currently, you were laying on your bed with an ice pack pressed to your ribs to help with the bruising from the kick. Your fingers brushed over the velvet box in the pocket of your loungewear as you pondered if this was all worth it. The answer was obvious.

Of course not.

Footsteps that you would recognize anywhere approached your room. For once, you weren’t excited to see him. You knew that this would not end well.

The door opened and closed. Crocodile looked over your bandaged form for a moment, then came closer to sit on the edge of the bed. You had yet to look at him head on.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“I just spoke with the doctors. Do not lie to me, you are not fine,” you could practically hear the scowl on his face as venom dripped off the word ‘fine’.

Risking a glance in his direction, his pinched features are about what you would expect. He was pissed, but not enough to lose his composure which was a positive. There was a noticeable amount of concern in his eyes.

Hesitantly, you reach out to hold his hand, a gesture he returns with a squeeze. “I’m sore…” you admitted, “but it’s not that bad, I guess.”

“I can’t put into words how relieved I am that you are alive and not hurt any worse than you are.” His eyes hardened and he continued, “With that said, what were you thinking?!”

The sudden raising of his voice made you jump. He’s never yelled at you even once in your life.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous and stupid that stunt you pulled was? How badly that could have gone for you if I hadn’t chosen to come back early?” A humorless laugh escaped him as he shook his head, “I knew it. I knew you were lying about something this morning, I just couldn’t determine what. If I hadn't listened to my instincts and continued with my plans for the day you could have been killed!”

“I’m sorry,” the apology sounds as weak and pathetic as you feel.

“I don’t want to hear it. What I want to know is what possessed you to do something so thoughtless. What could you possibly need from a jewelry store that you don’t already have? Was it just for the thrill or is all of this not enough for you anymore?” His tone was scathing as he gestured vaguely around your room at all the luxury items you owned.

There really isn’t any point in waiting now, is there?

“Your birthday is next week.” Gingerly, you pulled the box from your pocket and held it out to him, “I wanted to get you a real present for once. I’m sorry.”

Crocodile stared at the gift laid out for him, completely speechless. He released your hand and picked up the box, flicking it open with his thumb. His expression was unreadable, further adding to your previous fears of him hating the ring.

“I tried to save up enough money to get you something nice, but that was all that I could afford,” the explanation sounded lame, but it was the truth. Jewelry was much more expensive than you had thought.

“A-And I’m really sorry about this but I took one of your rings with me when I went because I didn’t know what size you were and it got stolen by one of the pirates. I d-didn’t mean for that to happen, but he already had my purse by the time I remember that it was in there.” You started to cry as the humiliation began to truly set in. You caused so much trouble and lost a ring he liked all for the sake of buying one that he didn’t even want. You were so stupid to think any part of this plan was a good idea.

Your lip wobbled as you wallowed in self pity.

Crocodile extended his hand to you, and you assume he’s giving it back to you because of how much he didn’t want it. You took it, but were surprised when his hand stayed there.

“Put it on.”

A loud sniffle came out as you shakily slipped it onto his index finger, “You like it?”

“I appreciate the effort you went through to get this for me, and it is pleasing to look at,” he admired it on his hand for a moment before staring hard at you, “But don’t you dare even think about doing something like this again. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded vigorously. After how horrible this whole experience was, you would never so much as go past the front door without your dad by your side. You wouldn’t even go to the lobby anymore, not that you really think you’re going to be allowed to after this.

The second he opened his arms to you, you launched yourself at him, holding on for all it’s worth. His arms crushed you against him as he seemed to need this hug as much as you did. You reveled in the warmth and comfort his embrace provided.

“You’re grounded for the rest of your life, by the way.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re laughing but I’m serious,” going against the previous statement, he chuckled a little himself.

Finally, he pulled you away from him and motioned for you to lie down again, “Get some rest. I’ve got some business to attend to, but Nico Robin will be around if you need anything.”

Rest sounded great right about now, and since you got some weight off your chest, you think you’ll actually be able to sleep unlike before. Yours eyes were already beginning to drift shut in the time it took for Crocodile to reach the door.

—

Crocodile glared at the simple ring adorning his finger. Not because he hated it or anything of the sort. Honestly, he found its simplicity charming to a degree. That, and it was a gift from his darling, albeit troublesome, daughter.

The problem lied in the fact that the only thing he could see when he looked at it was your terrified face as that filthy pirate attempted to take you hostage. Unfortunately, he would have to resign himself to learning to live with it because he’s going to have to wear this accursed thing every day for the rest of his life to spare your feelings.

Robin was already waiting for him in his office, something he was grateful for given how much he wanted to get his “business” done and over with. He sat at his luxurious desk and pulled out a much needed cigar, “Is everyone here?”

“Yes, they’re waiting for you in the basement.”

He nodded as his lighter ignited the end of his cigar and took a long drag. It did nothing to help his nerves. That wasn’t surprising though, considering the day he’s had. He spared a glance at Robin, “Were there any problems?”

“There was one runner, a guard that had been at the front door, but he’s been apprehended and is with the others.” Robin looked away and pursed her lips, “Is it truly necessary to have everyone on staff today down there, though? The few directly involved, I understand, but this seems excessive.”

“Excessive? My daughter could have been killed thanks to their negligence. I only hire the best of the best for security, they should not have been fooled by a goddamned scarf,” he seethed as he slammed his hook into the desk. The wood splintered from the force and the tip of the hook pierced it deeply.

What made the situation worse was that upon realizing that you were gone, your guards did not immediately call to inform him. Granted, he would have still killed them regardless, but it was the principle of it. The audacity to attempt to save their own asses by keeping your vanishing act a secret.

“(Y/N)’s safety is their top priority and failing to do the bare minimum of keeping her in the building is a grave mistake with a high cost. That cost being their lives.” Crocodile leaned forward and leveled Robin with a glare, “If you question what I’m willing to do for my daughter again, you will be paying the same price. Understood?”

She shivered under the intensity, but did her best to keep it together, “I understand, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He stood up, heading for the basement to do what needed to be done, “Keep an eye on (Y/N) until I come back.”

“Yes, sir.”

#one piece #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #nico robin #sir crocodile #platonic yandere #yanderefangirl #crocodad series

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fatalforesight · 3 months

Text

i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me

rhaenyra x alicent, modern day au: Rhaenyra shows up on Alicent's doorstep with an arts and craft project for the next concert they're seeing together. Alicent plays dress up for Rhaenyra without totally meaning to. Neither girl is good at communication, it would seem.

content: 18+, minors dni. . . smut, religious themes & guilt, spanking, dom/sub undertones, dubious consent, angst, degradation, wlw, explicit photography, best friends to lovers

word count: 3,860

“Is this silly? I know we’re halfway through it, but maybe this was a silly idea,” Alicent mumbles from her spot on Rhae’s couch.

Rhae is across the room, struggling with her needle and thread. She laughs, but the sound is forced. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to. At this rate, mine won’t even be legible.”

“Oh, Rhae,” Alicent sighs, looking over at her friend. “Here, stop that. You’re staining them so much with blood that the thread isn’t going to show. I’ll do yours.” Rhae gives in, throwing the hot shorts to the side with a frustrated noise. She pulls the tip of her forefinger into her mouth, sucking at one of many pinpricks. Alicent swallows as her eyes linger on the image, then looks back down with shame. On Alicent’s own project, the thread has become clear words, although the embroidery has been done in such a way so that the lines are somewhat sloppy, rugged. Such is Alicent’s own artistic take on the project. Across the front of the shorts, right over where her pelvic bone would be, now reads the words Rockstars Only.

A few months ago, Alicent’s mom came home with tickets for an up-and-coming band she claimed the girls would adore. Alerie worked for recording companies in their PR departments, and had always gotten them tickets for different artists depending on what label she was working for.

“You’re really gonna like this band, guys,” Alerie told Alicent and Rhae the night she came home with the tickets. “And,” she started, with a twinkle in her eye, “the bassist is super hot.”

Alicent had seen pictures. The bassist was hot. And the lead singer. And the drummer. And the guy on keys. Or, Alicent figured they were hot. The boys certainly seemed like the other rockstars and boy bands that girls her age went crazy for. A few weeks ago, kind of laughing about it, Alicent and Rhae had come up with the idea to wear bras and skimpy shorts, with the embroidery they were working on now. Alicent wasn’t sure she had meant it at the time, but Rhaenyra showed up earlier tonight armed with clothing and red thread.

Alicent looks at her own work, which she really only needs to tie off. And then she glances to Rhae, who had discarded her work at Alicent’s offer and is now scrolling on her phone. Thread drips off the side of the chair that Rhae’s socked feet dangle from, and Alicent’s eyes trace from the bottom of the thread, to her friend’s ankles, then her legs, then her hips. . .

By the time Alicent gets to Rhae’s face, Rhae has turned to make eye contact. “You done? Go try it on then!”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” “Ali, just go try it on. If the vision doesn’t work I won’t make you finish mine.”

Alicent nods, and ties up the thread on her own shorts. The words stare back at her. What was the goal? To get a band member to take them back to the bus, like groupies dying to be fucked by men they don’t even know? Alicent grimaced.

But Rhaenyra wanted to see the finished product, and see it she would. Alicent never denied her best friend of her pleasures. And this did seem to be a pleasure to Rhae. She was practically kicking her feet as Alicent went to her room to change. “You’re gonna look so hot!” she hollered.

“Shut up!” Alicent squealed. Rhae made her so happy, it made her forget any thoughts of icky band members and their gross dicks.

In her room, Alicent strips down to her underwear. First, she put on the bra. It’s a deep red color that matches the thread. It scoops in a way that none of Alicent’s bras do, but she knows this is the cut that Rhae prefers for herself. And sure enough, it manages to give Alicent a type of cleavage that she usually avoids.

Besides her underwear, Alicent had left one other article on her body. A cross hangs from her neck. A black chain, with red rhinestones decorating the middle of the pendant. Her fingers trace the shape, feeling the edges of the plastic and metal. Part of her screams at how wrong it feels, to see herself so nude and performative while still wearing her necklace. It was a gift from her father, who had passed down his own strict view of religion onto Alicent’s conscience.

He lives in Seattle now. Alerie divorced him years ago. On her birthday, Alicent still gets a card. But besides that, this necklace is what she has of him.

She knows she should remove it if it makes her feel this bad. Whether it is the bra or the necklace, she isn’t sure. But they go together so well, in a way that feels. . . raunchy in a way Alicent has never felt.

She quickly pulls on the shorts. They’re simple, creamy cotton. They may as well be underwear, with the amount of ass they show in the back. But the cut isn’t quite right. Alicent’s actual underwear pokes out the top and the bottom. It makes her pout, and takes away the inflated confidence she was trying to avoid that came from the bra.

The idea that comes to her feels bolder than anything she has ever done. But, she thinks, if she doesn’t feel comfortable she can always just say it didn’t work.

Slowly, Alicent slides the shorts back down her legs. And right after, she slides her underwear down, too. She looks at herself in the mirror, in nothing but the bra Rhae picked out for her, and her cross. There is a cropped thatch of hair between her legs. Alicent is almost certain it will show through the fabric. She trims, but she doesn’t shave; too afraid to cut herself with the razor and have to tell her mom.

Without breathing, Alicent slides the shorts back up without her underwear on this time. Even though she and Rhae are recently twenty, and she knows Rhae owns all assortments of thongs and bikini-cut underwear, she herself has been unable to purchase anything beyond her standard, full-coverage Hanes. Another remnant of her fathers teachings on modesty.

The shorts hug her in a way they didn’t before, free from odd lines caused by her underwear. Alicent turns in the mirror, and her jaw drops at just how much cheek hangs out from the sides. And, as she suspected, the cream color is just not dark enough to hide the brown, wiry hair on her pelvis. It’s a scandal just to watch herself in the glass.

Initially, she is certain she will not go to show Rhaenyra. The appearance is vulgar, sinful. But, almost against her will, she moves on autopilot. She grabs red ankle socks from her drawer, and her Mary Janes.

She goes back to the mirror, with socks and shoes now on for the full effect. She reaches up, and pulls out the claw clip holding her curls. All of her hair falls down at once, framing her face, and covering her back. Alicent can’t be sure if she’s beautiful or not - all she knows is that she’s never looked like this, and she wants Rhae to see her this way.

Taking a deep breath, she walks out her bedroom door and down the hall to where Rhaenyra waits.

Rhae is still lounging in the chair, but she’s moved her shorts onto the couch for when Alicent comes back to finish or discard them. She mumbles along to a video on her phone, still sprawled with her legs over the arm of the chair. Alicent clears her throat.

Her friend smiles, turning off the phone and setting it down before looking at Alicent. Rhae’s face drops, her mouth hanging open on the first syllable of a word as she stares in wonder at Alicent’s final outfit.

Alicent wonders if she is imagining the way Rhae’s eyes stick on her pelvis for a second longer than they do everywhere else. “Oh, Alicent. . . you have outdone yourself,” Rhae whispers.

“I guess I’m finishing yours then,” Alicent jokes, trying to cut what she now feels is a new kind of tension she isn’t sure she has ever shared with her friend. Rhae meets Alicent’s eyes, fully sitting up now. She meant that she liked them, right?

“Are you wearing underwear?”

Alicent feels herself blanch. She had not been imagining then, but maybe it was for the wrong reasons. Suddenly she feels gross, like she has done something wrong. “Oh, yeah. Ha. Shorts looked weird with, uh, granny panties, as you like to call them. I can go change. I was worried it was a bad move.”

“Don’t!” Rhae exclaims. Alicent’s eyes widen. “I mean. I mean. Sorry, I was just curious. You know I’m all for going commando.” A playful spark ignites in Rhanyra’s eyes. “I think I’ll do the same when we go tomorrow.”

A slickness appears between Alicent’s legs and she feels herself grow embarrassed at its presence, especially considering the color of the shorts and the fact it probably won’t take much to make her problem clear to Rhae.

“Right. Okay. I’m going to go take this off and then get started on yours.”

“When you got all dressed up? No, c’mon, we’re gonna take some pictures.”

Alicent thinks she’s going to throw up. “We can take pictures tomorrow,” she says weakly.

Rhae shakes her head, smirking. “You look good, Ali. We’ll take more tomorrow, but I want some now.” Rhae stands, grabbing her phone and Alicent’s hand. “Come with me.”

This is not a change Alicent is prepared for. Suddenly she’s on autopilot again, following Rhae to the sliding glass doors that lead onto the balcony of her mom’s apartment. Rhae slides the door open, and ushers Alicent out.

It’s sunset outside, and below people honk their horns in five o’clock traffic. Alicent lives eight stories up, so the wind is blowing constantly on her balcony. A breeze shoots by now, ruffling Alicent’s hair.

Rhaenyra ponders for a second, then seems to decide how she wants Alicent. This is always how it is with Rhae, with her moving Alicent like a mannequin to take pictures whenever she wants. Alicent isn’t sure why Rhae likes having so many pictures of her. The one time she asked, Rhae only said she liked having pictures of her best friend, and why make it more complicated?

Pale hands move Alicent until she’s against the railing. “Trust me, okay?” Rhae whispers. Her eyes are a deep blue, and they stare into Alicent with a ferocity that makes her feel hot behind her cheeks. Alicent allows Rhaenyra to push her chest until she’s hung over the railing and her eyes are trained on the sky. Then, gently, Rhae pulls both of Alicent’s hands to spread across the iron bar her back now arches on.

In her ear, Rhaenyra whispers, “Cross your legs for me. At the ankle.” Alicent does, but mourns Rhae’s hands on her, doing the posing for her. She hears Rhaenyra step back, admiring her work. “That’s good. Hold onto that,” she says, and then Alicent hears one of the balcony chairs scrape and presumably Rhae stand up on top of it. Alicent closes her eyes, feeling the wind pass over her. Her stomach, her arms, her breasts. . .

“Okay, that’s good. Stay just like that, but spread your legs as far as you can.”

Alicent’s eyes pop open in shock. She doesn’t move an inch. “Rhaenyra. . .”

“Just trust me! You’ll like what you see.”

Slowly, trying to ignore the wetness that has only gotten worse in her crotch, Alicent begins to spread her legs. She screws her eyes shut, feeling mortified. There is no telling whether her shorts are showing what she’s going through right now, but if they are there will be no hiding from it. She feels debauched now, and pathetic.

Rhae groans, annoyed. “Bend your knees, it’s not quite right. Now spread further. Okay, keep your knees bent, but pull your knees in. Like inwards, don’t push them more outwards. Ugh!”

Alicent’s best friend is not known for her patience. And though she is trying to listen to instructions, she knows she isn’t doing it right when she hears Rhae get down from her chair-perch. Delicate, chilled fingers graze on the insides of her knees, and it makes Alicent shiver.

“Like this, Ali,” Rhae says, pulling her left knee inwards. She does the same to the other knee, and then Alicent feels her friend stop moving entirely. She holds her breath, but Alicent just knows. She knows Rhae has seen a wet patch between Alicent’s legs. And Alicent nearly screams at herself when she feels her cunt clench from the realization, forcing more slick out.

Hot air hits Alicent’s thigh, and it feels so new and different that it makes her groan aloud before she can stop herself. She slaps a hand over her mouth, in shock at her behavior. She hears Rhaenyra move back. “Stay just like that,” Rhae says, sharp and clear. “Keep your hand on your mouth, too. I like that.”

She says nothing else, but Alicent can tell she leaves the balcony to go inside. A few moments later, Rhae returns. Alicent still cannot see her, but she doesn’t hear her get on the chair this time. There is silence, and then the next thing Alicent hears is a click, click, click.

A camera. Rhaenyra has retrieved her real, expensive camera, rather than continue using her phone. “I wasn’t even sure you had sexual desires if I’m going to be honest with you, Ali,” Rhaenyra says. Her voice is strong, and gives nothing away. “You’ll have to forgive me for wanting to capture this moment on film. It’s not everyday you see your best friend give into kink for the first time.”

“I’m not-” Alicent’s voice breaks, and she curses herself. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What made you wet, Alicent? No panties? Being photographed like this? Or is it the thought of one of those band boys seeing you in this. . . getup?” Suddenly, Alicent realizes that Rhaenyra sounds angry. Almost vengeful.

“I’m- I’m-”

Rhaenyra makes a mean noise. “I’m- I’m-” she mocks. Then Rhaenyra reaches forward and grabs Alicent by the shoulder. For a short moment, they’re face to face, and Rhaenyra snarls. “Get on your knees.”

Alicent doesn’t hesitate. She drops to her knees so fast it hurts, but she likes the way they scrape on the concrete. Makes her feel like she’s paying for this in some way, whatever she has caused in Rhaenyra. Tears spring to her eyes. She keeps her vision upwards, on Rhaenyra. A part of her is begging for clarity, to understand this sudden shift in Rhae’s tone. But another, newer part of her is worried clarity would bring an end to whatever this has become. She lets her gaze fall to the ground

“Look up at me,” Rhaenyra mutters the minute Ali’s head drops. Alicent listens, and one single droplet falls from her eye to her cheek. She can’t see Rhae behind the camera now, but she hears the click and sees the flash to let her know that Rhae can see her, and she finds the image photo-worthy. She takes a few more like that, with Alicent gazing up with big, pleading eyes. Then Rhae moves back into the apartment, and gets down on one knee. Without removing the camera, she orders, “Start crawling to me. All fours.”

Alicent gulps. Surely Rhae can’t be serious? But as her friend trains the camera on her again, Alicent knows there is nothing to do but follow instructions now. She crawls towards Rhaenyra, and she feels her pussy throbbing against her shorts as she does. Rhae takes multiple photos again, then finally puts down the camera. Alicent freezes, staring and not moving until told. “I’m tired of this weepy, begging bit,” Rhaenyra claims. “Roll onto your back.”

By now, something has begun boiling in Alicent’s groin that cannot be undone. And she feels herself become almost stupid in its wake, not knowing what to do but listen, obey, do as she is told. Rolling, Alicent watches as her friend stands and walks around her, grabbing her phone from outside and then closing the door behind her as she comes back in. The room goes quiet once the noise from outside is no longer present. Looking up, Alicent is silent as Rhaenyra comes to stand over her, then drops down to her knees at Alicent’s feet.

“Spread your legs again,” Rhae says, still sounding annoyed but more removed. Alicent frowns, but still follows Rhae’s instructions. As soon as there is room, Rhaenyra scoots in closer. Without another command, Rhae grabs the camera again and brings it to her eyes with one hand. She points the lens at Alicent’s face, and Alicent is so wrapped up in staring at her own reflection that she doesn’t notice Rhae’s other hand moving swiftly toward her chest.

The moan Alicent lets out is unseemly, and she feels her eyes screw shut again - in pleasure, this time - as Rhae fondles her through the bra. She hears the clicking of the camera shutters again, but it hardly matters to her as she loses herself to the sensation of being touched where no one else has touched her before.

Rhaenyra squeezes her fingers, and Alicent’s back arches off the floor at the foreign feeling. Her clit aches, and she feels another rush of slick from between her legs. “Rockstars only, huh? Or does anyone get to touch sweet, virginal Alicent if she gets to be on camera?”

Alicent knows in her head that Rhae has got it all wrong. But now she can’t think straight with Rhaenyra’s hand on her, and she can’t make words come out. All that leaves her is whimpers and moans at the camera clicks and Rhae squeezes and gropes.

“You’re making a mess in your brand new shorts, Alicent,” Rhaenyra notes, and then before Alicent can protest she feels the hand on her breast move down between her legs as Rhae cups her cunt with her hand.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent screams. Rhae moves two fingers against the shape of Alicent’s hole, and her palm digs into Alicent’s clit. It’s like nothing Alicent has ever felt before, nothing like she has been able to do to herself. “Uhhhngggg,” she moans, and her eyes roll back into her head. Distantly, she hears more clicking.

“Is this what you want that bassist to do to you, Ali? He won’t. He’ll use you to get his dick wet and you’ll be lucky if he remembers your name long enough to sign an autograph.” Rhaenyra is panting, and Alicent opens her eyes enough to see the camera get put down. Rhae’s now-free hand goes back to Alicent’s chest, and it all begins to seem too much for her. She screams again, a tidal wave inches away from crashing over her.

Rhae’s other hand, still firm on Alicent’s cunt, suddenly is gone. And then immediately it comes back, striking Alicent’s mound with force she isn’t prepared for. Alicent’s whole body arches from the floor, and her hand comes to grasp her cross as her heels dig into the carpet. Fingers push into her hole as much as they can from the other side of the fabric, and Rhae’s thumb rubs fast and hard circles onto her clit.

Her vision goes white, and her ears begin to ring as Alicent feels herself come on Rhae’s fingers, arch into her friend’s hand on her chest and her pussy. Vaguely she thinks she may be screaming in a way that could concern neighbors if she doesn’t stop.

And then the world comes back into a hazy, light existence, right where Alicent left it a few minutes ago.

The hands disappear. There are shutters clicking from miles and miles away. A dazed expression rests on Alicent’s face as she gasps for air without a thought in her head. And then she realizes Rhae has gotten up and is moving to pack her things away. “Rhae?” Alicent asks, her voice shaky and weak.

“Finish my shorts for me, you’re better at embroidery than I am. I’ll be by tomorrow a couple hours before the concert to pick you up so we can walk together.”

Rhaenyra does not look at Alicent. Alicent feels herself begin to cry. “Rhaenyra, why did you do that?”

The pleading in her voice must be what stops her friend cold. Rhaenyra turns to Alicent, the venom gone from her eyes that was there throughout the impromptu photoshoot. “Did you. . . not enjoy it?” Rhaenyra asks, her gaze downcast. Ashamed.

“I-I did, but. . .” But not for the reasons you think, is what Alicent leaves unsaid, unable to finish the thought.

“Well then. Consider it prep for the drummer. Or the bassist. I’m sure any of them will like what they see,” Rhaenyra spits, then finishes grabbing her things and storms out the door.

After the door has closed, into the silence Alicent says, “I don’t want them. I wanted you.” She curls into a ball on the carpet, and lets the tears fall freely. Finally, Alicent feels everything she wanted to tell Rhaenyra come to her, but it is already too late. They’ll see each other tomorrow, but what will it matter then? Everything will be different. And the moment to speak will be gone.

Alicent lifts her head to gaze at the shorts Rhaenyra has left for her to finish. She’s going to have to undo all the stitches Rhae did, Alicent can tell even halfway across the room. But, feeling her strength begin to come back, she has an idea that will either permanently damage what is left of her friendship with Rhae, or fix everything she couldn’t come clean about today.

Pulling herself together, Alicent stands and walks to the shorts to begin her work.

part ii here

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