#he wears a hat to try and hide more

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

gogurt

[eebie]

(Regarding making rooms for kris and susie in the castle) "a place where you can go no matter what's happening outside" oh this guy is preparing for the absolute Worst lol

[tommysversion]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 1] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

Warnings & Contents: age difference (unspecified, can be as large or small as you'd like) | unsafe sex | Vaguely misogynistic language (not from Joel) | past Reader x Tommy mention | dirty talk | praise | pet names | size difference implied IE Joel's hands are larger than Reader's | unprotected PIV | Enthusiastic consent | Fluffier than expected | creampies oops | guaranteed happy ending

Note: I got this out before episode two dropped. There are no spoilers here, just old man Joel being loved.

Word Count: 3.8k. || Part Two Here

- x. -

Joel knows that deep down, he's not the good guy that he tries to be in Jackson. That no amount of hard work and somewhat begrudging neighbourly behaviour will truly ever mask what he really is. 

He does a damn good job hiding it, though. Looks almost unassuming with his greying curls, the crows feet forming round his eyes, the glasses he wears more often than not. 

Then there's you. God knows how much younger than him - does it really matter, when he's pushing sixty and you're clearly not - and full of life. 

He sees you around and just one look at you gets him half hard; you don't even have to fucking do anything, just be wandering past and give him a friendly wave, a half smile. 

He finds his eyes glued to your ass more often than not, given your standard attire of a pastel plaid shirt and jeans does nothing to hide your figure. He feels like a dirty old man each and every fucking time, but he can't help it. Especially when you wander past to get ready for a patrol, an honest to god cowboy hat perched on your head, a lasso and a gun on your hip. 

It makes some deep buried dark and depraved part of him wish he was still the cocky, confident bastard he once was. The kind who would have no problem whatsoever with talking to you and getting exactly what he wanted. Age has made him hesitate, though, and so he sort of just contends himself with trying to be as subtle as possible with his stares. 

He'd be lying if he said he thought of anything else when he fucked his own hand each night, though. 

Imagining you. How you might look spread out beneath him. On top of him. How you might sound with his name on your stupidly pouty lips, which he absolutely hasn't made note of or anything. 

Joel likes to think he's completely subtle in his interest in you, thinks he might just be burning up inside with his own desires and need, until Tommy calls him the fuck out for it one night. 

They're in the bar long after closing time, just the two of them, perks of Tommy being on the governing council, Joel guesses, and two or three glasses of whiskey deep. 

"Don't know why you don't just go after her, y'know." Tommy takes a long sip of his drink. Gives Joel a smirk that he never thought he'd see again, given his younger brother is all settled down now, married with a kid and whatnot. 

"You know damn well why not." Joel snipes back, refills his glass with a narrowed gaze. "'M too old and I'm too fuckin' dangerous. She'd probably break or something." 

Tommy just laughs. But it's more like his old laugh. The slightly dark sound that Joel hasn't heard in years that makes him goddamn certain his brother knows something he doesn't. 

"What?"

"Nothin'," Tommy says, tossing another cube of ice into his glass, swirls it around. "Don't blame you for lookin'. Girl's got a sweet ass, and damn, she can ride, too."

There's that tone again, the one that says he definitely knows something. More than knows something. So Joel gives him that look he does that always inevitably has Tommy spilling the beans. 

"And how d'you know the girl can ride, huh?"

Tommy snorts, drags a hand through his messy black curls. 

"Wasn't always with Maria, ya know. Back when I first came to Jackson... girl can handle her way around a saddle. Ain't half as cocky when she was gushin' all over my cock in a hay bale. Tell y'somethin, never seen a prettier sight than a cockdrunk woman." 

He downs the rest of his drink before he shoots Joel a crooked grin. 

"And trust me on this one too - she loves her an older man."

Joel doesn't want details. Doesn't care much about something that happened six or so years ago. 

What he does take from the conversation stays worked into his head over the next few days. He's just thinking he might make some excuse to leave his office early, to go home so he can either drink himself senseless or fuck his own fist until he has some semblance of self control again. 

He's still debating which it'll be when someone knocks on his office door; he looks up, about to tell whoever it is to fuck off, and instead stops. Because there you fucking are, your hair pulled off your face, still windswept. Dressed in a pastel purple and blue plaid shirt, another pair of jeans that should be fucking outlawed and worn cowboy boots. 

“Hey, Joel.”

Vaguely, he wonders if this is the first time he’s actually registered you saying his name; he likes the way it sounds in your voice.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He can’t help but sense some sort of mischief, wonders whether Tommy has decided to interfere, again, in something he has no business in.

“Oh, uh, Tommy said you were the one to go to if the barn door got caught again?”

Joel registers what you’re saying, can’t help but listen to the way his brother’s name sounds in your mouth, as if he’s looking to see if there’s any hint of any sort of affection in it, but he finds none.

He also thinks his goddamn brother is full of shit, because he knows damn well that Tommy is just as capable of fixing the stupid barn door. But Joel is nothing if not an opportunist, and he sees exactly what’s being offered here – an opportunity.

So he gets up out of his chair, pockets his glasses, and gives you a nod.

“Sure. Let’s go get that fixed up before dark.”

-            X     -

You’re aware of the sheer size of the man beside you as you help him lift the barn door back onto the track it usually slides in. He must be at least sixty, and yet he’s so big and broad that it doesn’t quite show. That doesn’t mean you’re oblivious to the greying curls, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You’re not blind. Maybe you’re just fucked up, because you’ve always preferred older men, at least, since the outbreak.

Maybe it’s some convoluted thought that someone older might be able to keep you safe. As if you aren’t a damn good shot yourself. As if you aren’t entirely capable of keeping yourself safe.

You haven’t been as oblivious to his stares as he thinks. No, Joel Miller is not a subtle man, not anymore. Never has been.

That, and you’ve seen a similar look on his brother’s face, once upon a time. The kind of look that says they want to devour you. To do things to you that’ll make your toes curl.

Like you haven’t been watching Joel since he first set foot in Jackson. Figured maybe you were too young, too out of range of his usual type, whatever the fuck that was.

And then you’d noticed him watching you, dared to perhaps hope, but never make the first move. Until now.

“Thanks for the help,” you say as you test the door, pull it open and closed to make sure it isn’t stuck again.

“’S fine,” Joel answers, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Walk you home?” You offer, and the hint of a smile curves his mouth.

“Don’t know that I’m the one who needs a chaperone to walk round after dark.”

You laugh lightly as he falls into step with you regardless.

“Ah, Joel, nobody would be stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

You don’t entirely believe that, but confidence is certainly part of it, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re someone weak and scared.

“Why, you got some scary ass husband or somethin’ I don’t know about?” Joel asks, and you can hear the hint of jealousy in his tone, even if he thinks you won’t; it lights up something in your belly that trails all the way down to your core.

“Pff, no. No husband. No boyfriend. Just me, and apparently I’m scary enough.”

You give him time to take all that in, but that means you arrive at his house far too soon with very little progression in conversation. You’re almost feeling disappointed when he speaks again.

“Comin’ in for a drink?”

Joel isn’t sure where that confidence came from. Maybe the way you’ve confirmed there’s no significant other in your life. The almost flirty way you’ve spoken to him. The way you had seemingly no issue getting up in his space as you fixed the barn door.

He notices, too, the way your eyes flicker with something like triumph at the offer, before you just nod, follow him up the steps and into the house.

-            X     -

Joel watches the way your lips curve around the glass tumbler, and he really thinks he should be more focused on his own liquor consumption at his age more than the way it looks, but he can’t help it.

Unbidden, his mind gives him a picture of your lips wrapped around something else entirely, and for the first time since Tommy shared his little bit of “wisdom” about you the other night, he resents his brother for it. Because of fucking course his goddamn brother would have had the balls to just make a move. So why doesn’t he?

As he’s pondering this, he’s oblivious to your gaze, focused on him over the rim of your glass. They’re so alike, and yet so different, the Miller brothers. You haven’t quite worked out what makes Joel tick yet, can sense a sort of brooding, shut off darkness in him that you aren’t entirely certain you’d like to see unleashed.

What you do know, though, is that you’ve caught his eyes on you more than once. That you want him, even if it’s only for one night, that you don’t care if he shreds your heart to pieces after, so long as you get one single night where you can see what it’s like to be his.

And so while he’s still lost in thought, you down the rest of your drink and cross from your chair to his, straddle his lap and tap him lightly on the cheek.

“Hey, still with me?”

Not a lot takes Joel by surprise; he wasn’t sure what to expect when you moved, but to find you in his lap is definitely unexpected. He puts his half-finished drink to the side and just looks at you for a second, tries to will his cock into behaving, but it’s too late, he’s already hard as fuck, uncomfortable in his jeans with you pressed against him, and you both know it.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” He manages to get out, because he’s got to be sure you’re not just fucking with him, or making some poor decision fuelled by liquor, even though he doubts the single drink has even touched the sides.

“What’s it look like?” You can feel how hard he is, can’t help but rock into him slightly, taunting, teasing, because God forbid you actually want this.

“Makin’ a real poor decision?” Joel regrets saying it as soon as he does so, and it shows on his face; luckily you ignore him.

“You want me to stop?” you ask instead, your hands at the buttons of the flannel shirt he always wears, a well loved dark green thing that you think sets off the olive tones to his skin perfectly.

He shakes his head so fast he almost feels dizzy, because there’s no way in hell he wants you to stop, but he wants you to understand what you might be getting yourself into.

“Fuck, no,” he almost growls it out, leans in to press a kiss to your bare collarbone where your shirt has fallen. “More just… I'm an old man, darlin', but I've never been good at bein' gentle."

You just laugh, because you don’t want gentle. You don’t want young and sweet and inexperienced. You want whatever the hell is lurking behind his tired gaze.

Still, he doesn’t move until you lean in first, press those pouting lips against his, part them so he can taste liquor and strawberries on your tongue. It’s not until you grind down against him again and moan into his mouth that he reacts.

Then whatever control he has left (which isn’t much) snaps, his hands pushing up your shirt; glad he had the foresight to build a fire when you got in, because the last thing he wants is you shivering for any reason that isn't good, isn't at his hands. 

You figure he isn't moving fast enough, help him shed your layers of clothing one by one until you're in his lap in just your emerald green panties, and fuck if Joel doesn't think the colour looks good on you.

His hands are wandering, up from your hips, slowly, cupping your tits and rubbing his roughened thumbs across your peaked nipples. You almost wish you could get him naked, but the most he'll allow is a few buttons of his shirt undone. Not that you're about to complain, so full of want for him that you'll take whatever he gives you.

You can feel the fabric of your panties getting damper with every hungry, open mouthed kiss, your little moans muffled as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs around your nipples, humming when he feels you react.

"Sensitive, huh?" His dark eyes stay fixed on yours as he pinches your nipples gently, making your back arch slightly. "Yeah you are, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, grinding yourself down against the thick length of him, your hands finding his belt buckle.

He doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with playing with your tits, the way you lean into his touch. Your hand unzips his jeans, frees his cock from the too tight confines, and slowly strokes, drawing a low groan from his chest.

Fuck, but you know what you're doing, slow practised strokes from base to tip, gentle twists of your wrist when you reach the thick head of him, spreading the precum that drips heavily along his length.

"Fuck, sweetheart, don't make me cum before I've got you there-" he warns, and you laugh, not at him, but because you're so fucking pleased that you're having that much of an effect on him.

He shuts you up effectively though, slides one rough hand into your panties and almost immediately finds your swollen clit, rubs circles on it with his thumb, smirking at how soaked he finds you.

"Christ. Don't even need t'get you ready for me, do I?"

You shake your head, but he does it anyway; nobody can say he isn't merciful, Joel thinks, as he slides his index and middle finger into your wet heat, drawing a filthy sound from you as he curls them deep.

He kisses you again, rough and needy, thinks about how if he was five, ten years younger he'd pick you up, carry you to the nearest horizontal surface and fuck you into it. The thought makes his cock throb painfully, but even this is enough, having you in his lap, writhing on his fingers...

You're aware of his mouth on you; on your throat, your collarbones, your nipples, then he moves his fingers a little more and you're aware of nothing beyond your own pleasure, your cunt weeping onto the thick digits as he continues to move them, not stopping until he's absolutely certain you're through it.

"So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. You want to come sit on my cock now?"

Slowly, slowly, he slides his fingers out, enjoys the dazed look on your face as you nod; your ruined panties are dragged down, tossed aside, then you're there, intimately close as he lines himself up, catches the tip of his cock at your soaked entrance.

He lets you sink down onto him with little to no guidance; groans when your hips meet far sooner than he expected. 

"Fuck, there's a good girl-"

You make a sound of assent, wriggle in his lap to get comfortable, only serving to make his cock twitch inside you and drag another pretty little sound out.

"You like how it feels?" He knows you do, can tell by the way your pussy tightens around him, trying to pull him in deeper, but he wants to hear you say it, almost needs the ego boost.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, then, "Joel-"

His name is drawn out, a half plea for something that he isn't quite sure about.

"What d'you need, honey?"

"Need you to move," your voice is almost demanding, somewhere between pleading and insistent, but you'll get what you want regardless.

Joel keeps his hands on your hips, giving you some semblance of control still, but he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips up as you rest your forehead against his.

So maybe it's not what he first pictured, not what he'd have done to you ten years ago, but it doesn't quite matter to him, not when he can feel how wet and tight you are around him, hear every single pathetic little noise you make for him.

Your fingers drag through greying curls, tugging lightly; you're rewarded with another low groan, more like a growl, as his hips snap upwards sharply against yours. You don't get to savour that victory, too preoccupied by the suddenly rougher pace.

"Fuck, Joel-" You gasp and he laughs, tightens his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock just that little bit harder, faster, hitting all the right places inside.

"That's it, good girl," he presses greedy, open mouthed kisses to your throat, keeping up the pace, feeling you tightening around him and knowing without a doubt that you're close already, so worked up for him that tipping you over the edge will be almost easy.

"Such a tight, sweet little cunt, baby, made to take my cock, weren't you?" The filthy words pour out before he can stop them, but you're responsive to those, too, clinging to him, moaning as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again,  getting you closer; you try to hold it off, don't want this to be over yet. But God if it isn't difficult.

Joel can feel you trying not to cum, can feel you holding yourself back.

"C'mon, sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.  Y'really think this is gonna be the only time I give you my cock, sweet girl? Fuck, gonna keep this pretty pussy full of me til you get sick of it."

You gasp a moan, because there's no way in hell you could ever get tired of this, of the hint of roughness and the burning passion with which he handles you. 

Regardless, once he gives you that permission, even though you didn't need it, your resolve breaks; he presses in deep, grinds his hips against yours so the coarse curls at the base of him brush your over-sensitive clit, and then you're gone, spots in your vision as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering and throbbing around the thick cock splitting you open as your release drips down him, soaking his lap. 

Joel groans, almost cums right there, because he can count on both hands and feet how long it's been since he made a woman cum so hard, felt a pussy spasm around his cock and gush fluids into his lap.  Fuck, if he doesn't love it.

"Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," he warns, voice low and rough as he rubs circles on your back, trying to get you through it whilst holding back his own release.

"Please-" Your voice is hoarse, eyes wide and pleading as you look at him, not bothering to finish your sentence and instead leaning in to kiss him.

It's the kiss that pushes him over the edge; years of rough, emotionless encounters, against walls. Bent over surfaces. And here you are, younger than him, softer somehow, kissing him like he's someone good and deserving.

He knows he should pull out of you but it's too late, his cock aches and twitches inside you as his release fills your still fluttering cunt, breaking the kiss only so he can rest his head on your shoulder and try to breathe.

Then your hands are in his hair again, stroking through the soft curls, getting him through the aftermath of his climax with the same gentle touch he gave you.

"Joel," you whisper his name and this time it's not a plea, not an impassioned moan, just your voice being gentle as you continue to stroke his hair.

"Hm?" He's content to just stay like this, actually, even if his joints are starting to protest. He'll deal with that later for another five, ten, fifteen minutes of this with you.

"You don't fuck like an old man." Your voice is soft. Sleepy. Like he's fucked any fire inside you out of you, lulled you into a sense of safety.

Joel can't help it. He laughs, a proper laugh that barely anyone gets out of him these days.

"Guess not, huh."

He feels his softening cock slip out of you, wraps his arms around you and tucks you against his chest.

"Can we do this again?" You dare to ask, because you're feeling sleepy and stupid and high on him, on the feeling of his seed slowly dripping down your thighs as he presses little kisses to your head.

Joel looks down at you for a moment, understands you don't mean right now, but in a sort of ambiguous future way.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you want. You want a blanket or something?"

Because inexplicably he's worried that you might be cold, as if he's only been watching you to think with his cock and doesn't actually, possibly, maybe care.

You shake your head and nuzzle back into his chest.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" You ask instead, and Joel nods, because he really does need to catch his breath, and even if his knees are protesting, he doesn't give a damn, because you're nice and warm in his lap and you fit there just right, like you were made to fit there.

"Yeah, baby. As long as you want."

It won't occur to him until maybe a week or so later, when you're picking strawberries in the greenhouse, that that should have been the moment he realised he was a total, utter goner.

[chleem]

Mr & Mrs Starkey

One shot: husband drew x wife yn 

Summary: In which your 5 year-old son catches you kissing santa claus, oblivious to the fact that it's just drew under the costume.

Genre: fluff, smut (shower sex , read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ merry xmas! | mistletoe | halloween

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You lean against the doorframe of the shared bedroom, watching ‘Santa Claus’ place wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree. 

Drew’s movements are very sloppy, due to the big red suit he’s wearing. 

“Seems like Santa needs to lose some weight,” you tease, not even trying to hide how funny you find his situation. 

Recently, your son, Ben learned about Santa Claus and how he brings presents to kids, and like any curious five-year-old, he's completely captivated by the idea of ‘catching’ Santa. The details of his plan are a little hazy to you—he mentioned it about a month ago, but you forgot the specifics.

You told Drew that no costume was necessary; just eat the cookies on the table and put the presents in place. But Drew insisted. And now, here he is, awkwardly fumbling around in a full Santa suit. 

Placing the last gift under the tree, he turns around, his white beard and hat threatening to slip off. His blue eyes meets yours with annoyance, lips pressed in a thin line. “Well, usually my elves do this.”

You giggle, finding Drew’s dedication to the part funny and cute. “Okay, Mr Claus,” you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “take a break and have some cookies, huh?”

The annoyance in his eyes fade away, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. “You could’ve been my elf,” he murmurs, hands wrapping around your waist. 

“But I’m Mrs Claus, remember? I stay home, do dishes, yadayada,” you joke, rolling your eyes dramatically. “leave the heavy work- important work to you.”

Drew parts his mouth, looking down at you with a knowing look. 

“I did wrap the presents, didn’t I?” You continue to say. “Doesn’t that count for being an elf? I picked out the gifts, payed for it, set the tree up with Ben-“

Drew’s lips aggressively thrusts itself into yours; tongue fighting for access. You gasp into his mouth; taken aback by the abrupt action. That allows the slip of his tongue, tangling in with yours. 

The cheap fake beard makes it hard to concentrate though; the rough hairs getting in between. 

You pull away from him; eyes hooding with a soft smile on your lips. “Rude.”

“You talk too much sometimes,” he murmurs, a hand going up to cup your face. 

“Isn’t that why you married me-“

He plants his lips on yours again, and you giggle against his lips. 

Drew laughs too; the warmth between you two palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment almost too perfect. Drew’s hand, still cupping your face, gently tugs you closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek in that way that always makes you melt. The kiss deepens, slow and soft, as if he’s savoring every second of it. 

When you finally pull away, both of you breathless, you find yourself caught in his gaze. It’s that look—the one that makes your heart race, the one that feels like he’s seeing straight into you. You smile, your heart fluttering a little more than it should.

“Maybe I do talk too much,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks, his fingers tracing along the line of your jaw. “You can talk as much as you want... as long as it’s with me.”

The attempt to sound sweet and lovely is ruined by your incapability of staying serious; because how could you, when Drew’s fake beard is crooked and he’s got this silly red suit with the big belly on? 

“What now?” Drew murmurs, eyeing the silly grin on your face.

“I’m kissing Santa Claus,” you chuckle, reaching up to give his beard a playful tug.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes looking at you with a mischievous glint to them. 

“You naughty girl,” masked with a chuckle, a seductive tone is laced in his words, matching the smirk that’s hidden beneath the white beard. Drew leans in again, catching you in another kiss. 

This time, however, his hands start to roam around your body, feeling the material of your thick hoodie. 

His lips travel down your neck, kissing wherever is exposed. 

You let soft moans escape your mouth; the erotic feeling building in your lower stomach. With a hitched and breathless voice, you ask, “hey Drew?”

He lazily hums against your skin, hands resting just above your ass. 

“Wanna help me shower?” you whisper seductively into his ear, tugging the Santa hat off his head.

Drew pulls back slightly, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. “Y’know you don’t need to ask…”

You plant a kiss on his jaw, soft but deliberate, before moving away, your hand tugging at his sleeve as you make your way toward the bathroom. But Drew doesn’t follow, a thoughtful look painted all over him. 

“Stockings…” he murmurs, looking over his head at the fireplace, with the stockings that he needs to fill as ‘Santa Claus’.

You sigh, knowing exactly where this is going. After all, both of you are suckers for your son, always willing to put everything aside just to see his smile. You glance at Drew, trying to look annoyed, but the soft smile on your face betrays the affection you feel for him—and the family you’ve built together.

“Fine. I’ll shower alone,” you start, readjusting the fake beard he has on. “And I’ll leave Santa to his duties.”

“Thank you,” he sourly replies, his frown evident though the thick beard. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your lips matching the expression he has. You pat his shoulder, before turning around, making your way to the bathroom. 

You make sure to add an extra sway to your hips, a lame attempt to convince Drew to ditch his costume and join you. 

But nope. Not even when you start stripping, leaving the door open for him to peek. 

——

The bathroom was thick with steam, the fog clouding the mirror as the water poured from the shower head.

You stand underneath the spray; getting ready to wash your body next. 

When you reach for the soap, a much larger hand takes hold of yours, stopping you. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, Drew, who presses his body close. 

“Hi,” you flirtatiously start, which comes out more hitched. 

Feeling the soft press of his tip against your back, the breathing gets much harder to steady. 

The temperature in here is definitely rising- not because of the shower. 

“You mad?” Drew’s voice comes out low, a soft smile on his lips as he turns you around to face him. 

You don’t miss the quick glance down to your tits; his gaze lingering longer there than it should be. 

You cock your head to the side, pretending to think it over, but the teasing glint in your eyes gives you away. His hands move to your waist, rubbing circles over your skin, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer.

Your lack of response serves as an invitation for Drew to start planting kisses along your neck, lingering longer on your sweet-spots. 

“Drew…” you softly moan, the thoughts forgotten as he starts sucking the skin on your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer than he already is. His hands find themselves traveling down your body, squeezing your waist, ass, thighs, anywhere he likes. 

“I like this,” he murmurs against your skin, as his hand squeezes your ass again. 

“Mhm,” you lazily hum, running your hands through his wet hair, feeling his aroused dick brushing against your pussy. Shit.

His hands hook under your thighs; lifting you up effortlessly. And because of all the times you've done this, you instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pinning you against the tiled wall. 

This position causes his dick to brush against your inner thigh; your tits brushing his chest. 

“I like….”

Leaning against the wall, your gaze locks with his hooded blue eyes, feeling the weight of his stare on your lips. “…the way you take me in.”

You chuckle at Drew’s attempt at talk dirty, something you’ll always find amusing throughout your marriage with him. Okay, you liked it, but who were you if you didn’t play along with it? “Well, show me how much you like it.”

A dorky grin Drew fails to suppress shows on his lips, his hands’ gripping tightly on your flesh. His eyes flash down look at the closed proximity you both are in; before quickly flickering back up. 

That makes the blood rush to your cheeks, a flush creeping over your skin. 

“Gonna-“ he leans in and catches your lips in a messy kiss, his teeth pulling on your bottom lip. “-fuck your brains out.”

You breathlessly giggle at that too, your eyes softly focused on Drew, a smitten look in them. 

Without another comment, Drew adjusts his hips, and you feel his cock slowly entering you. Glancing down, your breath hitches as he thrusts in; deeply nested inside. 

“Fuck,” you moan out, tilting your head to rest against the wall.

The showering water that flows down might as well serve as lubricant- yet your walls still feel tight.

Your eyes close for a moment; and you feel Drew’s lips on your neck again- kissing hard enough to leave hickeys. He eventually trails down, lips coming in contact with your breasts. 

He groans as your hands travel down his neck, before tightening around his shoulders. Your nails dig in, averting the pressure there. 

“Drew…” you whine, hoping he starts moving, your eyes flustering open. 

He pulls away, his mouth opened slightly with the same smitten look in his eyes. “…looking at you like this-“ he delivers a thrust to your core; the shock of it causing a loud moan to escape your lips. He chuckles at that, before finishing his words, “makes me wanna put another baby in you.”

“Shit,” you breathe out, as his hips start to roughly slam into yours; one of his hands coming up to play with your tits. The sensation of his thick cock thrusting into you is enough to blur out his words. 

Your body bounces with each rough push his hips drill into your pussy- matching the moans escaping your mouth. He grunts, the sound matching the rising heat in the room, each exhale thick with the intensity building between you.

“F-feels so good,” you mumble.

“Feels good, yeah?” He chuckles lowly, repeating your words. You watch as a grin tugs itself at the corner of his lips, his blue eyes staring lustfully into yours. “Buried with my cock- you look pretty, babe.”

His words, the fast pace, his hands roaming all over sends an alarm to your core, your orgasm building and threatening to explode. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your walls clenching around him as he readjusts you; allowing his dick to thrust into the familiarity of your g-spot. “I’m, c-close”

“Yeah?” Drew kisses the corner of your lips, his moves never stopping. “Right on my cock, baby.”

His lips catches yours again, kissing you clumsily and swallowing the soft sounds you produced. 

The knot in your stomach goes undone- and you feel the warm liquid erupting out of you, over Drew’s cock. You clench around him again, as he continues his pace to chase out his own high. 

His moves become sloppier, his lips pulling away as his dick twitches inside of you, his cream painting your walls white. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out to leave the tip inside you, just to push fully back in again. 

You chuckle tiredly at that, as he shoves his cum deep into your cunt. “Oh, Drew…” your tone comes out almost like a whine, your throat going hoarse. 

You don’t even try to hide how limp your body is, muscles giving out on holding onto Drew. 

“My beautiful wife,” he almost purrs, blue eyes staring into yours in a smitten way that makes the butterflies in your stomach to fly widely loose. He sets you down on the floor slowly, helping you regain your balance. 

You let his warm hands brush away the hair sticking to the side of your face, the shower head pouring warm water over both of you.

You stand in silence, staring into each other's eyes, both trying to regain your composure from the intensity of the sex. 

“Love it when you talk dirty to me,” you suddenly say, your tone a mix of teasing and heat, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Drew catches onto that; his lips curving into a smirk. His hands slips back to your waist, settling there as if it belongs. “I’k what my girl likes.”

“Geez, what a man,” you tease, your breath catching as his fingers trace over your skin. “Knows what his girl wants.”

You lean in and kiss him briefly, yet pouring your emotions into it. He returns it; bringing one hand up to cup your face, angling it to allow access to his tongue. 

Fuck.

After six years of marriage, he can still easily turn you on like a switch���effortlessly, every damn time. 

You pull away, catching the fucked-out look in Drew’s eyes, the blue beaming down at you. “I’m sleepy,” you murmur, which was your meaning of ‘fuck me in bed, I’m tired’.

“‘Kay,” he murmurs, rubbing circles along your jaw, “let me, give you the princess treatment first, yeah?”

You snort at his words, as he reaches behind you to grab the soap. You don’t miss his low chuckle, even finding his own words funny. 

You relax, and let Drew give you the luxurious ‘princess treatment’, cleaning you up and ready for bed. 

——

Christmas morning

“Ben’s acting weird…”

You whisper to Drew, as you place the dishes into the sink. You spare subtle glances over at your son, sitting on the couch. 

His attention is fixed on the TV, his new toy in hand—opened first, his excitement obvious.

Drew leans against the counter, sipping on the third cup of coffee he made this morning. Last night, well, both of you didn’t get much sleep. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, before shrugging. “No?”

“Um, not to you,” you keep your voice low, standing next to Drew as you both watch the living room.

During breakfast, Ben had been shy, avoiding your gaze and giving short answers to your questions. But he seemed perfectly fine when you tucked him into bed yesterday. “Did I do something last night?”

Drew snickers, and when you glance at him, he casually unzips his jacket. With a smug grin, he reveals the hickeys you’d left on his neck last night. 

Shit. This man is a dad, and he can’t seem to be serious at all during times like this.

His grin escalates into laughter when you roll your eyes at him, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. Ask him for me, will you?”

“Alright, alr- I’ll do it.”

Drew doesn’t move, taking another sip of his coffee. 

You send him a glare, along with aggressively zipping his jacket back up. 

“You mean now, got it,” he chuckles, putting the cup down. You shake your head at him, a smile reappearing on your lips as he walks away. 

You busy yourself by scrolling through your Insta, liking posts you don’t care about. The soft whispers you hear are barely audible, drowned out by the TV and the occasional rumble of Ben’s toy.

It’s about two minutes in when you hear Drew’s throaty laugh through the house, Ben hurriedly yelling, “daddy! Quiet!”

“You got anything to support that?” Drew’s voice comes through, his attempt at keeping quiet failing miserably.

You glance up just in time to see Ben jump off Drew’s lap, rushing toward his room.

Meeting Drew’s gaze, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. You walk over and sit down beside him, waiting for an explanation.

“You’ll see. It’s hilarious,” Drew says with a grin, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. You give him a sideways glance, not buying it for a second. 

Ben runs back, his familiar blue eyes meeting yours for a split second before he quickly looks away.

“Wanna show Mommy what’s in your hand?” you chirp, your gaze landing on the toy camera you bought him a few months ago, now clutched tightly in his small hands.

He ignores you; walking straight into Drew’s arms. 

“Well that’s rude,” you murmur, but both father and son remain oblivious, their attention now fully on the toy camera.

As you try to sneak a peek, Drew leans away with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying whatever he’s looking at. Ben, on the other hand, glances at it nervously, his small brow furrowing in worry. 

Your curiosity grows by the minute, heightening when Ben says, “is mommy in trouble?”

His big, doe blue eyes meets yours again, and he looks like a sad puppy (much like his dad sometimes). It melts your heart; again proving you could never be mad at this kid. 

His dad, on the other hand, you might choke him to death if he doesn’t explain what’s going on right now. 

“Why don’t you tell mommy?” Drew teases, his hand rubbing Ben’s stomach in an assuring way. 

You can see the thought process on Ben’s face, the pout deepening as he concentrates. His small brows furrow, eyes narrowing in serious contemplation.

Finally, Ben points his little finger at you, his voice loud and clear. “Mommy kissed Santa Claus!”

Your mouth drops open in shock as your mind races through the events of last night. Shit. You kissed Drew, who was dressed as Santa. Then the shower together- But how did Ben catch you? Was he out of bed? Did he—

Drew flips the small toy camera’s screen toward you, revealing a paused video. There’s no mistaking it: it's you, mid-kiss, with Drew in his Santa costume.

Oh. So this was his great plan of catching Santa Claus. A hidden camera.

Your face flushes as you look back at Drew, who’s struggling to suppress his laugh. You quickly cover your mouth, trying to hide the matching smile creeping onto your lips.

“Oh, Ben, honey,” you start, your voice sweet but a little flustered. His eyes glance up at you, eagerly awaiting your response. Relax, he’s only a five-year old kid. “Santa needed help with the presents…and mommy helped him.”

You flash a small smile, hoping he’ll understand. Ben looks up at you with a puzzled face, clearly not buying it. 

Dammit, five-year olds are getting too smart these days. 

“Don’t worry; mommy’s on the good girls’ list,” Drew adds on, clearly enjoying this. 

You shoot him a glare - really? “Ben, mommy would never kiss Santa,” you say firmly. “I was hugging him- see?”

“But you kiss daddy like that all the time,” Ben loudly comments, fidgeting nervously. 

A soft laugh leaves Drew’s mouth, absolutely no help to his situation. Great, just another reminder to yourself to maybe keep the affectionate touches to a minimum around Ben in the future.

“Okay,” you start, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Yes, Mommy and Daddy kiss sometimes, but Santa—he's just, well, he’s just here to deliver the gifts. That’s all.”

You glance at Drew, who’s still trying (and failing) to hide his grin. “Right, Drew?” you add, shooting him a look that says get it together.

“Right, right,” Drew says quickly, trying to sound serious. 

“So, Ben,” you turn your gaze back to your son, holding his tiny hand. Gosh, he’s adorable. “Santa's just doing his job to make Christmas magical. Okay?”

Ben nods slowly, his tiny face scrunching as he seems to take it all in. “Okay, mommy.”

You smile fondly at him, reaching your arms out.

He lets out a laugh that’s eerily similar to Drew’s, a lighter sound as he buries into your embrace. The sound of his laughter fills the room, bringing a sense of joy to your heart.

Somehow, with all its goofiness, it’s moments like this that make everything feel so right.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, as he snuggles against you, you can’t help but think—god, he’s basically a mini version of Joseph Andrew Starkey.

“Mommy loves you,” you say, as Ben pulls away. 

“I love you too, Mommy,” he mumbles, his voice soft but genuine. Like every kid, though, his attention span is short. His eyes drift over to the Christmas tree, where a few presents remain under the glittering lights. “Can I open the rest?”

You nod at him, and Ben takes off immediately, racing towards the Christmas tree. You can't help but smile as you watch him grab the first big present in front of him, tearing it apart. 

Although, your smile falters as your eyes drift back to Drew. He’s lounging on the couch, a lazy smile on his lips as he watches Ben, clearly amused.

Without thinking, you slap his stomach a bit roughly, causing him to flinch in his seat.

"Hey!" Drew protests quietly, his eyes widening in surprise as he looks at you. "What was that for?”

“Really? ‘Good girls’ list’?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him.

He scoots himself closer to you, his smirk deepening, “you definitely took it like a good girl last night.”

Fuck. 

You freeze, his words hanging in the air, sending a shockwave through your chest.

"God, you're impossible,” you groan, slapping his hand away, the one trying to slip under your cardigan. 

Drew’s throaty laugh escapes again, wanting to further tease you when Ben interrupts the short conversation. 

He proudly shows off the present he got from ‘Santa’; a toy truck that he’s been begging for since forever. His small hands grip the toy truck, eyes wide with excitement.

The warmth of the moment radiates off you, and everything else fades away. Ben’s joy fills the room, and for a moment, it’s as if time stands still. 

The Christmas tree lights flicker softly in the background, casting a gentle glow, and the world outside feels distant, as if nothing else matters.

What a jolly merry Christmas. 

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

word count: 3.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i want drew's kids. and i hate kids. but i want his.

other | mistletoe | hallow's eve

[geneviveleocardius]

you ask them to wait for you out the fitting room

and you came out in lingerie, their favorite color

price

you tell him to wait outside the fitting room, and he does so without complaint, standing with his arms crossed and his hat low over his eyes. when you step out in a navy blue lingerie, his brows raise slightly, but he quickly schools his expression.

“bloody hell…” he mutters, looking you up and down with that steely gaze of his. he clears his throat and takes off his hat, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “looks… good on you, love.”

he’s trying to play it cool, but the tips of his ears go red, and he can’t seem to look anywhere else but you.

soap

“aye, you’re takin’ forever in there,” soap calls out impatiently, pacing outside the fitting room like he’s guarding a high-value target. when you step out in a red lingerie set, he freezes mid-step, his mouth hanging open.

“bloody hell, lass,” he exclaims, grinning like a kid who just got his favorite candy. “you’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”

he makes no effort to hide the fact he’s staring, his blue eyes practically sparkling. “c’mere, let me get a proper look,” he teases, winking.

ghost

ghost is leaning against the wall outside the fitting room, his arms crossed, and his mask firmly in place. he doesn’t say much when you tell him to wait, just nods slightly. but when you step out in a black lingerie, his head tilts just a fraction, and his gaze lingers on you.

“…not bad,” he says, his voice low and steady. but the way his eyes trace your figure says much more than his words.

he doesn’t move, just watches you with that intense, unreadable expression. after a moment, he finally adds, “you’re lucky there’s people around.”

gaz

“you better not keep me waiting all day,” gaz jokes, leaning against a rack of clothes and checking his phone. when you step out in a white lingerie, he nearly drops it.

“oh, damn,” he says, blinking a few times as if to make sure he’s seeing this right. “you look… incredible.”

his easygoing demeanor shifts slightly as he steps closer, his brown eyes full of admiration. “you sure you’re not trying to give me a heart attack? because it’s working.”

alejandro

alejandro leans casually against the fitting room door, a smirk playing on his lips. “you need me to come in there and help?” he teases. when you step out in a deep red lingerie, that confident smirk falters for a split second.

“mi amor… you’re stunning,” he says, his voice softening. he moves closer, his hand brushing your arm as his eyes roam over you appreciatively.

“you wear it better than i ever imagined,” he adds with a grin, his tone full of charm.

rudy

rudy is patiently waiting outside, his hands in his pockets, ever the gentleman. when you step out in a white lingerie, his jaw drops slightly, but he quickly catches himself.

“wow…” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “you look… beautiful.”

his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze for a moment, trying to give you some semblance of privacy, but his eyes can’t help but wander back to you. “you… uh… definitely picked the right color.”

[proxycrit]

Decided to write some oneshots! Less focus on Zelda and Link, and more on FAMILIAR FAMILIAR’s building blocks.

(Mineru and Naborus’s slow dance are interrupted by the horrors of war.)

(Fic under cut)

——— The First Act (Naborus)

Mineru seems to be actively trying to woo Naborus, and to her disgust, it works.

The zonai woman seems to haunt her steps, with a sly smile and cheeky wink. She slips next to Naborus during morning drills with foods meant to entice, and into evening bouts of paperwork with her little machines, fiddling and tinkering and always ready to help. Even her haughty hat she faffs around with is all but seared into the back of Naborus’s eyelids every time she closes them.

“You do understand,” she tried once, and only once, “that I am a gerudo chief and you are the last of the zonai, serving under the hylian empire.” She enunciates these hylian words as clear as she can, careful with this new language she forced herself to learn within four grueling months.

“Of course,” Mineru responded back in a heavily accented Gerudo. “But I still want to try.”

Naborus has always had a soft spot for fools. She doesn’t bring up their allegiances again, but Mineru redoubles her efforts. Naborus doesn’t explicitly accept them, but she doesn’t refute them either. She even finds herself automatically bringing two mugs of heavily steeped tea to her study one night. Mineru was waiting for her, eyes bright and ears perked.

It’s Ganondorf that ultimately cuts through the stalemate.

“You like her,” he accuses.

“I tolerate her,” Naborus grumbles. “She’s at most a desert lizard I water from time to time, so she doesn’t die.”

Ganondorf gives her a truly bombastic side eye. Naborus doesn’t mention his strange dance around Rauru, even though she’s tempted to point out his hypocrisy. Her soft spot for fools is a weakness.

“She’s working for the princess,” he warns. “We need time to ratify the treaty, and she’s a distraction.”

“She’s a guest,” Naborus responds, temper flaring. “And I don’t see you crunching the paper recently, little brother.”

They glare at each other, bristling like desert cats, before ganondorf’s shoulders slump. He’s been sleeping less and less lately. The dark circles under his eyes have been becoming more and more difficult to hide.

“It’s not safe,” he repeats helplessly. “There’s always a cost, with the hylians. You know this.”

“I know this,” Naborus responds wearily. “But Princess Sonia is different from her mother. Not because of any legends,” she adds, before her brother can protest, “but because she’s reaching out first. The zora and rito are perfectly happy. We have to trust the same amnesty will be given to us.”

“It’s different,” Ganondorf spits, “when their legends don’t constantly paint us as thieves and war mongers.” And Sonia, despite her stature, is part of that legend. That damned sword speaks to it.

The hylians want the great gerudo burial site. They want it for the precious minerals crystallizing deep under the sands, that glow green from the dead. They need it, for the war against the rising tide of undead monsters that threaten them all— gerudo, hylian, all the races of hyrule really. It already took most the zonai.

Naborus knows, deep down, she can not let the gerudo be the next.

But it hurts, to see their culture be trodden underfoot for this. And it hurts more, to hear Ganondorf’s urgent whispers that the Hylians will not stop.

Mineru and Rauru are the last of their kind. Surely there must be other zonai, hidden in pockets deep below or up in the sky, but the zonai (the only zonai) Naborus knows are her two guests. They don’t remember their mother tongue. They were raised by the Goron and Zora and eat hylian food and wear hylian clothes and practice hylian alchemy.

For all intents and purposes, they are hylian. They are what will lay in store for the gerudo, either it be through ganondorf’s terror of a slow cultural death, or naborus’s terror of a steady massacre.

And then Ganondorf finds those ruins, and it all goes to shit.

And then he tries to kill Sonia. Tries to infect Rauru with that malice. Becomes unknowable to her, and calls her traitor, as if he didn’t throw everything away for their shared dream.

Five days later, she arranges for a meeting.

Six days later, Sonia and Rauru show up at her doorstep.

“You can have the burial grounds,” Naborus says, and finds the dull ember of delight in Rauru’s flinch. Good. See him remember his own damned past, and let him know of his crime. Mockingly, she inclines her head to Princess Sonia. “At your behest, your highness.”

Sonia looks back. Implacable. Stone. She’s four heads shorter than Naborus, and yet her presence is crushing. Is this who you love, Naborus wanted to ask Mineru. Is this who you serve?

The rest of the negotiations is a blur. Rito will come help gerudo civilians escape the bombed remains of her city. Her people will find shelter along the coast, if they so wish. All Sonia needs is the Zonaite, and willing hands to take up arms and fight.

Fight who, she does not specify. But judging from her gaze flickering to the empty spot next to Naborus, it’s not difficult to infer.

When Mineru hesitates in front of Naborus’s door later that night, Naborus finally snaps. That dull apathy and shock suddenly becomes a monsoon of rage and betrayal, and she grabs the mug and throws it as hard as she can at the wall, an animal scream rising in her chest.

Mineru flinches back, ears pressed against her head. Naborus sinks, gasping for air, and curls into a wretched ball on the floor. Thin hands carefully encircle against her, and she leans into mineru’s chest, and weeps for her stupid baby brother, for her foolish naive self, for hoping for a beautiful future.

Tomorrow, the gerudo will have the war Ganondorf predicted. Tomorrow, Naborus will bow in front of the Hylian regency.

Mineru mumbles something into her hair, that she is unable to catch. But the zonai’s grip is tight, and she hums a song slow and low.

“What is that?” Naborus croaks, head still pillowed in Mineru’s arms.

There’s a shift of muscle under Naborus as Mineru readjusts herself into a more comfortable position, and then— “my mother taught me this.”

“Ah? I thought gorons are all men?”

Mineru laughs. “In hylian, yes they are called men. But no, I’m talking about my birth mother.”

“Oh,” and because Naborus has little filter, “what’s her name?”

Mineru went silent at that. Naborus feels a rush of self hatred. She shouldn’t have asked. She presumes much from somebody who isn’t even her citizen.

“I don’t remember,” Mineru says. She smiles at Naborus, eyes half squinted. “I just called her Mah. Zonai baby teeth give us terrible lisps, and young children don’t really know their parents as people, per say. Just protectors.”

“I’m sorry,” Naborus says. She wants Mineru to hum that song again, but doesn’t know how to ask.

“It’s okay,” Mineru says. “I don’t remember her. Its hard to miss what you don’t really know.”

“No,” Naborus protests. “It’s not okay at all. You shouldn’t have to-“ she back pedals, looks for anything to say at all, and settles on squeezing Mineru’s waist. “You deserve more than just a song.”

Mineru starts to hum again. Seeing Naborus unwilling to continue, the zonai sighs, cutting into the wound if the situation.

“You did the right thing.”

“Did I?”

“You want to save lives. There is no shame in that.”

“And what of the children who won’t remember their mother’s names?” Naborus asks, hurting. What of her people’s history?

“They’ll be alive to wonder, won’t they?”

Mineru’s voice sounded flat and far away.

And Naborus has nothing to say to that.

(Mineru tells herself this is for the best, and that she and Rauru turned out perfectly fine.

It’s a lie she’s grown comfortable with.)

———— The Second Act (Mineru)

When Ganondorf cuts her throat, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

Scared? Yeah. But surprised? Not really.

She took his sister from him. She represents hylian royalty. She’s collateral to Rauru. A sort of message, if you will.

You took my sister. I will take yours.

Fucking idiot. Naborus will never forgive him now, and neither would Rauru. He has single handedly severed any remaining goodwill, any chance of recollection, with this stunt, and the worst part is he probably did it on purpose.

Ganondorf looks different. His eyes are tired. The infection from his arm has spread to under his jaw. Baby Dragneel’s been practicing magic, she sees. He reaches down and gently plucks the secret stone from Mineru’s neck, and suddenly it’s worse.

She’s never going to be able to tell Naborus her secret. She’s never going to be able to give that stone to her beloved. She-

A scream splits the night air. It can’t be from her, because all her air is being stolen from her throat before it can reach her tongue, which tastes like iron. It can’t be from Ganondorf, who’s mouth is clenched shut, secret stone (alchemist’s stone) shining in his hand.

Ganondorf is blasted back by a wave of light.

The world is greying. Mineru feels the burn of Sonia’s time magic entrap her, freeze her. It hurts. It hurts more then her throat. Everything is tinged yellow and Mineru can’t move, and this must be what death is— caught between a peaceful slumber and agonizing living. She’s suffocating slowly. She’s scared.

Rauru’s face comes in focus. His hands are shaking. She can feel him pressing desperately against her as in the distance, Sonia, still clad in her white dress, chases the shadows away.

Mineru’s eyes slip close.

When she wakes up, she is surprised she’s not dead. She tries to say something, but the searing pain stops her, and her muffled jerk causes the lump at her feet to quiver. Rauru looks up, eyes bloodshot.

“Mimi?” He asks, voice hoarse. Mineru tries to say something, but the pain flares and she settles for a thumbs up. Rauru’s eyes start watering, and he presses his face into her hands.

“Mimi,” he whispers, and mineru pets his ears, like they were children again. She didn’t mean to scare him. She waits for him to collect himself, and takes the chance to look around the room.

It’s a nice room. The architecture is distinctly zoran, with luminous stones embedded into the walls for light and kelp thread curtains for privacy. It smells like fragrant lotus root and medicinal herbs. There’s a small study in the corner, filled with papers and a single potted specimen of a sundelion.

Rauru’s study, she realizes with a rush of fondness. This must be his room, when he was apprenticing under that Zoran healer.

“I…”

Her attention snaps back to her brother. At her attentive look, he quails. It’s not right. Rauru rarely quails, and mostly preens, like a peacock. At her impatient look, he closes his eyes, and Mineru’s stomach sinks.

“Ruta’s afraid there might be complications,” Rauru continues in a rush. “You���ll be on observation for possible lung clots and brain damage and infection.”

Mineru breathes.

“We couldn’t save your throat,” Rauru confesses, looking small. “Ruta cleared up your lungs and I managed to stabilize you, but. We couldn’t, your.”

That’s okay, she wants to say. I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.

But she can’t say that.

With her nonanswer, Rauru bows his head. Mineru grabs on to his hand before he can flee, and squeezes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezes back.

Mineru doesn’t take her new found muteness well. She struggles with hylian sign, and finds a near apoplectic rage in being unable to quickly explain her thoughts.

Writing isn’t the same, she wrote in harsh angry scratches with her chalkboard she’s taken to carrying around.

Naborus, bless her, has fashioned a straw for her with glass when they meet up for tea. Mineru used to haunt Naborus, enraptured by this woman and her no nonsense attitude and her unexplainable kindness. Now Naborus haunts her with bedding and sustenance.

They should be on the battlefield. The malice has overtaken another settlement, Mineru heard. But when she dug, she was sent away.

“More pillows?” Naborus asks, and Mineru holds up two thumbs for an aggressive agreement.

Can you get me construct f12, she writes when Naborus comes back wielding two cream pillows. Twinges, can fix, she slashes quickly at Naborus’s frown.

“You’re working?”

No time, Mineru scribbles. And at Naborus’s hesitant glance, she adds: bored.

“You should be resting.”

Can’t.

She will have nightmares again. Rauru promises the sundelion specimens he’s working on will stop the malice from taking hold, but she still dreams of that red pulsating mass, infecting her, burrowing into her.

She underlines Can’t twice, and hopes Naborus will get it.

Naborus drags a hand down her face, and exhales roughly. “Shit. Okay. I’ll go get your construct, but if you need any help at all you tell me, alright?”

At Mineru’s flat glare, she grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll get you a bell.”

The two sit in companionable silence after that. The construct mineru chose is a small, light weight thing. She is considering adding some sort of projectile weapon when she hears the low rhythmic hum of a song.

Oh, Mineru thinks. This is the song my mother taught me, and I taught you. Oh, Mineru thinks after suddenly overwhelmed with the realization— she will never sing her mother’s song again. She will never be able to join the chorus that was her last, remaining link. She will never-

Mineru wipes her eyes angrily. She can learn how to play a harmonica. Or a flute. The option isn't actually gone, just changed. She should just be glad she’s alive.

Doesn’t stop the tears, though.

When Naborus quietly holds her arms out, Mineru doesn’t fight the pull and slumps into her friend’s arms, and tries not to think of how Ganondorf stole not only her project’s notes, but her history from her too.

He’s Naborus’s brother.

She hates him more, for it.

[kitteninabunker]

thinking about constructionworker!toji who's at your house, working on renovations for the first story flooring since he’s gotten hired by your father. though he had little to no knowledge about how to actually build anything, the money was good so he took the opportunity.

you're woken up by the sound of a drill and hammers banging nails into the walls. groggily, you raise yourself to sit up in your bed, rubbing your sore, puffy eyes as the piercing sound of tools makes your ears ring loudly from all of the noise. why the hell would they come so early to work on the house?

slamming your head back against your pillow, you pick your other pillow up and press it against your ear, trying to drown out some of the noise coming from downstairs, but it's no use.

instead, you roll of bed and slip on your silk robe, wearing nothing beneath it. you’re gonna give whoever’s making all the noise a piece of your mind. walking out of your bedroom and up to the railing of your upstairs balcony, you see a team of men in yellow hats and orange vest doing random handiwork as you look down. you spot the one black haired man placing wood tiles onto the floor, and doing a horrifc job at it—toji.

"do any of you know what time it is???" you yell over the noise of the men working, your voice is barely audible over the noise but some of them turn their heads toward you at the sound of your voice before turning their attention back to their work. toji lifts his head to see you standing above him, your arms folded across your chest with a scowl on your face. your disapproval is obvious which makes him chuckle.

"i can't hear you!" he yells back at you, waving you to come downstairs. "maybe you should come down here so we can talk!" you roll your eyes and sigh at his request, walking to the staircase to step onto the first stair as you descend down. you approach toji as you stand there above him, looking down at him as he raises his head, the corner of his scared lips curling up into a smirk as his green eyes meet your piercing stare.

"why so cold, little lady? i'm just doin' my job." he says, looking back down at the wooden tiles as he places them on the floor. it's not like you knew the first thing about construction, but you could tell his technique would definitely cause more issues with the floor than it already has. "8:00 o'clock in the morning is a perfect time to come over and do construction.” you barked, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you look down at your imaginary watch on your bare wrist.

toji stands up from his haunches, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a gloved hand as if he's actually done anything worth sweating over. he places his hand on his hip as he looks over at you, his towering height looms over you which makes the scowl you have on your face even cuter. "your dad's out so i assumed the house was empty, let me apologize for waking you up." his voice is genuine, but you don’t catch it because you’re eyeing him up and down.

he's clad in a white thank top, speckled by dust and dirt from hours spent working on the floor. his tools hung from a worn, brown belt strap slung low around his beige work pants. maybe toji stood out to you the most because he's the only one half dressed for construction—not that you were complaining.

each time he raised his tank to wipe his face, the sharp cut of his abs and the trail of dark hair leading below his waistband became impossible to ignore. your eyes shamefully locked into the utter perfection he didn't bother hiding.

"w-well you see that i'm still here..." you whisper, your eyes glued to toji's frame as he tugs his tank back down, muscles rippling through the fabric. he runs a hand through his slick hair, his sharp eye catching the way you're eyeing him.

"you're staring." he says, his voice low and edged with amusement.

his voice breaks you out of your trance, and your eyes snap back to his face. heat crawls up your neck as you realize your expression had softened while you were ogling at the man's chest, so you scowl at him again. "whatever," you snap, quickly looking off to the side.

toji pivots on his heel to stand in your line of sight, forcing you to crane your head up at him to meet his gaze. his broad frame towers over you, casting a shadow over your face, and you swear his smirk grew wider as your breath catches in your throat.

"are you going to straighten up," he murmurs, his voice dropping, “or do i need to fuck that attitude out of you?"

before you know it, you're bent over on your bathroom countertop, legs trembling as your cunt gushes around toji's cock, slick dripping out in thick strings down your thighs. toji's hips snap against your ass with brutal precision, each trust feels like his dick is pushing into your stomach. "look at you," he growls, his voice dripping with mockery as he roughly cups your face with a large hand as he grips your slack jaw, forcing you to look up into the bathroom mirror at your face "all it takes is a good fuckin' to shut that dumbass mouth of yours, huh?"

your vision blurs as you keep staring at yourself—your hair sprawled out over your head, tears streaking your flushed cheeks and your nose red from crying—your lips are parted, trembling from the endless stream of broken moans and breathless gasps. toji leans in, his scared lips brushing the shell of your ear as his free hand slides up your belly and grabs your tits, rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers. "c'monnn, keep watchin', he sneers, his voice low and taunting. "see what you look like getting your slutty little pussy stretched out."

the guttural slap of skin fills the room, being drowned out by the muffled noises of the workers outside. the very sound you were cursing earlier now served as a shield for your shame, you thanked whatever force or luck was keeping the men oblivious—to the fact you're being fucked silly by a stranger in your own house before you even got a chance to eat breakfast, and toji's absence. though it's not enough to conceal the shameful squelch of your pussy taking him in so deep. you bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the soft whimpers spilling from your throat, but toji doesn't let up.

his fingers curl into the plush of your hips, his nails digging deeply into your skin, dragging you back to meet his trust. the tip of his cock kissing your sensitive and bruised cervix that has your legs shaking uncontrollably.

"you're so fuckin' tight," he groans, his eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into you as your entrance flutters around his thick shaft. "shit, you're squeezin' me like you're beggin' me to fill you up." he lets out a low laugh, teeth scraping against the side of your neck before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. the sting makes you cry out, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. "oh, you like that, huh? filthy little thing—this the kinda shit you've been waitin' for?"

you can barely breathe, your vision blurring as tears keep spilling over. the pressure builds unbearably fast, heat pooling low in your stomach. "i-i…fuck, i can't," you gasp, shaking your head as the intensity of toji’s fast thrust overwhelm you.

"you can, and you will," toji growls, his hand snaking down to your clit, rough fingers circling the sensitive nub with just enough pressure to send you hurtling toward the edge. "ain't lettin' you off that easy."

your knees buckle, but he keeps you upright, his cock drilling into you mercilessly as you fall apart around him. the lewd squelch of your release gushes around his length, soaking his thighs and the counter beneath you. "shit, look at this mess," he mutters, gripping your ass with one hand to spread you open, his thrusts growing sloppier as he chases his own high.

"since your squirtin' on my dick—fuckkkk...—maybe your daddy doesn't have to pay me. he'd be horrified enough to know his daughter's got off on my dick." toji goans deeply into your ear as your pussy squirts out the rest of your cum, your slick coating his shaft as it bubbles in a ring around the base of his cock. your head dips to the side before toji roughly grabs your jaw again.

"keep that fuckin' pretty mouth open," he snarls, tilting your head toward the mirror again. "gonna make you watch when I fill this pussy up. that's what you want, isn't it? my cock buried so deep you feel me for days?"

you let out a loud, helpless whimper at the mere mention of toji cumming...inside of you? you'd really be carrying a stranger's baby without an ounce of shame, and the idea of him filling you up right now doesn't sound to bad, especially when his cock is spitting you open so good, fucking you so deep and hard you can hardly form a coherent sentence.

"talk to me, girl." toji growls, his voice sharp and commanding as his trust grow more punishing. the heavy slap of his swollen balls against your soaked pussy echo in the room, their weight tightening as his cock twitches inside of you.

"y-yesss, daddy—aaahh—fuck, i-i want your seed...!" your trembling words slip through your mouth. toji groans out as he feels your walls clamping down onto him tighter and tighter, milking him harder as he struggles to hold himself back.

toji's hand comes down hard on your ass, slapping the fat of your cheeks as he grips your ass, spreading you open wider so you can take him even deeper. "mmm, that's what i wanna hear." his pace turns sloppier than before, each pump of his dick pulls another nasty squelch from your soaked cunt. "gonna pump ya so full my cums' gonna be dripping outta ya for days."

your head lolls forward, lips parted in a daze. but toji's grip doesn't let up, you feel him wrapping both of his strong arms around your waist to keep you in place, fucking your vaccum of a pussy in long, drawn out strokes as he cums deeply inside of you. your walls clamp down on him violently, spasming around his pulsing cock, milking every last drop of his cum. he stays buried inside, groaning as his cock twitches, warmth spilling deep into your womb.

"shit, you're squeezing me dry." he groans, his cock pulsating violently inside of you as your body jolts in his arms. you can feel each squirt of his seed spilling out from his fat tip, his heavy chest vibrates against you as his lets out another throaty groan. "bet this load's gonna be leaking out of you for hours, isn't it?" you give him a shy nod, your head barely moving against his chest, your body too spent to do anything else.

he smirks, feeling the slight motion. one of his hands snakes down to your ass as he kneads it possessively. toji presses his nose against your hair, inhaling your sweet scent deeply as his cock gives you another lazy throb inside of your sensitive slit. "greedy little thing," he groans as he slowly pulls out, a lewd squelch fills the room as his thick cum begins to leak out of your tiny hole.

his hand gives your ass a sharp slap, making you wince as you pussy tightens from the sudden movement, pushing more of toji's cum out as it drips down your thighs. "now go take a shower," he demands, pulling his pants back up without cleaning your juices off of his dick.

[dollwonz]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆ 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖽! 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 — 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗋𝗈𝗍! 𐙚⋆°｡⋆

a/n — emowonz new comeback ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝!

thinking about.. nerd!jungwon helping you study for your upcoming final. you've been failing all of your test, quizzes, even project! if you didnt pass this final you could even get kicked out uni! but lucky for your intelligent boyfriend wonnie can help! the two of you sat at your pink desk in your room sharing a chair because you only had on leaving you sitting pretty on wons lap.

thinking about.. how distracted you get when you see wonnies hands as he writes, the grab he has on the pen — you wished his hand was around your throat. snapping back to reality once you hear your boyfriend rasp, "princess, are you focusing? im trying to help you" he speaks in such a gentle tone making your entire body shutter. "but wonnie I need you" you feel yourself grow needy causing you to roll your hips onto the boys hard on. Jungwon gasped immediately grabbing your hips still. the black frames resting on his nose even more intelligent than he is. "listen baby you need to focus, you know I dont reward bad behavior mhm?~" he teased in your ear as his fingers danced with the hem of your pink laced shorts, making you sigh as you felt a puddle form in your panties.

thinking about.. how jungwon slaps your clit anytime you get a question wrong! he could be so mean to you sometimes (｡>﹏<) you were spread out on the bed as jungwon eyes burned through your body like lasers. he's been toying with your clit for a good 15 minutes now which felt like forever! "cmon princess you got this one more time, "what two elements are alike in reactivity?" he questions you rubbing your slimy cunt to sooth the sting, lapping your juices all over his fingers. "Ba and mg!" you shouted feeling your high about to collapsed onto you. "thats my smart girl, go ahead baby, cum — come all over my fucking fingers please" he rasped speeding his pace amongst your clit causing you to jerk upwards onto his fingers. your sweet cream dripping down his fingers placing his two digits into your mouth "suck" he spat and you did as you were told, he loves the control he has over you.

thinking about.. you finally passed the final! you may have only got a 70% but hey its not horrible! calling jungwon that your ready to go home and your so excited to break the good news to him. you run toward the taller blond man who's wearing a black compression shirt which you love on him, along with grey sweats with a black yankees hat. not even caring that your pink skirt was rising causing your pink thong to show as you jumped on him, jungwon immediately noticed making him place his hand over your heat to hide it from the public, but you were used to things like that. "baby baby baby!, look I passed all from your help!" you cheered as your boyfriend looked down at you like you were an angel on earth. "my pretty genius" won praised you pecking your forehead multiple times making heat rise to your cheeks. "looks like you need a reward mhm?" he whispered in your ear making you nod with a shy smile. leading the two of you in the back of his car in no time rewarding you with the gift of creaming on his dick soooo many times ㅤ♡!

[catalinasroom]

stranger things fics

steve harrington

it's just us @andvys

You and Steve hated each other from the first moment you met but when you get betrayed by the people you love the most, all you have is each other. (8k)

ain't it fun? @maroon-cardigan

since high school you were always regarded as a top student with a brilliant future, but after college is over you find yourself doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do: moving back to hawkins. if being a total failure wasn’t humiliating enough, once you’re back you find out that your friends now hang out with no other than your high school bully. (29k)

touch me baby @sweatervest-obsessed

(21.7k)

chrisrtmas affairs @maroon-cardigan

your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him. (26.7k)

indifferent @stevesherdaddynowlover

you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention (15.5k)

whats the name of the game? @maroon-cardigan

every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade. (25.6k)

stuck @thecreelhouse

Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. (4.6k)

come home @stevie-petey

come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington. (series)

save room for us @maroon-cardigan

one year after his divorce, steve sets his mind to give his daughter nellie an unforgettable christmas, yet in the midst of his efforts, he finds himself orbiting around the pretty receptionist that works in his office, diving into a holiday season full of secret encounters and sensual indecency. (24.2k) part two (20.2k)

guts! @water-loos

(series)

three's a secret @general-kenobis

You and Steve are friends with benefits. However, you've been wanting to try something way out of your comfort zone, and it brings Steve to a mission: find someone who agrees to your intentions. (Ps: your guest has a very peculiar piercing on his body) (7k) ft eddie munson

the edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) @andvys

Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end. (series)

gasoline @stevie-petey

it starts out simple enough. photograph the februarys in exchange for a cheap place to live. all you have to do is go to their gigs, take a few pictures, and hope that they like them.it starts out simple enough. until the bands frontman, steve harrington, begs for more. (series)

training wheels @maroon-cardigan

first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. you and steve have never been good at doing things for the first time, not unless you're together. yet there are certain types of tension that not even the strongest friendship can bear, and after years of distance you two can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that all those firsts were only leading you towards forever. (22.8k)

eddie munson

the hat rule @ghost-proofbaby

the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy. (13.3k)

forbidden fruit of desire @frombeyondthegravez

You are a dancer in the city, consistently trying to stay in line and be perfect. You usually don't let people see the darker desires plaguing you, but one man discovers too much at a party. He offers you a chance to get a taste of these fantasies, and you can't help but give in...if only you knew what he was hiding. (8k)

are you or have you ever been @elegantpaperoperatormaker

You’re the most popular girl in school, a 4.0 student, a fantastic cheerleader, and a  force to be reckoned with. Eddie is…well, Eddie. When you two mix, it’s like oil and water. Spewing hateful insults one minute and hooking up the next, you and Eddie navigate the thin line between love and hate.  (25.4k) part two (14.7k)

secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) @andvys

A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever. (20.4k)

smoke me out @strangerstilinski

you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends? (7.4k)

[ruinix]

Can you please write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and Y/n in a pool?

Hello, my lovely. I took so long again. My bad. Do you remember Quinn’s photo in the hot tub (one of those he posted)? Yes? No? (I attached a photo at the end of this drabble) Safe to say, i wanted to join him when he put it out. He is just so cute. It's nearly 3AM...so no proofread. sorry. Also I wrote this with midseason in my head and I forgot that it could be winter (or fall?)…let’s ignore that plot hole. I beg. Please. Let's just think is a heated pool. (I keep forgetting about seasons and I am so used to private hot spring pools, my bad. sorry).

Fairylights and Wildflowers

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, (mention of) Exploration of Hobbies (shopping, crocheting, puzzles), lots of Kisses, Semi-Public sex / Pool sex (it's a private pool in a rented airbnb...but it's outside so...🫣), Unprotected sex (use protection, lovelies)

Count: 3737 words | Masterlist

You’re taking long. Quinn learned not to bother you when you’re preparing—or whatever it is you’re doing now when you insist on surprising him—a long time ago. Who is he to deny what you want? If you want him to wait in the damn pool by himself until he’s a prune, he’ll do it.

Although, maybe, he thinks that you’re going to surprise him with a bikini. He wonders what bikini you’ll wear. He tries to keep up with your online purchases. It’s easy to track over because you ramble about them over dinner, over calls, over texts, over anything. You like your “retail therapy”—that’s what you called it. Not just bikinis. You buy a lot of things you come across. Honestly, it’s so cute.

One time, you decided to learn how to crochet, so you bought several balls of yarns and crocheting needles. Your first fruit of labor is a misshapen bear. The ears are lopsided. One arm is more stuffed than the other. The eyes are currently mismatched, because one of its eyes fell and got lost, so you replaced it with a different button. Still, it’s a bear. A unique looking one. You love it so much and so do Quinn. When you jokingly said it is now your and Quinn’s first child, he was quick to buy it a small Canucks jersey and hat that is definitely too big, so now it rests on your bookshelf, sitting inside the upside-down hat, right next to your favorite books.

Quinn always finds himself staring at it while he dusts your books. It has grown on him. A clumsy start of a hobby, for sure, but an amazing memory. Since then, you’ve made a couple more stuffed animals then you transitioned to blankets, scarves, and sweaters. While you insist you are still a beginner with the hobby, Quinn views you as an expert, especially when you kept giving him cozy items. They are all so perfect in his eyes.

You’ve inspired him to try to make his own, but his hands cramp up. He always ends up sulking in his armchair, gripping his yarn and needle so tightly, watching you do your own project or read your books. After minutes, you’ll notice him then you’ll be on him, holding his cheeks after you take away his basket of yarns and needle, kissing him to distract him further. What a distraction. It works every single time. So, whenever you pick up your basket of yarns, he will too, patiently waiting—sulking or not—for kisses and more.

Another time, you went all out with puzzles. Some of your game nights with Quinn turned into completing said puzzles. Quinn ends up dozing off after he takes a brief break, for the sake of his aching back, on the couch. He will wake up with you in his arms, blankets over both of you. Every time he just watches you sleep, cursing whenever he can’t reach his phone to kill his alarm, trying his best to close his hands over your ears, but you’ll also wake up, rubbing your face into his chest.

Every time, you’ll greet him, not hiding your greedy inhales of his scent, your hand running down between you two, down over his aching cock.

That’s how you get him.

Fuck morning skates. Fuck meetings. Fuck anything else.

He’ll spend his morning buried deep inside you until you demand breakfast.

Beyond those tiny hobbies, you’ve also been rampant at buying clothes. From pajamas to everyday dresses to evening gowns. You’ve braved several sites. Your experiences are either a hit or a miss. Quinn knows what it’ll be. If you like it, you’ll show it to him. If you don’t, you’ll be huffing as you process a refund. He’ll try to be understanding and mature, but the way you huff and puff makes him laugh.

“Stop laughing!” You are on him, lecturing him about not laughing at you. “Quinn!”

Your whines only push him to laugh harder, teasing you that he wants to see the dress, poking his finger on your tickle points, grinning widely when you squeal and run away. He’ll be hot on your heels, needing to get your mind off your failed purchase, because he rather has you irritated with him than sulking over things. Just for those times, he won’t be talking about how any piece of clothing you put on will take his breath away, because he knows it won’t help with the dilemma.

Now, after he reminisces your online purchases, he settles on the submerged sitting area.

He runs his hand over his face, shaking his head slightly, splashing water everywhere. No one will care about the splatter. It’s a pool. You will care though. You won’t police him into not doing so, no. You will be delighted. You will be amused. You will shake your own head, laughing in your silent amusement, then you will splash him with an expert swipe over the water. It’s fucking amazing.

You’re amazing.

Of course, you are. You planned this little getaway so quickly after you heard that his maintenance day follows a weekend where he doesn’t have any scheduled game or plans. It will be just the two of you. That thought excited him. He didn’t even think of inviting anyone for this getaway. In fact, he never even thought of anyone else joining the two of you. Except for now. What if you invited someone? Well, shit. If you do, then…whatever. There’s lots of room in this place anyway. He’ll make it work.

He looks up to see a glimpse of you from a window. You’re wearing a white fluffy robe. From what he can see, you are skipping. You must be having so much fun. You can be so animatic, so adorable, so excited. He still remembers how your eyes shone when you told him about your successful booking over videocall, smiling so widely as you typed in the address he should drive to, jumping when you greeted him as he arrived. He likes that. He likes seeing you having a ton of fun with your own spending. He loves being spoiled right back.

Although, he wishes that you’ll finally come down.

He’s getting bored.

A little bit.

No.

He’s extremely bored.

He’s already done several laps. He wants to see you now. He misses you when you’re just there. Sighing, he stretches his arms over the edge, half-slouching further on the sitting edge, half-floating. He takes his time, embracing the silence of the night,

He hopes that you didn’t invite anyone else. It’s already getting late. If you had guests, they would’ve been over by now. However, he also knows your friends. Some of them are always so down to last minute hangouts. Tonight, he hopes they’re not. 

Or whomever you invited.

Can’t he just have you to himself?

He’s not really up for socializing this weekend. Can he just be alone with—

“Hi, Quinn,” you greet, suddenly there, leaning over so your face will be in his line of sight. “Having a good time?”

For someone who has gotten impatient, Quinn finds himself unable to speak as he looks up at you, absently nodding and watching your smile widen. He really can’t speak. He almost forgets to breathe. Because the fairy lights are casting a soft glow around your head, perfectly illuminating the strands of your hair that you’ve styled, shining on the pretty skin on your shoulders, your waist, your hips, your legs, and everywhere else. Like every bit of your being is touched by the heavens.

Like you’re a star that’s gazing and twinkling just for him.

You take his breath away.

How can someone be so beautiful? So majestic?  

“Did it hurt?” He asks before he can stop himself.

“Hurt?” you echo, frowning before lowering yourself to sit next to him, dipping your legs into the pool.

Quinn follows every movement of your legs, how the water parts and waves over them. The light and shadow patterns look wonderful on your skin as waves move, refracting every light that hits its surface. It looks wondrous. He glances at his own, not liking how the patterns look on him. He likes it better on you.

Before he gets trap in his head, his cheeks burning white-hot, he finishes, “When you fell from the sky.”

Your grin widens, your eyes crinkling at the sides. A giggle escapes you. “Is that a pickup line, Quinny?”

He looks away. He brushes his hand over his face then up through his hair to push away the wet strands away from his burning face. He nearly chokes as he says, “Yeah. Kinda.”

“I like it.” Your voice sounds closer, so he turns and immediately receives a kiss, making his heart tumble all over the place. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Don’t be embarrassed.”

He nods, reaching to touch your leg, his thumb softly making circles on your calf, adding pressure to massage your muscles. You let him do it, fully facing him, offering him your other leg too. He takes it with his other hand. He’s focused on nothing but the task on hand. That is, until you raise your feet up, your toes wiggle, so he notices your painted toenails.

“You like ‘em?” you ask, biting your lip. “I got them to match my nails.”

Quinn slowly tracks his eyes up your legs, over your thighs, over your tummy, your shoulders, your neck, your face. He inhales and catches the soft powdery and flowery scent of your lotion and body oil. You smell divine. Then he looks at your delicate hands, at your nails that are painted a shade of pink, that compliments your skin tone, with white tips. While your toenails only have those, you have small flowers on your nails and dainty gemstones for their centers.

His heart beats harder as his need to kiss you arises. So, he does. He kisses every decorated nail, his hands holding yours tenderly like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away even when he knows you won’t. He can’t help it when you look like a fairy that may vanish in the blink of his eyes. He can’t afford to lose you. Never. With every kiss on your every nail, on every knuckle, on each of the backs of your hands, he breathes his desperation to keep you.

Can you feel it?

He overturns your hands, kissing your palms. One by one. Even softer yet firmer, his lips pressing down. Despite wanting to taste your skin, he doesn’t. It can wait. He needs you to feel his love. His affection towards you.

He gazes up, meeting your eyes. He holds your hands, his thumbs soothingly rubbing over your palm. He realizes that you are wearing the swimsuit he bought you months ago. It’s simple. A white triangle bikini top and its matching bottom. The white strings in bows look beautiful on your nape and your hips. You’re finally wearing it. It looks so fucking good on you.

If this is your surprise bikini, he’s delighted. Very much so.

“I love everything,” he gulps the lump in his throat, gazing up your eyes like you hung the moon and stars and everything else above, because he bets that you did. Maybe you are a goddess who became human or is pretending to be human. Maybe that’s the reason why you look ethereal. “I love you.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, leaning back as if you need distance from him. “You’re doing it again.” You almost take your hands away from him, but he holds them firmly.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmurs, coming closer. “What exactly am I doing?” He wraps his arm around your waist. Instead of pulling you which would hurt because of the pebble details, he moves—crossing the little distance between you two—until your lips are mere inches away from his. “My Love,” he urges, repeating, “What am I doing?”

“Looking at me with those eyes, like,” you pause, gulping as you look into his eyes, “like…like you want to consume me.”

Because he does.

He wants everything that you’ll give him.

Everything that is you.

You are everything.

He has never loved someone as deeply as he loves you. You’re it. His forever.

“Do you want me to stop?” His other hand finds your neck, his fingers running through the softness of your hair near your nape, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw.

“No,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. You inhale, licking your lips as anticipation buzzes the air.  “Never.” Your hands graze over his chest, tracing over his collarbone. “I love you too, Quinn.”

He kisses you like his life depended on it, because it is. Ever since he met you. His love only grows and grows, blossoming like wildflowers of mixed variety. They litter the grass as they dance with the wind, flourishing with every drop of rain, every ray of the sun, every nutrient drawn from the soil. Resilient and thriving. He truly loves you. Every piece of him is devoted to you.

He kisses you harder, letting you feel how deep his love has rooted in his soul. His tongue glides with yours. He can taste the mint of your toothpaste and the sweetness of the fruits you were munching on while you’re getting ready. Berries. Apples. So much apples. He deepens the kiss to taste more of it, savoring how wonderful it mixes with you.

“Oh, Quinn,” you murmur into his lips, mounting his lap, the water sloshing against your bodies.

He also whispers your name. It spilled out of him like a prayer. He kisses you deeper, hungrier, thirstier. He holds you tighter, his fingers firmly pressing into your skin, keeping you to him. He fears if he lets go, you will go away even when your hands slide through his hair, tugging and angling his head. Quinn follows, not stopping the kiss, focusing on how your lips feel against his, your tongue against his, your pussy against his dick despite the existence of your bikini and his trunks.

“Tell me something.” He draws his kisses to your jaw, smelling the scent of your perfume you sprayed behind your ear. “Are we expecting guests?”

“Just us,” you pant, grinding against him. Your actions still, your eyebrows meeting. “Do you want guests?”

“No. Just want you all to myself right now, my Love.” He grips your hips, urging you to move again, groaning when you do. “I was just thinking how I’ll steal you away.” He smirks when you giggle, the sudden worry that you felt falls away. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say, your tone light, your fingers scratching over his beard. He can see the mischief shining from your eyes. “I love it when we sneak, but I made sure it’s just us.”

“Thank you,” he gasps as you grind down on him. “Oh, my Love. We should go—”

“No,” you cut him off, tilting his chin up, your lips grazing over, making him chase you. “We can do it here.”

Whatever you want.

Your lips are once again touching. Now, he swallows the moan you let out while you swallow his—each of you spurring each other on with the noises that escape you two—as pleasure seeps down his bones, right from his cock. His skin rises with goosebumps, shivers running down while also up his fucking spine. He’s utterly gone and he’s not even inside of you yet. This is what you do to him.

And he loves that.

His hand snakes over your lower back, pressing down to glue your midsection to him. Then while you nip his lower lip, he curves his hand over your ass, squeezing your flesh, making you bite down on his lip harder that he swears your broke skin. You are so close. He sees how your pupils swallow your irises. How your eyelashes fan down with your blinks. How your brows curve upwards and furrowing together. His eyes are getting drawn to the beaty marks you have on your face. All while his fingers slip into your bottoms, sliding between your ass, down to your pussy, feeling your arousal.

“Quinn,” you whine. You bury your face on his neck.

“Someone’s getting needy,” he teases. His finger sinks into your quivering pussy. He adds another. He licks his lip, not tasting any copper which means you didn’t break skin. It disappoints him a little, but that’s not important, because your pussy squeezes around his fingers. It feels fucking amazing. “Is it here, my Love?” He prods the spongy spot that has you squirming.

“Yes,” you sob. You keep grinding down against his cock, up and down, putting pressure against your sensitive clit. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Have I ever stopped?” He asks, fucking you with his fingers. You shake your head, desperately meeting his every thrust. “Look at me.” You did, panting with your cheeks bright red. His other hand comes up, undoing the ribbon of your top. Your tits spill out. Your nipples are hard and begging to be touched, so he does, softly feeling and pinching the pebbled peak. “How are you so pretty?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, your hand slides down between your bodies, pushing down his trunks. Your teeth clench down on your lip.

Quinn pulls your bottoms to the side, just in time for you to lift your hips. His cock hits your pussy so perfectly. He helps you move down his length. Inch by inch. Both of you moan and are getting so overwhelmed by the feel of each other. Your hands hold his shoulders, sinking those pretty nails into his skin, while his hands hold your hips so tightly that he might leave fingerprint bruises later.

He wants that. He wants to leave his marks on your body, but he craves yours on his. He loves when you leave scratches down his back or just on his shoulder, which you are now fucking doing. Those pretty fucking claws. He curses from the sting, from the excessive need for more, more, and more.

“Harder,” he grits. His hand finds your hair, tugging to crane your neck, so he can kiss and suck your skin, leaving his own bruising marks. “Mark me up, my Love.”

“Oh, fuck, Quinn.” You whine your hips as you sink down cock. Again and again. You whine, whispering his name like it’s a plea, “Quinn. Quinn. Quinn.”

Quinn starts to meet your thrusts, feeling himself touch deeper inside your pussy. The slight tremble of your walls tells him you are close. So close. He is too. His cock aches, needing to release right fucking now, but he holds himself back because he needs to feel you come first. He needs it.

He continues teasing over your nipples, his thumb running on the line of the underside of your tits. Desperately, he nips on your earlobes, sloppily licking his way down to your collarbone to mark everything he can reach. Your movements turn sloppier, your back arching, your moans turning into eager whimpers.

“Let go, my Love. I got you.” Quinn kisses your lips, just enough, pulling away to hear your sounds then kissing you back again. He’s almost playing, teasing, taunting you, making you make more sounds that had his cock twitching in your pussy. “Just let go.”

You do. A breathy scream pours out of your lips, your pussy squeezing so tightly that he can’t hold back. He doesn’t want to hold back. Why would he want to? Your pussy is way too perfect not to fill with his hot cum. He holds your hips down as he spills deep, deep inside you. Panting, he kisses you fully, needing to taste you on his lips, needing to feel more connected with you.

Fuck, you feel so good. Your arms wrap around his torso. Your legs come around him, clinging onto him. You fit around him so perfectly. Like pieces of wood carved specifically to join without nails or screws. Just carved to perfection for a seamless joinery.

“Wow,” you sigh, resting your forehead against his. “This is so nice.”

Quinn hums, savoring your feel. His head is slightly spinning. He blinks slowly as he’s in a daze, marveling how you glow after sex, the fairly lights glinting on your skin. You can’t be real. You’re just so pretty. Incredibly so.

He moves after you when you part from him, mindlessly following you out of the pool, watching you fix your bikini, so he tugs his trunks on to fix it, inhaling sharply as it grazes his sensitive cock, gritting his teeth when it twitches at the mere sight of your ass. He should fucking stop or else he might die because he’s a horny fuck.

He quickly swipes his towel from the bench, helping you dry off, kneeling on one knee so he can dab water from your shins. He looks up, his heart booming against his ribs. He realizes how gorgeous you look from below. He already knows this, but the position is making him think about the future, about him holding a velvet box with a ring that he will have custom-made, about him asking for your hand. To be your forever. Your partner. A possibility for so much more.

The way you’re looking down at him tells him that he might not be the only one thinking about it.

Yet, he stands.

No matter how perfect the moment is. He won’t take this away from you. You’ve made this getaway happen. Your surprises still wait to be discovered even when the surprise of you wearing his chosen bikini for you is already more than enough. He knows you’ve done more. You’ve made this all happen for him. For him.

When he asks to be your husband, the day will be for you. Not him.

He will plan everything out. As perfect as he can. All for you. This can all wait.

For now, he’ll take everything you’ve prepared.

Besides, there is way too much room in this place. He needs to claim you on each surface, after he receives the gifts that have your eyes sparkling with mischief as you grab his hand and pull him towards the house, after he makes you dinner and more.

Here it is (from his post)

Silly boy in the hot tub, we must join him. Jk. (...unless???)

[piroulinewafers]

requesting!!

possessive and jealous caleb who cant take the sight of mc in a little bikini. she looks so hood but he can’t let anyone else see her like this so he sucks and plays with her nipples till they’re so sore the only thing she can wear now are caleb’s oversized shirts

(also not sure if you take these requests but could she also be on the smaller chest side, totally okay if you don’t accept body specific requests.)

🫶🫶🫶

𝐚/𝐧: i've been thinking about this request for like a week hehe... admittedly my productivity is waining </3 i usually write pretty generally but i'm fine with body specific requests most of the time! i wrote this generally in line with such.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: nipple play idk. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

caleb wasn’t sure who he was mad at more— the sun, the sea or that damn bikini that he should’ve never let leave the store rack. 

she stood by the shoreline, the little blue and white striped two-piece catching the light like it had a grudge against his sanity. the bows on her hips fluttered with the breeze, her shoulders shining with sunscreen that he had just applied, and her top— god help him— was the smallest piece of fabric he’d ever seen called clothing.

and she was tugging at it. adjusting it. wrapping her arms over her chest like she had something to hide.

she spotted him where he sat beneath the umbrella, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying his best not to make it obvious he was glaring holes into the horizon behind her. or maybe through the pack of guys playing volleyball a little too close for comfort and letting their eyes wander.

she trudged back toward him, the sand soft beneath her steps, leaving little prints all the way up to where he sat stiff-backed in the shade. she stood in front of him, pout already in place.

“gege,” she murmured, tugging at the strings at her back and turning halfway. “can you tighten this a little? it feel loose…” 

his sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked up at her.

loose? loose ?!

she was already wearing nothing as is basically.

but he didn’t say that. instead, he gave a tight grunt, rising to his feet, brushing the sand off his shorts. his hands were warm, large palms brushing over the delicate curve of her back as he reached for the thin strings. 

“i still think we should’ve gone later when it isn’t as busy,” he muttered, tugging the bow tighter with more force than necessary— though careful not to harm her.

“i wanted to come,” she said simply, softly. “it’s nice out. i thought it’d be fun.”

his jaw clenched as he knotted the string neatly and gave the bow a final tug on the right side. she shivered a little when his knuckles brushed against the bare skin of her spine.

“there,” he said softly, voice low. “snug.” 

she turned back around, adjusting the top with her hands as if she still wasn’t quite satisfied. her fingers toyed with the fabric, and then, of course, came the complaint. 

“it’s still kind of gappy…”

he blinked once. “gappy?”

she gestured vaguely at her chest. “i don’t fill it out that well…” 

caleb just huffed, shaking his head. “that top’s just too small, that’s what.”

“i-its not even that small, it’s gappy—“

he grunted. “it is. too small. way too small. what were you thinking wearin’ this in public?”

her head dipped. “you said beach day….” 

“yeah. i meant towels. sandcastles. maybe a bit t-shirt and one of those dumb sun hats you like.”

she whined softly and covered her face. “you’re being dramatic, gege. it’s a beach, i want to wear a cute bikini.”

“i’m been’ reasonable,” he muttered, already unscrewing the cap to the sunscreen. “now sit still.”

“gege, i already did it— “ she fussed.

“noe,” caleb cut her off, flipping the cap open with one thumb. “not good enough. you missed a few spots.”

“i didn’t— “

“you did,” he said firmly, and that was that.

she huffed again, drawing her knees up a little more after sitting down. he shifted behind her, making her lean forward just a little as he squeezed sunscreen into his palm.

“you act like you’ve never been in the sun before.” she muttered.

“not with you in that little thing,” he simple grumbled in return, rubbing his hands together before spreading gate lotion across her shoulders. 

she jumped slightly at the first touch. “it’s cold!”

“you’ll live,” he responded, but even he had to slow down, hands gliding with almost reverent pressure over her bare skin. her back was soft, and warm from the sun. his thumbs brushed over her shoulders blades, slowly working the sunscreen in with practiced care.

“stop squirming,” he added, palms sliding to her lower back. “you want me to miss somethin’ and let you burn up?”

“i said i already did my back,” she grumbled in response, voice muffled as she tried not to melt under his touch. “you’re so overbearing.”

“and yet here you are,” he replied , earning close enough that his breath tickled the shell of her ear. “lettin’ me do it anyways.”

she made a tiny noise but didn’t argue.

his hands roamed slow, methodical, smoothing every inch with ridiculous focus. it should’ve been quick— routine. but his brain was short-circuiting. she was warm and practically half-naked before him, dressed like a little dream and sounding like temptation ever time she sighed under his hands.

he swallowed hard and pulled away with effort. “alright. turn.”

she blinked up at him. “what? no, caleb— my front is fine, i did that part too—“

“did you get under the straps?” he pointed to the white little straps, gently flicking the bow at her shoulders as a part of the design. “or your collarbones? your nose? you always forget your nose.”

she gave him a look, but sighed and turned toward him, arms still loosely crossed over her chest. 

caleb raised a brow. “pips.”

she let them drop with a muttered, “you’re impossible.”

caleb tried to keep his face neutral, but it was hard when she sat there in front of him, shy and squirmy and absolutely not helping his ability to function. he warmed a little sunscreen in his hands agin, then started at her shoulders, thumbs brushing over the fragile bones beneath her skin.

“you’re tremblin’,” he lightly teased, voice lower now. “what’re you so nervous for?”

“you’re staring,” she mumbled.

“I have to look,” he said. “you want me to do it right, don’t you?”

she looked away, pouting and he softened a little. then he slide his fingers up, gently smoothing lotion down her collarbone, slow and careful. when he reached the top edge of her bikini, he hesitated for a second, then kept going, thumbs brushing just beneath the fabric’s edge, where the sun would hit.

she squeaked. 

“hold still,” he murmured, but his voice was rougher now, betraying the way he was very much not holding still inside. 

“i can do it myself,” she offered weakly.

“nope,” he answered, again, always the same. “i’ve got you.” 

he finished with her chest, fingers just barely brushing down the centre of her sternum before shifting his touch to her cheeks. she blinked when he dotted a bit on her nose, then spread it gently over her scrunched face.

his hands continued their descent however, fingers skimming the sides of her ribcage before coming to rest on the delicate curve of her chest. he could feel her heart point beneath his palms as he began to smooth the sunscreen again over her skin, his touch lingering and lingering until it bordered on a caress. 

her chest was small, barely a handful at best and even that was a reach. but they were subtle in shape but soft with a slope that disappeared gently into the flat of her sternum. there wasn’t much there, not by anyone’s standards, but it was hers. modest and understated, like the rest of her. maybe that was why is drove her insane. 

caleb traced the edge of the fabric, dipping just slightly beneath to tease the soft flesh underneath. she gasped softly, her back arching slightly as a holt of sensation shot through her.

 “caleb,” she whimpered, glancing around nervously to see if anyone had noticed his brazen touch. “not here, someone might see…”

“i don’t care, let them see. you’re drivin’ me mad.” caleb growled, his voice low and rough with desire. his hands covered her small mounds completely, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh until her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her bikini top, which admittedly wasn’t all that much of a challenge. he could feel them hardening beneath his touch, the pebbled peaks pressing into his palms as he rolled and plucked at them through the material.

“gege, please…” she begged, but her protest was cut off by a sharp gasp as caleb ducked his head, flipping the top downwards and caught one stiff nipple between his teeth. 

he sucked, hard, drawing the sensitive bud into the wet heat of his mouth as his hand continued to plunder and grope her other tender breast. she writhed beneath his touch, nails digging into his thigh as she fought the urge to cry out, soft, nervous pantings of his name leaving her. 

he seemed determined to mark her, to leave his claim on her body for all to see. he laved her nipple with his tongue, sucking hard enough to leave blooming red hickeys in the shape of his mouth. his fingers pinched and tugged at the tender buds, rolling them between the pads of his fingers until she could only whimper and moan helplessly. 

by the time caleb finally released her, her breasts were red and sore, puffy, the skin tender to the touch. her nipples throbbed, the flesh puffy and sensitive from caleb’s relentless assault. she could barelyy stand to have her bikini top brush against them, let alone the rough fabric of a towel. caleb seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her discomfort, smirking as he watched her squirm. 

caleb could see the way her small chest heaved with each shuddering breath, the way her nipples strained against the fabric of her bikini top. he knew he had her right where he wanted her— at his mercy, craving his touch even though she wished to push him away.

“look at you, so sensitive” he taunted, fingers plucking at her abused nipples. they were puffy and tender to the touch. despite her lack of endearment, he couldn’t resist the temptation to keep toying with them, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingertips till she was whimpering pitifully.

caleb’s eyes gleamed with a possessive light as he took in the sight of her abused flesh, small breasts mottled red, the skin incredibly sensitive and sore to the touch. he could practically see the outline of his fingers imprinted on the tender swell, the remnant of his hungry kisses. 

“i don’t think you’ll be able to wear that flimsy bikini top for the rest of the day.” he reached out and trailed a finger along the edge of the fabric, watching as she shuddered and bit her lip to keep from whimpering. “in fact, i don’t think you should wear the top at all.”

her eyes widened at his implication, huffing as she shook her head vehemently. “caleb, i can’t— “ she stammered glancing around the crowded beach nervously.

caleb’s response was swift and decisive. he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head, revealing his muscular torso. 

her breath caught in her throat at the sight, her eyes roaming over the hard planes of his chest. caleb had always been fit, but the years in the daa and with the carapace fleet had honed his body into one sculpted by the gods. 

“no one will see,” he promised, “not if you wear my shirt. i won’t let anyone see you like this, with my marks all over your skin. i know you get embarrassed easily.” he smiled, tapping her nose as he tilted his head. “hm, is that it? are you embarrassed of your gege?”

he moved to help her put on his shirt, guiding her arms through the sleeves, his fingers brushing against her skin and sending little tingles of electricity in their wake. she shivered slightly at his touch, still feeling the lingering ache from his earlier ministrations. 

“here, let me help you,” he murmured, voice low and gentle as he eased the shirt down her torso, the fabric swallowing up her figure under she looked like the shirt was dwarfing her entirely. the shirt hung loosely on her, the neckline slipping off her shoulder and revealing the creamy expanse of skin there. caleb couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at the sight.

“there,” he let out, smoothing the hem down with both hands, a satisfied sound leaving his throat. “much better.”

she peeked up at him beneath her lashes, a soft little pout forming on her lips. “you’re a jerk.”

“damn right i am,” he said, brushing a hand along the curve of her jaw before tilting her chin up. “you walk around looking like that, and you expect me to share? not happening.”

his voice dipped low, right against her ear. “you’re mine.”

and with one arm sliding firmly around her waist, he kept her tucked beneath his side sitting on the beach towel— exactly where he wanted her. 

out of sight, out of reach, and all his.

[lov3rmir]

LOVE SIGN !

CONTENT INVOLVE

✦ — summary: domestic moment with genshin men. al-haitham / kinich / neuvillette. ✦ — cw: mention of injuries (kinich) ⁞ suggestive (neuvillette) ⁞ ajaw being an opp ⁞ mentions of intimacy but nothing nsfw (neuvillette) ⁞ 1.3k wc ⁞ just testing some layouts ⁞ not proof read we die like tingyun ⁞ a ref to a manhwa (neuvillette).

AL-HAITHAM — SLEEPING IN.

The morning’s sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains. Two sleeping figures were tangled in a mess of blankets. 

Al-haitham’s arms encircled around your waist, pressing your back further in his chest. Soft snores coming off you as he sleepily admires you. Your eyelashes resting on your cheeks, fluttering just the slightest as you begin to awake. 

He only continues to stare, his eyes often glancing down at your lips. He leans in closer, until your lips ghostly touch his. He presses a kiss in the corner of your lips, moving up to your cheeks. All while you stir and struggle to wake up. 

“G’morning love”, he whispers against your skin. His hands kneading at your hips, drawing odd shapes and pinching you when you start to fall back asleep. 

You groan, shifting to face him. He lets you, loosening his grips until you comfortably hide yourself in the crook of his collarbone. “Mornin’...” you groggily greet. Your own hands pushing him back into you. He was comfortable.

Al-haitham chuckles, adoring you even more. “You’re adorable.” 

You enjoy these moments. 

Moments where you get to experience the softer side of Al-haitham. The side which only you are privileged to see. Contrary to the usual snarky remarks his mouth breathes, soft words laced with un-denying love and affections spill out whenever you are in the privacy of your home.

You hum, almost melting into him. 

Until he ruined the moment, “You need to get up, you have work, remember?”

“Al-haitham!! Who cares, I’ll call in sick and spend the day with you in bed.”

“Seems like a good plan.”

Even though he will never admit it, Al-haitham loves moments like these. Maybe skipping work is worth it if it means he gets to hold you more.

KINICH — COOKING TOGETHER.

“Ingredients?” hands on your hips, you smiled at Kinich. 

“There.” He jabbed his thumb towards the row of ingredients.  “Did you go blind when you woke up?” Always the extra comment with Ajaw.

“Aprons?” Ignoring the flying pixels, you continued on with your checklist. Kinich looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the ‘Kiss the cook’ apron you were currently wearing. “Check.” 

“No it’s not! You aren’t wearing yours!” turning around you reached for the bright pink apron resting on the counter. And just as you walked closer to Kinich, the latter took a step back. This continued on until he was back to back with the wall. 

An obvious displeased expression could be seen. He eyed the apron as though it just killed his family. “No.” 

“Come on, it'll be funny! ” you pushed the apron on his face. Giving him your best convincing smile. “Pretty please?” batting your eyelashes at him, trying to muster up a kicked-puppy look that will push him to wear the apron. 

Kinich groaned as he took the apron from your hands, looking between it and your pleading eyes. And with a defeated sigh, he put it on. 

You had to admit it clashed on him. Suppressing your laugh, you regretted not bringing a kamera to capture the moment. 

“Simp!” Ajaw wheezed at the sight of Kinich's serious face clashing with the bright pink apron. His pixelated body was twirling as he couldn't stop the laughs from escaping him. “You look so dumb! Maybe you should add a frilly hat and say in a cutesy tone ‘of course master!’ C’mon say it with me! Of course mas—” Ajaw didn’t have the time to finish his sentence before he was shoved into the oven, Kinich turning on the heat.

“Hey wait, you aren’t actually going to cook him?”

Kinich only stared dead in the eye, “I always wanted to taste dragon's meat. Do you think it will have a trash type of taste? Considering this dragon I won’t be surprised.” 

With no hesitation, Kinich slowly turned up the heat in the oven. “You ungrateful scum! How dare you do this to your almighty dragon! Hey– Kinich! Let me out, it’s getting hotter!” 

The distress calls were muffled, but you could hear Ajaw clearly. (with his normal volume, you bet you could still hear him even from miles away.) Exasperated, you sighed. Placing your hands on Kinich’s shoulder, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, let him out, I’m sure he learned his lesson.” 

“Another.” he muttered, “Huh?” What did he want? More of what?. “Another kiss and I’ll let him out.” blinking twice, a giggle erupted. You held his face in your hands, bringing him closer to you. Your lips finally on his. Kinich savored the moment. Ignoring the distant cries of the annoying pixel.

He already turned off the oven, it’s fine if you stayed like this for a while. No?

NEUVILLETTE — BATHING & GOSSIP.

The Ludex has many duties. Some leave him with a heavy burden to carry. Many times has the Ludex questioned the very foundation of justice. Many times Neuvillette wished the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale would deliver a different judgment. 

Neuvillette was convinced if he didn’t have you by his side, archons knew how crazy he would have turned. 

But he had you. He had you to sooth his cries in the midst of the night, he had your sweet voice whispering words of love— lulling him back to sleep. Neuvillette had you to anchor him. And he will forever be grateful to have met you.

Another way you used to relax him, was coaxing him into taking a bath together. 

He had been intimate with you many times. But somehow, taking a bath with you felt more. . .emotional. 

Not the sexual intimacy you often experienced whenever the mood was right, no. This was more.

And his belief was reinforced as your fingers combs through his hair. Shampoo being gently massaged on his scalp. The Hydro dragon caught himself falling asleep too much he had lost count. 

But could anyone blame him? Neuvillette was smitten by you.

“Enjoying yourself, handsome?” Has he mentioned how sweet your voice was? Neuvillette feels as though he mentioned it too little. Leaning into your touch, the man hummed, “I would die before I ever not enjoy your touch my love.” 

“Ever the charmer, maybe you could give a few tips to Maxwell.” you giggled, recounting about Maxwell who sucked at flirting with his crush. Neuvillette could recite every rumor that circled around in society in the past months. 

You always kept him updated, sometimes barging in his office during working hours (he never minds. He actually thanked you for giving him a breathing moment to forget about all the paperwork and trials.) retelling how you overheard a couple recently broke up due to one of the partners cheating and taking all the money their partner gained through hard labor.

(“You might want to expect a case about this! And promise me when you do, give me ALL the details!”) 

Neuvillette finds himself indulging your little hobby. Giving you small details from cases and moments during trials. 

(“About the cheating scandal from last week, apparently the one he cheated on with was the step-sister of his girlfriend. And what more, the step-mother was the one behind the money stealing.”

“No way!! Poor girl, I hope she is better now..”

“Oh she is. I checked up on her earlier this week and she had found a better man. Black hair and red eyes. As for her family and partner, the step-sister is currently working as a maid and the step-mother was charged with murder of her deceased husband and attempted murder of her step-daughter. ”

“Gasp! Oh you have to tell me everything that went down!”)

Neuvillette was content with indulging you, but he was happier to listen to your sweet voice. 

“Love, could you tell me more about your day? Or just anything will do. I would like to hear your voice more.” you chuckled quickly agreeing and going on a tangent. 

The Ludex was lucky to have you. 

©— lov3rmir. 2024

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Boundless of Energy || Dante Sparda ||

A/n: I hope you like it! Dante from DMC5 as a dad

(i love this scruffy Dante)

@mannythemunchkin i hop you like it!

The sun filtered softly through the curtains of the Devil May Cry office, casting golden streaks across the dusty floorboards and cluttered furniture. Among the chaos of weapons, demon-hunting contracts, and half-drunk cups of coffee, a new kind of chaos had taken root—toddler chaos.

“Come back here, you little gremlin!” Dante’s voice echoed as he sprinted barefoot through the office, fadedcred coat flaring behind him like a cape.

A high-pitched giggle rang out as the toddler in question—his own kid, somehow blessed with more energy than a Sparda bloodline should legally allow—bolted across the room wearing nothing but a diaper and one of Nero’s missing gloves as a hat.

You leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Watching Dante, legendary devil hunter, trip over a discarded pizza box while trying to catch a two-foot-tall whirlwind of mischief was easily the highlight of your week.

“This isn’t even funny anymore!” he huffed, nearly face-planting into the couch cushions. “That kid’s faster than a Hell Caina on steroids.”

“They are your kid,” you called back, voice full of amused warmth.

Dante whipped around with an exaggerated glare, hair wild, one boot on, the other one who knows where. “I didn’t sign up for this level of cardio!”

"He's two Dante."

The toddler shrieked with glee, darting past him again, this time wielding Dante’s Rebellion—well, the foam replica you bought because they kept trying to pick up the real one. Still, the image of your baby stomping around with a giant toy sword yelling “HYAHH!” was something out of an absurd fever dream.

You finally gave in to the laughter, hiding your face in your hands as you doubled over, shoulders shaking.

“Oh, now you laugh,” Dante muttered, scooping the toddler up mid-charge and holding them upside down like a sack of potatoes. The kid squealed and flailed, but the giggling never stopped.

“You’re doing great,” you said between chuckles, walking over and brushing a kiss against Dante’s flushed cheek.

He raised a brow, sweat sticking to his forehead. “You mean that?” His white hair a mess, scruff still covering his face.

“No. But you look great doing it.”

He groaned, tossing himself down on the couch with the toddler sprawled across his chest, now contentedly chewing on the glove-hat. Little giggles leaving his lips as he happily curled into his fathers arms.

As you curled up next to them, you couldn’t help but smile.

Dante, demon hunter extraordinaire, slayer of hellspawn, was now battling a far more chaotic force: parenthood.

He was losing And honestly? He wouldn't have had it any other way.

"You're a wonderful father Dante." You smiled as your fingers caressed his cheek, his gaze softened as he grasped your fingers bringing it to his lips.

"You're a wonderful mother too, best fucking mother I know." He muttered then kissed the inside of your wrist.

[pseudowho]

"Good girl-- good girl, that's it! Listen to your body."

A bag full of snacks, and books, and massage oils, all woefully surplus to requirements, flung to the side of the room. The dappled reflection of under-lit water on the dark ceiling. A stack of warm towels. A tiny woollen hat. A little trolley of equipment; a calm attendant wearing smiles and blue.

Kento, knelt at the edge of the pool, his shirtsleeves soaked to the shoulder. One thick arm looped around your neck and chest as if he meant to throttle you, when really, he just needed to be held. Or, did you need to be held? The paired clinging comfort to be found in the gloom of fear, was not mutually exclusive, it seemed.

"Amazing work...you're doing so well, sweetheart...just going to listen to the baby's heart..."

Your heart and Kento's pounded in tandem, almost as fast as the little pwssh-pwssh-pwssh-pwssh of your baby's heart, tinny on the Doppler, as the midwife's hand swished through the water. Kento whispered to you, his cheek clasped to your temple, sweatslick hair sticking you together.

"Our baby-- that's our baby-- god I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I wish I could do this for you--"

You gasped, splashing legs clamouring for resistance against the edge of the pool, writhing back against Kento. Kento's face crumpled, his teeth gritting so hard against your agony, they crunched.

You bellowed, another contraction roaring through you like wildfire, and you gripped Kento's arm. Your scream became a roar as you pushed, absurdly, overwhelmingly dragged from your body by a brutal force of nature. You barely heard Kento's hushed rumble, through the haze of blinding pain.

"...can do it, you can do it, you're so strong-- not long now-- nearly here, they're nearly here, our baby--"

You gasped again, seeing stars for a moment, surely being cleaved in half and you panicked, crying out and digging your nails in. Kento didn't care, surely deserving this, certain your nails didn't sting as much as the stretch you felt stung. You babbled at Kento and the midwife, pleading, bargaining.

"I can't do it anymore-- please don't make me, please please--"

"You're doing it, sweetheart. The biggest part of the head is coming with the next push-- with the next one, just listen to me, and breathe. No pushing. Just little breaths."

You looked up at Kento, your eyes feverish with the love that ripped you asunder. Kento nodded, trusting you, trying to hide the fear and miserable male helplessness and uselessness that threatened to fill him with violence, if he did not cling so desperately to being gentle instead.

Kento felt you tense; another pain peaking as you shook your head, sobbing so briefly, only to be replaced by gritted resolution. Kento saw the fire in your eyes as you began to roar, and thought his heart may break with the weight of his adoration.

Kento grasped you close, your fingers plaited together. He whispered to you as you trembled, fighting against nature as your body pushed for you.

"...that's it-- that's it-- just breathe, little breaths, little breaths-- I know it stings, good girl, good girl-- and the head's out!"

Kento's heart stopped, to see the crest of a little head, its soft waves of hair swishing in the birthing pool. Invigorated by thrill, almost weeping with excitement, he whispered to you, heated and trembling.

"--oh god-- right there, they're right there-- nearly got them, we'll know what we've got--"

"Just one more big push, sweetheart-- one big push with the next contraction, and your baby's here--"

Almost ten months of blooming and worry and scans and building and laughing and crying and aching and fearing, all ended in one enormous push, and a whoosh, and a cry...

...and a cry, wet and sweet and crumpled and on your chest, mother and child still bound together by the string of life.

Kento buckled against the side of the pool. Still he held you, looking down at you, looking down at your baby, blue and angry and baleful at having been shoved into the world from their warm dark kingdom.

Arms replaced the womb, and Kento huffed a couple of great sobs to hear you babble love at your scrumply flailing babe.

"--oh my god-- oh you're so beautiful-- oh, mummy loves you-- daddy loves you--"

Daddy. Kento almost buckled again, nuzzling his tears away into your hair, smothering your sweaty cheeks with kisses and relief. His voice was thick with joy, the fever of pain in your eyes replaced with elation, clasping the boon of a champion within your arms.

"Thank you. I can't...I can't thank you-- I-- love you, love you both so much--"

You gazed up at Kento, basking, your eyes glazed. "Kento...Ken...what have we got? Tell me-- tell me what we've got."

Kento sniffled, looking at the midwife as if for permission. She looked on, an enamoured, privileged bystander, and nodded encouragingly to Kento. Kento leaned over you, gently lifting his baby's legs apart, peering under the cord.

He huffed a single wet laugh, and looked at you, honey-brown eyes rimmed red. Kento's voice was gravelly as he stroked your hair back, to your wondrous grin.

"You were right, lover...as always."

[inseobts]

hiiii!!! i hope you're having a good day 💖 i love your writing sm!! if your requests are open can i ask for a law x reader where reader used to date ace and was there when he died in marineford so she saw Law save luffy, so she joins the heart pirates as a way to thank him for saving Ace little brother. They slowly fall in love but won't admit it and when Law leaves to fight Doffy reader admits her feelings bc she's terrified of losing Law. They get together when they see each other again in zou

please please but it's okay if you can't or don't want to!!! 💖

Tides of Fate

law × reader (+ ace x reader)

a/n: this request was totally my kind of fav plots lmao thank you

words count: 5.9k

tags: slow burn, angst with a happy ending, marineford aftermath, emotional baggage

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Luffy sits on the shore, his face blank. Too blank. The kind of emptiness that only comes after losing everything.

You know that feeling. It’s the same one you're feeling right now, that it's hard to breathe.

Tearing your gaze away, you turn toward the submarine where Law stands with his arms crossed, waiting. If you’re going to do this, you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you step toward Luffy “Luffy.”

He doesn’t look up.

“I’m leaving.”

His fingers tighten around the bracelet, knuckles white “With them?” His voice is hoarse, raw.

You swallow hard “Yeah.”

Finally, he lifts his head, eyes bloodshot but focused on you “Why?”

You hesitate, because the real answer feels too heavy to say out loud. Because if I stay, I’ll break apart. Because the ache in your chest is unbearable, and you don’t know how to exist in this world without Ace in it.

Instead, you say, “I don’t have anywhere else to go... No one to go to.”

Luffy flinches, but you know he understands. He’s feeling it too.

His jaw tightens “You… you have me. You don’t have to go.”

You kneel in front of him, forcing a small smile “You have your crew, Luffy. They’re coming back to you. But me…” Your voice wavers, and you hate it “I need time.”

Luffy stares at you for a long moment before exhaling shakily “Ace really loved you, y’know.”

Your breath catches.

Luffy grips his hat and presses it to his forehead “So that means you’re like my sister-in-law,” he mumbles, voice thick with emotion “And I protect my family.”

Your vision blurs. You clench your fists to stop your hands from shaking.

“Luffy…”

He looks at you, his expression serious in a way you rarely see “You’re always gonna be my family. Don't forget it. You can come to me whenever you want and need to.”

The words nearly break you.

You force yourself to smile, even if it wobbles “Then you better take care of yourself, little brother.”

His lip trembles, but he nods “You too.”

You take a deep breath, memorizing the sight of him, before finally standing.

Law is waiting, watching silently as you step aboard. You don’t look back.

“That was dramatic” he mutters once you’re beside him.

You huff a weak laugh, hiding your tears “Shut up.”

He doesn’t push you for more, just nods toward the submarine’s entrance “Come on, Y/N-ya. We’re leaving.”

And with that, the Heart Pirates set sail, and you leave the past behind.

The Polar Tang is… different. Not in a bad way, just different. It’s quieter than the Moby Dick, smaller, and runs a lot smoother since it’s a submarine. The crew is nice enough, but they watch you carefully, like they’re waiting to see if you’ll actually stick around, and like they're afraid to say the wrong things.

You don’t blame them. You’re still trying to figure all that out yourself.

What you do know is that you’re not wearing that.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up the black and yellow jumpsuit like it personally offended you “There is no way I’m wearing this.”

Penguin grins “Aw, c’mon, it’s tradition! We all wear them.”

“Yeah, and you all look dumb.” You toss the uniform back at him.

Shachi snickers “She’s got a point.”

Bepo tilts his head “But it helps with unity!”

“I don’t care.” You cross your arms “I just lost my last family. I’m not replacing them by playing dress-up with you guys.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. You didn’t mean to let that slip, but it’s too late now.

Penguin and Shachi exchange glances, suddenly looking unsure. Bepo’s ears lower slightly.

Before anyone can say anything, Law’s voice cuts through the air.

“She doesn’t have to wear it.”

You turn to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze flicks to the uniform in Penguin’s hands before settling back on you “As long as she follows orders, it doesn’t matter what she wears.”

You smirk, triumphant but still hiding the regrets of your previous words “See? Captain’s orders.”

Penguin groans “Man, you’re getting special treatment already?”

Law clicks his tongue “Tch. Don’t be stupid. She’s not getting special treatment.” He pushes off the wall and starts walking away “Now get back to work.”

The others grumble but scatter, leaving you standing there, still holding your ground.

Law pauses at the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder “You really will be following orders, though.”

You roll your eyes “Yeah, yeah, Captain. You don't have to repeat it again.”

He watches you for a second longer before walking away.

You exhale, shoulders slumping. You still don’t know if this was the right choice. But for now, you’re here and that’s enough.

Days pass, then weeks. You settle into life on the Polar Tang, though settle might be a strong word. You’re still figuring out your place here, still deciding if this is home or just a temporary stop before the sea pulls you somewhere else.

The Heart Pirates warm up to you quickly, especially Penguin and Shachi, who have made it their mission to pester you at every opportunity. Bepo is a sweetheart, and you swear Ikkaku enjoys giving you extra work just to see if you’ll complain.

And then there’s Law.

Your relationship with him is… strange. He’s your captain now, and he makes sure you don’t forget it. He orders you around, assigns you tasks, and corrects you whenever you mess up. But he also lets you push back more than he probably should.

Like now.

“You’re not getting out of training, Y/N-ya,” Law says, arms crossed as he watches you from across the room “You’re part of this crew, which means you need to be able to hold your own.”

You sigh, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pointedly not moving “I can hold my own.”

“You haven’t fought once since you got here.”

“That’s not true. I threw a wrench at Shachi last week.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It should.”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a second, Law freezes.

You don’t know why your heart starts beating faster. You don’t know why it suddenly feels like the room is too small, too quiet.

Then, he scoffs “Tch. Keep dreaming.”

You smirk, pushing yourself up “Fine, fine. I’ll train. But only because I choose to.”

Law rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

As you walk past him, you can feel his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long, and for some reason, that makes it just a little easier to breathe.

It's another day with them and dinner is as loud as always. Penguin and Shachi are arguing over who gets the last piece of meat, Bepo is calmly eating his food, and Ikkaku is scolding someone about their table manners. It’s chaotic, messy, and full of life.

You should feel comforted by it.

But then, Shachi laughs, almost losing another game “Doesn’t matter what happens, we’ll figure it out! That’s just how we are, right? We don’t let anyone mess with our family.”

It’s innocent. Just a casual statement made as a joke for a game. But your whole body freezes.

We don’t let anyone mess with our family.

The words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You’ve heard them before. Ace used to say them all the time.

“Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it!”

Your breath catches.

You see Ace in your mind so clearly, grinning, full of warmth and unwavering confidence. His arm draped over your shoulders, his voice always so sure.

“You’re stuck with me, you know. You’re family.”

The sound of laughter around you distorts. Your hands tremble against the table. Your chest tightens so hard it hurts.

Ace said those words all the time, and now he’s gone.

Your vision blurs.

You push your chair back so fast it screeches against the floor.

The room falls silent.

“Y/N-ya?” Law’s voice is cautious, but you can’t answer.

You stand abruptly, shoving away from the table as the weight in your chest becomes unbearable.

You hear Bepo call after you, but you’re already moving, already pushing out the door before anyone can stop you.

The hallway is quiet, but it doesn’t help. Your heart is pounding, your breathing uneven. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

You don’t know where you’re going, just away.

But then...

“Y/N-ya.”

Law.

His voice is calmer than it should be, given the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of dinner. You hear his footsteps behind you, steady and deliberate. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand you stop, but you do.

Because you don’t want to be alone.

You lean against the cool metal wall, staring at the ground, swallowing down the sobs threatening to escape.

Law steps beside you, close enough that his presence is solid, grounding. He doesn’t speak right away, just waits.

After a moment, you exhale shakily “Ace used to say that.” Your voice is hoarse “What Shachi said. About family. I know Shachi was joking, it's not his fault. My mind just started thinking too much, again.”

Law is silent, but you know he’s listening.

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay “Ace always said it like nothing could ever touch us. Like as long as we had each other, we’d be okay.”

Your voice cracks.

“But we weren’t. We obviously aren’t.”

And then, suddenly, you can’t hold it in anymore.

The sob breaks free before you can stop it, and then another. Your shoulders shake as you clutch your arms, as if holding yourself together.

Then you feel warmth.

A hand on your back. Firm, steady. Not pushing, just there.

Law doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move away either. He lets you cry, lets you break, without judgment or expectation.

And when your knees nearly give out, he catches you, pulling you close, solid and steady, as if to say, I won’t let you fall. And for the first time since Marineford, you let yourself lean on someone else.

A few months passed…

Of course, things don’t magically get better. That’s not how grief works.

But they shift. Slowly. Subtly.

The crew doesn’t bring up that night you ran out of dinner crying, not directly. But you notice how they’re a little gentler now. Bepo always sits next to you. Penguin and Shachi tease you a bit less (but only a bit), and Ikkaku throws you extra portions without saying a word.

They don’t push. They don’t ask. But they see you.

And Law hasn’t changed. Not exactly. He still gives out orders like commands are oxygen, still gets that narrowed-eye look when you mess up during training, and still acts like emotions are an inconvenience.

But you catch him watching you sometimes. When he thinks you’re not looking.

And when you do catch him, he doesn’t look away.

It’s a calm evening, which is rare. The Polar Tang is surfacing for the night, drifting peacefully on the open sea. You’re up on the deck, sitting cross-legged and staring at the stars, enjoying the breeze on your face.

Law’s voice breaks the silence.

“Not hiding in your room tonight.”

You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

“I like it up here,” you say, shrugging “it’s quiet. The stars help.”

Law walks over without asking and sits beside you, not close enough to touch, but closer than usual.

You blink “No book tonight?”

He smirks faintly “Even I get tired of reading medical journals.”

You hum and tilt your head back to the sky “Do you ever think about how small we are out here?”

Law doesn’t answer right away “All the time.”

Silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable.

You pick at a loose thread on your pants, then quietly say, “It still hurts.”

“I know.”

You turn to look at him “Do you think it ever goes away?”

Law’s eyes flick to yours, and for a second, his walls drop.

“No,” he says simply “But you get better at carrying it.”

You nod slowly. That makes sense.

You both sit there, the silence stretching, stars spinning above.

Then he speaks again, quiet and careful “You’ve changed.”

You snort “Thanks?”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You glance at him, surprised.

He’s looking out at the ocean now “When you came aboard, I didn’t think you’d last a week.”

You raise an eyebrow “Wow. Inspiring confidence, Captain.”

He smirks again, but it fades fast “But you stayed. Even after everything.”

“Because of you” you say before you can stop yourself.

Law looks at you, startled.

You feel heat rush to your cheeks but hold his gaze “You saved Luffy. You didn’t have to. And then you let me on your ship. You didn’t have to do that either.”

His voice is low “I didn’t do it for thanks.”

“I know. That’s why it mattered.”

There’s a long pause. Something unspoken crackling in the air between you.

You look back at the sea, heart pounding, trying to ignore how much you want him to say something, anything that will explain what’s been growing between you.

He doesn’t. Not yet.

But he doesn’t move away either.

And when his shoulder brushes yours, just slightly, you don’t pull back.

Two years.

That’s how long it’s been since you joined the Heart Pirates.

And somewhere between near-death missions, long nights on the sea, and quiet moments you didn’t ask for. Something changed.

You and Law changed.

It’s not loud or obvious. Not something you could put into words if someone asked. But it’s there.

Like the way his eyes always flick to you when he walks into a room.

Like how you always end up sitting beside him at meals, even without meaning to.

Like how his voice softens slightly when he says your name.

He still scolds you during training. Still sighs like you’re impossible when you ignore protocol.

And when you’re injured? He’s the first one kneeling at your side. Every time. Without fail.

You don’t talk about it. He doesn’t either.

But it’s real. It’s there. And everyone else knows it.

“Okay, seriously,” Shachi whispers one night as he leans over the dining table toward Penguin, “did you see the way they looked at each other earlier? Like... looked. That was something.”

Penguin nods “They’re either in love or telepathically plotting a murder.”

“I’m going with both” Ikkaku mutters, sipping her tea.

Bepo sighs “We’re not supposed to bring it up.”

“Why not?” Shachi hisses “They’re so obvious, it’s painful.”

“Because of Ace” Bepo says softly “She’s been through a lot. We won’t pressure her.”

That shuts everyone up for a beat.

Until Shachi mumbles “Still feels like they’re circling each other in slow motion.”

Ikkaku stabs a dumpling with unnecessary aggression “Just kiss already. I’m begging.”

You catch them watching you sometimes, too many times to pretend it’s subtle.

Whenever you and Law share a look, the whole room seems to pause.

Whenever he lingers a second too long beside you, or his hand brushes yours, the crew’s collective poker face fails miserably.

But Law ignores it all. Just keeps moving forward, like it doesn’t affect him.

Like he doesn’t know that your heart skips every time he calls your name in that low, measured tone.

And you pretend not to notice either. Pretend your stomach doesn’t twist when he leans in too close. Pretend you don’t feel the shift every time your eyes meet.

But in the quiet moments, when it’s just you and him, you feel something hanging there between you. Like something is building.

The unspoken thing between you and Law has only grown heavier by time. Stolen glances, the rare soft tone in his voice when he says your name, the way your hand always finds the spot next to his at the table.

You’ve gotten used to reading him, how to tell when he’s irritated, when he’s tired, when he’s secretly impressed. But now, something’s off.

He’s quiet lately. More than usual. Locked in his quarters for hours at a time. Studying maps, muttering things you can’t hear. And when you ask, he brushes it off with a flat “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Which, of course, only makes you worry more.

One night, dinner is unusually tense.

Shachi and Penguin whisper from across the table, not even trying to hide it anymore.

“She’s gonna find out soon.”

“She already knows. Look at her face.”

“She knows something,” Bepo mutters “But she doesn’t know it’s Dressrosa.”

You set your spoon down “What’s Dressrosa?”

The table falls into silence.

Ikkaku winces “Damn it.”

You stare at them all “What’s happening?”

Nobody speaks.

So you stand, chair scraping behind you, and walk straight out of the mess hall.

You find Law in the control room, his face locked over a table full of charts. Dressrosa is circled in red.

He doesn’t flinch when you walk in.

You close the door behind you “You’re going there.”

He nods once “Yes.”

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

Law straightens up, but doesn’t meet your eyes “It’s not your concern.”

“It is my concern,” you snap “I’m your crew too, just like the rest of them.”

He finally looks at you “That’s exactly why you’re staying with them.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Just you and him, staring, and the space between you suddenly feels like a chasm.

“You’re doing it again” you say softly “Pulling away. Trying to protect everyone by shutting us out.”

Law’s expression flickers with guilt, regret and frustration.

“I’m handling it.”

“No, you’re running. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You're not scared...” You step closer, voice breaking “You’re terrified of letting people care about you. You think if you keep pushing us away, it won’t hurt when something happens.”

You lower your voice “But it will. It always does.”

He stares at you, like he’s waiting for you to stop.

You don’t.

“You think I don’t see what this is between us? You think I haven’t felt it for a long time now?”

He says nothing.

You take a breath “You’ve given me so much, Law. You gave me a second life after Ace. You gave me something to live for again.”

Your throat tightens “And now you’re just gonna disappear into some revenge mission and pretend like none of this matters?”

His eyes darken “It does matter.”

You blink “Then say it.”

Law opens his mouth, then closes it again.

You shake your head, heart cracking open “Forget it.”

You turn to leave.

But before you touch the door...

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says behind you “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

You stop. But you don’t look back.

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie in your bunk, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that conversation. The look in Law’s eyes. The silence where his answer should’ve been. The ache in your chest that’s only getting worse.

When you hear footsteps above deck a little before dawn, you know it’s him.

You throw on a jacket and follow without thinking.

He’s there, standing at the edge of the deck, the sea wind catching his coat. Alone.

He turns slightly when you approach “You should be asleep.”

“You should be explaining yourself.”

His mouth twitches. A ghost of a smile. Gone in an instant.

You cross your arms “You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye.”

Law looks ahead again, gaze fixed on the horizon “Goodbyes make it harder.”

You take a breath “Harder for who?”

Silence.

You step beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm “I meant what I said yesterday.”

“I know.”

“And?”

He exhales slowly “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”

Your heart lurches “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know who you are,” you snap “I’ve seen you save strangers without blinking. I’ve seen you risk your life for your crew. For Luffy. For me.”

You pause, voice low “I love all of that. And if you leave now, and something happens to you—”

You look at him fully now “Don’t make me lose someone else I love, Law. Not without even getting to hold onto you first.”

His jaw tightens. He says nothing.

So you laugh, bitter and soft “Of course. You don’t say anything you don’t think you deserve to feel.”

You start to turn away, tears building, when he says “I do.”

You freeze.

He’s looking at you now. Fully. No mask.

“I do feel it. All of it.”

He steps forward, slow and certain, until he’s close enough that you can see the storm in his eyes and hear the quiet panic in his breath.

“Every time you laugh. Every time you sit next to me without saying a word. Every time I catch myself looking at you and don’t know how to stop. I feel it.”

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. You can’t.

“I didn’t want to,” he says, voice barely above a whisper “But it happened. And now I don’t know how to leave without feeling like I’m leaving part of myself behind.”

Your throat burns.

“So don’t,” you whisper “Don’t leave like that. Not with nothing.”

He hesitates.

Then, he leans in slowly, unsure, and presses his forehead to yours.

Not a kiss. Not yet. But it says everything.

“I’ll come back,” he promises “And when I do… if you’re still here—”

“I will be.”

A breath passes between you. His hand brushes your cheek like he’s still convincing himself you’re real.

Then he pulls away.

“Stay safe” he says.

“You too, Law.”

And with one last glance, he disappears down the dock, coat billowing, heart heavy, and not just with revenge anymore.

The moment your feet hit the ground of Zou, you’re paralyzed. The chaos of the crew bustling around you, the excitement in the air, everything feels too loud. It’s all too much. You’ve been bracing for this moment for what feels like an eternity, but now that it’s here, you can’t breathe.

You’ve heard the whispers that he’s finally back, felt the crew’s excitement bubbling up like they’re about to burst. But nothing could prepare you for the reality of seeing him alive. You knew they won, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but seeing him in front of you again… it’s different.

Your heart races. The crew is already moving forward, pulling you along because you’re too shocked to even move on your own. They don’t even try to hide it, they want to see this happen.

And then there he is.

The crew appears from the bushes and trees around him.

Law stands tall at the center of the clearing, his eyes scanning the crew as they move toward him, his usual cold demeanor barely cracked by the soft, almost imperceptible smile on his lips as he sees Bepo charging toward him before he could even find you with his eyes. The sight of him makes everything inside you freeze.

It’s not that you didn’t know he was alive, but now, standing here, seeing him with your own eyes, it feels real.

Bepo throws himself at Law, tears in his eyes as he cries out, “Captain!” The hug is tight, emotional, the kind of reunion you would have imagined, one that speaks of the bond between them, of loyalty and friendship. Law’s arms stiffen at first but then soften, holding Bepo close, the smile on his face genuine if not a bit awkward.

You stand there, caught in the wave of emotions that’s rushing through you. Relief, yes, but something else too...fear. Fear of what this means. You haven’t let yourself think about it that much, but now, with him standing there before you, something shifts. It’s the first time in two years you feel your heart thundering like it did when you first met him, when you started noticing those little things about him, the quiet ways he showed his care.

But now… he’s here.

Bepo pulls back, laughing through his tears “I’m so glad you’re alive, Captain!”

Before Law can even respond, someone else, maybe Ikkaku, maybe Shachi, pulls Bepo away gently, guiding him back to the group.

And then Law finally sees you.

There’s a moment, a breath of time where you feel like the whole world is holding its breath. You didn’t expect the distance between you to feel so large. You didn’t expect to feel so small.

You stand still, unsure of what to do, your legs suddenly heavy, like they’re made of stone. You know the crew, everyone, is watching, but none of that matters right now. You’re looking at him, really seeing him for the first time in so long, and it feels like everything inside you is falling apart.

He hasn’t changed. He still has that same unreadable expression, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. His eyes linger, and in them, you see the same thing you’ve always seen, quiet intensity. But there’s a softness now, a faint warmth.

You don’t move.

You can’t move.

It’s not fear. It’s… shock. You thought you were ready. You thought you were prepared. But seeing him here, right in front of you, it’s more than you can process in a single moment. The flood of emotions, the relief, the joy, the terror, all rush through you all at once, and it feels overwhelming. You never realized how much you needed this, how much you’ve missed him, until now.

And then, slowly, Law begins to walk toward you, his movements steady, calculated, like he’s taking his time, giving you space. When he stops in front of you, there’s a long pause. His eyes are searching your face, studying you, like he’s waiting for something. You’re afraid to look into them, to let him see how much you’ve been holding back.

And then, softly, he speaks “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally look up into his eyes. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The relief is too much. The pain of missing him, of not knowing if you’d ever see him again, it all comes crashing down, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek.

Law’s eyes flicker to it, and without a second thought, he reaches out, his hand gently brushing it away “You don’t have to hide it” he says, his voice low and careful.

“I—” You try to speak, but your voice cracks. You can’t say what you need to. It’s too much. Everything is too much.

Law stands there, his hand still lingering near your cheek, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t rush. He just stands there, waiting for you to breathe, for you to find your voice.

And when you finally do, it’s quiet “I thought I lost you. I—I didn’t know if I could—”

“You didn’t lose me.” His words are simple, but they cut through the noise in your head. He steps closer, his hand sliding from your cheek to rest gently on your shoulder, the contact grounding you “I’m here. I told you I would be.”

And in that moment, you let yourself believe it.

You don’t know what’s going to happen from here, but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not standing alone anymore. Law is here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Zou is loud again.

After the quiet weight of seeing Law alive, after the press of his hand on your shoulder, after the whirlwind that followed, now everything is moving. New plans are forming. Straw Hats talking over each other. Heart Pirates buzzing about what’s next. Minks giving updates. It’s chaos. Familiar chaos. The kind you hadn’t realized you missed.

You find Luffy just outside one of the tree dwellings, scarfing down food like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, which, to be fair, is probably true.

“Luffy” you say, your voice unsure but soft.

He looks up, mouth full “Y/n!” He jumps to his feet and wraps you in the kind of hug only Luffy can give, tight, fast, and a little chaotic “You’re okay! You’re really here!”

You nod against his chest, your throat tight “You too…”

“Of course I am!” he grins like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I knew we’d all meet again. I told you!”

He pulls back and beams at you “We’re gonna get Sanji back. Me, Nami, Chopper and Brook. You should come too! With me!”

You freeze.

Your eyes dart past the Straw Hats, past the Heart Pirates, until they land on him. Law is leaning near a shaded post, arms crossed, watching the scene from a distance. You can feel his eyes on you.

You start to answer Luffy, but someone else cuts in.

“She’s not going.”

It’s Law.

He’s walking toward you both now, slow and steady, like the decision was already made before this conversation even started.

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

Law stops beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours “She’s staying with me. With the Heart Pirates.”

You look up at him, startled. You hadn’t even told him you would yet. But he’s not looking at you, he’s looking straight at Luffy.

Nami steps closer, eyebrows raised like she knows exactly what’s going on “Luffy, read the room…”

Luffy blinks again, slowly turning to you “Wait. What? Since when?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come.

“I—” You shake your head “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how.”

“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head, confused as ever “You like Law, right?”

Your eyes widen “Luffy…”

“It’s fine,” he says with a shrug “I mean, I get the way you’re looking at him right now. I just didn’t know it was, you know… like that like that.” He grins.

You stare at him, stunned “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” he says, blinking like the very idea is weird “You think Ace would be mad?”

You swallow hard, throat tightening at the mention of Ace’s name.

“I just...” Your voice cracks “I didn’t want to disappoint him. Or you. He… he loved me. And I loved him. And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to—”

“Y/n.”

Luffy’s voice is soft. Even softer than usual.

He smiles again, big and warm and bright “Ace would be happy. Really happy. Because you’re not alone anymore. He wouldn’t want you to be.”

You blink fast, trying to keep the tears back, but it’s no use “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Luffy says, tapping his chest “Because Ace told me you were the best thing that ever happened to him. He said if anything ever happened to him, I had to take care of you. You found someone who can take care of you even better than me, and I’ll always support you like my sister.”

That breaks something in you. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to cry outright.

Nami steps up beside Luffy, resting a hand on your back “He’s right, you know. We’ve all known for a while now. About you and Law. After we met Law and Luffy asked him about you, it was pretty obvious even if the man here has the most unreadable face. It’s just Luffy that is always too oblivious.”

Law, still at your side, hasn’t said a word. But his presence is steady, anchoring. His eyes stay on you.

Luffy grins and throws his arm over your shoulder, dragging you into another hug “I’m happy for you, Y/n. And Ace would be too.”

You press your face against his chest again, this time not hiding the tears “Thank you.”

Law leans in slightly, his voice low near your ear “You didn’t have to be scared.”

You glance up at him, smiling through your tears “I know. But it still scared me.”

“I get it,” he says “But you don’t have to worry. And you can talk to me about your fears, I won’t leave you alone.”

And somehow, for the first time, you believe it.

The sun is dipping behind the massive trees of Zou, painting everything in golden light. The others are gone now, off to find Sanji. The moment they disappeared over the horizon, the world got quiet again.

Too quiet.

You sit at the edge of the overlook, watching the sky shift from orange to deep indigo. The wind brushes through your hair, soft and cool. You hug your knees to your chest, letting yourself breathe for what feels like the first time in days.

And then you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You’re always out, watching the sky when it gets dark” Law says, voice even.

You don’t look at him, not yet “It’s peaceful. Beautiful. Easier to think.”

He stands beside you for a second, silent, then sits down next to you with a small sigh. The space between you hums. Not touching, but not distant either.

You glance over. His hat’s off. That always does something to you. Makes him look realer. Softer. More… him.

“You really told Luffy I was staying with you” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips “Didn’t even bother ask me.”

“You were going to stay anyway” he replies, tilting his head toward you.

“I might’ve,” you murmur, teasing “Might’ve said no. Might’ve gone off on my own. Who knows.”

He looks at you, dead serious “You wouldn’t.”

You meet his eyes “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve looked at me the same way I look at you. You wouldn’t want to separate again.”

Your breath catches.

The silence after that is thick, like the air itself is holding its breath with you.

“I was scared,” you whisper “Of what it meant. Of what it felt like. After Ace… I didn’t think I was allowed to feel this way again.”

“I know,” Law says, just as quietly “That’s why I never pushed.”

You look down at your hands “But you stayed.”

His voice is steady “I wasn’t going to be another person you lost.”

That’s when your heart cracks, but in a good way. The dam you’ve been holding back breaks just a little. You turn to him, really look at him. The way the fading light touches his face, the faint worry in his brow, the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything.

“Say it,” you breathe “Just once.”

Law doesn’t hesitate “I love you.”

And you’re already leaning in by the time he says the last word.

The kiss is slow and gentle. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. Yours clutches his coat, grounding yourself.

It’s not desperate. It’s relieved.

When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you a little breathless.

You whisper “I love you too.”

He smirks “You were worth the wait.”

Your smile widen and just as his small smile/smirk.

“FINALLY!”

You both flinch apart like you were struck by lightning.

Law whips around, eyes narrowing “What the hell—”

From behind a cluster of bushes near the edge of the clearing, three heads pop out in rapid succession: Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku. Bepo follows a second later, way too big to be hiding, but he tries anyway.

“We knew it!” Shachi shouts.

“I said it would happen today!” Penguin crows, fist-pumping like he just won a bet.

“I told you she was gonna make the first move” Ikkaku says smugly.

“You literally did not” Penguin says.

Bepo tries to look innocent “I was just... uh... making sure they were okay…”

You bury your face in your hands, heat flooding your cheeks “Oh my god!”

Law groans, dragging a hand down his face “How long were you there?”

“Long enough” Ikkaku grins.

“To hear everything” Shachi adds.

“I hate all of you” Law mutters.

“Don’t lie to us, Captain,” Penguin says, smug “You’re glowing.”

“I am not glowing.”

“You kind of are” Bepo mumbles.

You let out a breathy laugh, cheeks still flushed, but honestly, it’s kind of perfect. This dumb, messy, ridiculous crew, you didn’t know how badly you needed them until they showed up in your life. Until he showed up in your life.

“Alright,” Law snaps, pushing to his feet and brushing off his coat, “You saw what you wanted. Now go. Before I use Room.”

That gets them moving fast.

Shachi and Penguin scramble like cockroaches, dragging Bepo behind them while Ikkaku throws a wink over her shoulder “You’re cute together! Don’t screw it up!”

They disappear, giggling like kids.

You turn back to Law, trying not to laugh “So… that happened.”

He sighs, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips “We’re never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Nope.”

A pause.

“…Still worth it?” you ask, teasing.

He glances at you. And then, softly “Always.”

[invincibledc]

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𝟑𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋

🃏

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄🃏

~

˚　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★synopsis: when a simple medieval jester shows up to Gotham, stirring the curious minds of certain boys of a bat colony. What could ever go on with this child’s life.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★genre: oneshot special

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★note: thanks for 3K followers!!

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ word count: 1,296

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★info: Taking after the inspiration of joker and Harley Quinn, aesthetic wise. They loathe that man even after the inspiration. They always loved circuses, watching the old flying graysons clips their families use to record. Their age and genders are unknown despite their small frame which makes them confused a child. People think they work joker, forcing Batman to put them on his charts. They can never caught due to always being sneaky and playful. Someone who is some random person that helps crimes and wear a medieval jest costume that is either monochrome for night stealths but is bright and happy colors for random day shenanigans. The jester, who people can’t tell if they’re a girl, or a boy. They seem genderless, they also seem skinny as well with how the sleeves of their so called costume is loose, covering their hand.

The small child, their thin body covered by the baggy medieval jester clothing. They looked around the dark city with wide and curious eyes. Walking around, the small child couldn’t help but look through alleys, ignoring the strange looks of the people in boxes and the folks giving them dirty looks.

The jester moves past a fallen man, maybe the man was just tired. The clown child looks around to see a small cardboard box. Going towards it, the child places it over the man. Walking off with more confidence in their step. “Hey kid!” a man bellowed, catching the small child’s attention, they've been picked up like a scrawny cat.

“Who do you think you are walking around this alley in that tacky colors of yours.” the man gruffed, shaking the mute child who just stared at the man with wide undisturbed eyes.

Not getting an answer, the man got angry, throwing the child. Usually, a person would expect the child to just fall harshly, but this wasn't a normal kid. The jester had landed on their feet gracefully as if defying gravity.

The child dusted themself off, keeping eyes on the big angry man. The jester moves back from the big man who pulled out a butterfly knife, not wasting time, the jester then moves forward.

The jingles of the bells on their hat and shoes jangled loudly. The small clown child jumped into the air, midway they did a triple spin kick. The man was hit on his face and the back of his head, knocking him out.

The child could only hum, taking the butterfly knife from the man and politely placing it onto the man’s chest before bouncing from the brick walls of the tight space.

The small child flipped themselves onto a fire escape before climbing onto another brick wall of a complex apartment. Climbing their way to the roof, they met Red Hood who just stared at them with two batburgers.

The juicy smell of the burger made the thin child’s stomach growl.

“You’re starving aren't you kid? I ain't here to harm you, only to get to know you.” those seem to be working as the small child with a painted face, a painted mask to hide their past forward towards the red hooded male.

But as if sensing something, the child did a spinning roundhouse kick towards a male with a fringe. “Wow! Fast reflexes!” Red Robin tries to capture the child who only stares at him and then looks back at Red Hood who sighs, knowing how this may go. The child stays still, that was before the child ran off the roof. The two male’s eyes widen.

“Kid no!” “Omg!?”

The two red vigilantes look over the roof to see nobody, no child, no jester. Completely gone.

“Dang… guess we have to try another night,” Tim says to Jason who nodded. As much as he wanted to, his older brother's instincts were taking over.

Their small frame irks him.

☆

Huddled in a cardboard box, the small child smelled of sweet cotton candy, reminiscent of treats from a bustling circus. But at this moment, they were just a lonely figure, aching for warmth and belonging. Denied entry anywhere, the child was mistaken for a goon of the Joker—certainly a mislabeling, but one that weighed heavy on their small shoulders.

Clenching their tiny fist, determination ignited within them. Despite their appearance, they felt an unwavering drive to help others. Emerging from the confines of the box, a small smile crept onto their painted lips, signaling the start of a journey to reclaim a piece of Gotham City.

Their first mission? Defend the local bakery. With a fierce resolve, they startled the shop owner, earning themselves some fresh bread and a handful of delectable cupcakes. The baker, initially stern, soon softened, watching the child devour the treats with wide eyes. As crumbs coated the child’s face like powdered sugar, the baker’s heart ached with a mix of pity and tenderness.

"Sweetie, slow down before you choke, okay?" she urged, her voice tinged with concern. The child nodded, ignoring the messy mouthful of crumbled icing. But when the baker reached out, accidentally swiping away some of the child’s carefully applied makeup, panic surged through the tiny form. Memories of shattered dishes flashed in their mind, and a soft whimper escaped their lips as fear took hold.

“Hey! Hey! What’s wrong?!” The baker knelt, startled by the child's distress. Without knowing what else to do, she rushed to the back, returning with a puff of white powder, gently reapplying it to the child’s face. “There!” she declared, relief washing over her as the child slowly regained composure.

After the brief episode, the baker escorted the little jester out of the shop, handing over a bag filled with bagels and a few sweets—a meager feast, but a feast nonetheless. The child bowed deeply, their gratitude palpable, before scampering off with the jingling bells of their hat and shoes echoing behind them.

As they munched on the chewy bagels, savoring their hard-earned treasure, the joy was short-lived. Suddenly, strong hands gripped the child from behind, hoisting them up into the air. A man dressed in a striking blue-black uniform, with neat hair and charming dimples, faced them.

“Sorry, little guy, I’ll buy you food,” he said, a playful smirk on his face as he swung away with a grappling hook toward the rooftops. “But first, you’ve got to answer a few questions.”

The child stood frozen, wide-eyed, staring up at Nightwing. Suddenly, a thick cloud of gas—sweet as cotton candy—erupted from their suit. Nightwing instinctively covered his nose, shocked, yet he tightened his grip on the thin child. But in a split second, the little figure slipped through his fingers like a ghost.

With an agile burst of movement, the child took off, already anticipating their escape route. Nightwing recognized the sugary scent of the gas instantly, letting go of his nose. He dashed after the child, who skidded across the rooftop. As Nightwing closed in, they turned, flashing a daring look before launching themselves into the air, landing gracefully on him. It was as if he were nothing more than a springboard for their acrobatics. But as he turned to catch them, the child vanished like smoke.

Frustrated, Nightwing pressed the comms hidden in his ear. “They’ve disappeared. Robin, you’re up.”

Meanwhile, Robin was perched nearby, eyes sharp and ready. He smirked as he spotted the child darting his way. The moment was electric. Robin charged forward, but the quick-witted jester used the boy as a launchpad, vaulting over him with effortless grace while tugging him down in a whimsical twist. As the jester sped off, the child playfully slapped Robin’s cape, leaving him exasperated. “Ugh!” he exclaimed, determination igniting as he sprinted after them, refusing to give up.

But the chase took a tense turn when the jester led the way into a dead end. “Nowhere to run! We know you work for the Joker!” Robin shouted, planting his feet firmly. The child turned, their expression still as blank as before, and exhaled slowly, as if time itself had slowed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wall erupted between them. Robin reflexively hurled a Batarang, but the jester countered with a Joker card, flinging it at the boy. The card began to beep ominously, its sound a countdown. Robin’s heart sank as he realized the jester was escaping through a vent, glitter exploding in the air around the child, painting the scene with chaos and wonder.

Once again, the elusive jester slipped through their fingers, leaving Bruce grappling with questions. How could such playful devices aid them? The clock was ticking. They had to catch them before it was too late.