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justmywriting1313 · 22 days

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Stupid British Man (John Price x f!Reader)

This is fairly unfinished and an unedited product of my fixation on these stupid military man and every hurt/comfort scenario you can think of but nonetheless enjoy!

PS:- I would really really REALLY love some COD requests since thats where the inspiration for writing is flourishing soooooo yeah please send stuff in thank you<3

Summary: John's a great captain but like all men in love he is also a stupid british man!

Warnings: Talk and direct mentions of smexy times, no aftercare (but not intentional and will come in part 2)

Jonathan Price is a military man...

More than that, he is a captain and a military man...

A captain in the military needs to embody many qualities, one of the most important being the ability to remain strong and stable in the face of adversity, anchored and calm in uncertainty, and always aware of their surroundings, especially when confronted with unprecedented situations that demand logic and rationality.

It's a trait John was not only confident he possessed but one he prided himself on (considering he was the captain of three complete muppets at times). Yet, as he stands there in his flannel pajamas, his member still damp and somewhat aroused from the recent pounding he gave you not five minutes ago, a warm washcloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, John has never been more flabbergasted in his life as he watches you cutely jump to pull your leggings up over your waist.

You had already fastened your bra and were now pulling your old university shirt over your head, a shirt John had previously loved. However, given that he had finally slept with you after a two-month deployment, he would prefer to see you in his clothing or nothing at all. Therefore, the sight of the worn-out piece of cloth offended him, to say the least. Even more so, because neither of you had received a lick of aftercare and the lack of it was making him antsy. Instead of waiting for him in bed like you should have, you were rummaging through your duffel bag for something John couldn't be bothered to inquire about. He was certain that nothing was important enough for you to leave the sheets before he had a chance to clean you up properly. So, with as much calm as he could muster, he said,

"What on fuckin' earth are you doing?

The heavy, accented voice of the captain makes you jump as you straighten up, not having heard him come in. You whirl around to face the man you have been infatuated with since your first meeting, the same man who fulfilled so many of your fantasies over the last few hours and is now standing in the doorway of his room with a flabbergasted look about his rugged face. The tears you had been doing a good job of suppressing so far immediately reappear, though you were adamant about not letting them fall… God forbid you be known on base as the girl who cries after sex. Instead, you give him a smile before turning away as you begin to wrangle your hair into a ponytail and reply,

"What do you mean, what am I doing, John?"

John can only splutter at your nonchalant response, his brain having completely short-circuited… Clearly, something is lost in translation.

You only shrug at his shock before continuing to gather your spread-out things into your small bag, trying your best to curb the small, pathetic whimper that is bound to leave your lips if you spend any more time in this man's room surrounded by so much of him. Instead, in the heavy silence of the room, you mull over the events of what got you in his bed in the first place…

You and John met 8 months ago when you were brought onto his military base as a licensed psychologist specialising in psychotherapy for young adults. Your main job was to work with the younger recruits, which included the ones trained by John's own men. John can still recall the first time he saw you as you came barreling in through his door, your angry voice bouncing off the walls of his office. You were a small thing, barely reaching the bottom of the man's chest, with long hair and high cheekbones. You were dressed in leggings that flared at the bottom and drove John insane, with a striped sweater on top, your soft curves visible through the knitted material.

You were the most tender thing he had seen on base, and despite all this softness, you squared off against the military captain, demanding to speak to his lieutenant and give the man a piece of your mind for traumatizing your recruits more than any battlefield could. John had never been rash a day in his life, and yet he had promised himself he would make everything and anything to do with you a personal matter.

You, on the other hand, had not perceived the butterflies the older Brit gave you until the next day when he had come knocking on your door. Dressed in a tight shirt and his camo pants, he was every girl's dream. It didn't help the butterflies in your stomach when he looked down at you with soft eyes while properly introducing himself. He then led you to the rec room of his task force where his lieutenant was sitting and brooding.

Thus began eight long months… Months of teasing glances exchanged across busy meeting rooms that made him grin and you blush. Soft touches shared either against the back of your hand when you stood side by side or across your cheek as he tucked your hair back. Eight long months of late-night talks where he would seek you out, wherever you were, with a drink of your choice in his hand and an endearing look about him as he let you jabber about how you miss baking and he told you about his parents. Eight months spent with your heart in your mouth as you watched him leave with his team, a desperate prayer for his safety on your lips as he held you against him the night before, limbs tangled together innocently yet intimately. Eight months of yearning that would only grow stronger every time he came back, his eyes finding you in a sea of military personnel and lighting you on fire each time.

And despite all this wanting, two months ago, the night before he was sent out for the longest mission yet, you overheard him with Ghost in the rec room. The box of cupcakes you smuggled into the base held tightly as the tall, rough captain unknowingly broke your heart.

"You say professional sir but everyon' sees the way you look at 'er... the little medic..." "Don't know what you're talkin' about Simon..." Price chuckles and you assume Ghost gives him a look as John continues, "Hell even if I wanted to and I am no' saying I do, I cant do anything about it can I?... she's a kid AND she's military personnel" "Then the late nights in your office are what... just meetings to go over paperwork yeah? Just a little overtime is that it?" "Come on gotta pass the time between deployments somehow" "Is that so then mind if I tell Soap–"

Thats all you had the stomach to hear, although had you stuck around you would have heard the captain confess his love. Instead you made your way to his office where you left the box of baked goods on his table and fled to your room. You spent the night muffling your tears as you came to terms with what you were to John versus what John is to you... The following morning, as you waved some of your recruits bye, your eyes met John's hurt ones, his gaze heavy with questions about where you were last night but you looked away.

Unbeknownst to John his worst worry was coming true when the two months of his deployment gave you enough time to misunderstand your importance to him. That while John was the sun to you, you were a small star in a distant galaxy that had no hope of being anything more than that... And yet you knew you would take anything he gave you, no matter how much it would hurt.

Which is why when he knocked on your room door in the middle of the night, his hair still wet from the shower he had barely managed to squeeze in, eyes tired, lost, and desperate you didn't hesitate. You didn't hesitate when his arms went around your waist drawing you into his chest, head pressed into the crook of your neck as you pressed him into you. You didn't resist or clue him on the turbulence in your head when he pulled away although barely. His hands moving from gripping the back of your shirt to your waist, grip tight as he hefted you into the air forcing your legs to wrap around his waist. Any shock on your part absorbed by his mouth as his lips found yours, your hands coming to hold his face. The kiss was desperate, it was messy. A clash of tongue and teeth as he quickly took control. You hadn't stopped to think or really breath, instead letting John fill the crevices of your mind as he carried you through the empty hallways of the barracks. Somewhere in the back of your head you wondered how no one spotted you but you were quickly distracted by his hand on your ass which kept you pressed up against him. The other on the back of your neck never letting you pulling away long enough and following your mouth as you did so. You never stopped to spill the pent up hurt that had festered unknown to the man as you whimpered into his mouth when his fingers found just the right spot, his muttered praises only getting you to your finish faster...

Your little trip down memory lane as you stuffed another shirt into your bag gave John time to get over his shock, taking a deep breath as he placed the washcloth and bottle on his nightstand. His surprise was now replaced by a desire to fix the situation.

Another aspect of being a captain was observing people, learning to read the little things about how people behaved, and now that the shock had worn off, that's what John set about doing. He watched the tension in your back gather as you stuffed your things into your bag… mementos left over from other nights that John treasured. Things that he would be pulling out of the bag as soon as he had things sorted. He watched with narrowed eyes as your face got redder, the desperation with which you were trying to hold yourself together scaring him…

Something was wrong, and he had been so consumed by his need to see you, to feel you, to know that you were alright, that he didn't stop to consider how things had been left off… To remember that you never came to his room the night before he left and that you didn't look at him at the drop zone. John realized then that whatever had upset you that night had two months to fester in your mind and that he couldn't let you leave in any capacity before everything was laid out.

He shuffled his way over to your figure as you rummaged for your ID card in your bag, needing it to get back to your room. His large hands slid into place on either side of your waist. You jolted at the sensation, registering that his hands were warm while straightening up. John didn't let your tensing stop him as he gently turned you around, his grip turning a little forceful when you tried to resist, but eventually you gave in. Your splotchy cheeks and bitten lips greeted him, and he couldn't help himself when he pressed his lips against your forehead, muttering into your skin as he did so,

"Sweetheart... whats going on?" "What do you mean John?" "I mean whats going on... whats got you packin' up your bag hmmm? Can't imagine you've got an important meetin' this time of the night have you? We also hadn't really finished had we?"

Johns doing his best to catch your eye as he talks but its futile when you keep your gaze steady on anything but his face.

"You wanted to go again?"

John balks at that response. Is that really why you think he wants you to stay? Is that really what you think of him?

"What? No no darlin' I mean you were up before I gotta chance to clean you up... I don't know about the men you've been with before sweet girl but a gentleman cleans up his lady... and of course a cuddle after..."

He pouts through the last part though you don't look up to see it. Your eyes remain trained on his muscular neck and John does his best to remain patient. He knows you, no matter how foreign your apprehension of him may feel right now. He knows you and he knows you're hurting which is why you're avoiding his eyes because the minute he gets you to see him you break,

"Oh... oh you don't have to John... I'm alright I can just go, I'm sure you're tired and want to rest and i don't want to keep you..."

John groans lowly in frustration at you not getting his point, his grip subconsciously tightening as if you would run off the minute he lets go and to his credit thats not a difficult situation to imagine,

"Fuckin' hell, okay sweetheart lets try this another way. Why do you think you have to go anywhere huh? I though' we could lay down and have a cuddle... even took the day off tomorrow to spen' it with you yeah? Want to know what you've been up to? Maybe step off the base and take you out for a proper meal?"

With each word out his mouth your confusion and hurt climb reaching a crescendo until your ears are ringing and you need to get away from this sweet talking brit before you crumble. However, Johns a stubborn man particularly when he sets his mind to something so no amount of squirming on your end makes him let you go as you begin to blabber each source of pain out in the open,

"Let me go, let me go, let me go John... You're so mean you know that? So so so mean... You come into my life all soft and sweet and gentle with me calling me pretty things that I've only imagined being called and you came in and made me care about you when I was so happy in my own bubble but still I started to care and then I find out its only for me to be something you pass time with nothing more and then you come back and I love you so much that ill take anything I can get from you even if its one night and then you have the audacity to stand there and be all sweet and caring when you and I both know that this will never be anything more and you know what maybe I am a child because this is too much–"

Your ranting is cut off by John whose own pulse has become frantic at all that you've laid out before him. You love him! Wait why do you think this is a one night thing? what do you means passing the time? One hands grips your upper arm, the other forcing your face up to look at him as your fists continue to push but to no avail,

"Whoa whoa okay look at me... look at me sweet girl... not letting you go until I ge' your eyes on me yeah? You can fight all you wan' but 'm not letting go until you get you damn eyes on me yeah? Come on... there you go good girl now what do you mean something to pass time with huh? What got that daft idea into that pretty head or that this would be a one night thing? Talk to me yeah "

John's barely finished before the words escape you in a breathless sob

“You, you stupid British man!”

Okay I was too excited to post it so here but if the reception to it is you know good ill post the second bit which is already written 👀

As always please reblog yes? yes okaieee byee

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rosiesmuts · 1 year

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Paris, je t'aime

BLACKPINK Rosé & Lisa Words: 1,750

A/N: Surprise! Felt inspired so this is actually the last fic of the year. No I’m not currently obsessed with Chaelisa, you are. Also felt right to end the year with a Rosé fic. Quickie, no edits

Sequel to the snippet ‘Rambunctious’

Lisa moans loudly as you thrust deep into her tight ass. She can feel her body trembling with pleasure with each thrust, her hands gripping the balcony railing as she tries to steady herself. She moans and screams out into the distance, making no attempt to stifle the sounds even though she’s outdoors. A wave of deja vu flashes over your body, you and Lisa were caught in this exact same position six months prior.

The pace of your thrusts become fevered, hoping for Lisa to make even more noise on the off chance that same situation repeats itself. Almost as if on cue, you hear the doors swing open, Rosé comes stomping in still wearing the dress she had worn to the YSL party.

"Seriously you two? Didn’t we do this already?! I can hear you guys from the hallway! What are you guys doing in here?"

"What's it look like, Chaeyoung? I'm getting fucked in the ass."

Normally being interrupted by a surprise visitor would stop anyone in their tracks, but you paid no mind to Rosé’s presence and kept thrusting into Lisa’s ass.

"As you can see I'm a little busy, what do you want, Chaeyoung?" Lisa's voice filled with annoyance.

Rosé walks out to the balcony until she's right beside Lisa without saying a word. "What do I want? I wanted to rest, but now that you two have interrupted me…" Rosé starts licking her neck, Lisa shuddering from the first touch. Rosé moves down a little further, making a stop to suck, pinch, and nibble on Lisa’s dark, tiny nipples. She makes her way down to knees–just inches away from Lisa’s pussy, breathing hot air. Lisa gasps at the huge contrast of Rosé's warm breath compared to the cool night breeze. "...I want in."

Rosé takes Lisa's clit into her mouth and sucks harshly, adding two fingers into Lisa’s leaking wet core. Lisa is now over the moon, making more noise than she had at any point in the night. Rosé continues to lick and finger fuck Lisa while you simultaneously stuff her ass.

With both sides being filled to the brim, the multi point attack of stimulation completely rocks Lisa’s world and she cums in almost record time, leaking her juices onto Rosé's beautiful face. Feeling her powerful orgasm makes you quick to follow, Lisa's asshole pushing you out as it clenches. Without warning, Rosé yelps when she feels another stream of hot liquid hitting her face.

"Sorry Rosie, it was an accident." you say, trying to stifle your laughter as Rosé remains on her knees, shocked at what had just happened.

Lisa opens her eyes after hearing Rosé scream, immediately pointing and laughing at Rosé’s cum covered face. Both you and Lisa had accidentally came all over her face just minutes after she joined in.

"You think this is funny, Lalisa?" Rosé tried to sound serious, but couldn't help from giggling at her series of unfortunate events. She stands up and pulls Lisa into her. "You're gonna lick me clean."

Lisa has no obligations, licking every inch of Rosé's face, tasting and cleaning every drop of the sexual concoction that the two of you had helped create. Lisa can feel you getting harder by the second as you watch Lisa lick Rosé clean.

"You want a turn, Chaeyoung? Oppa's getting turned on watching us and I already came 4 times." Lisa unzips Rosé and her luxurious designer gown falls to the ground.

Your eyes are stuck like a deer in headlights, the sight of Rosé's slim physique always leaves you breathless no matter how many times you've seen it.

The expression in her face changes, you can see the switch flick in her head. The cute Rosie is gone and out comes your master. Rosé glances in your direction, "Come here my dear pet." She turns around and assumes the same position as Lisa: bent over and grabbing the railing.

Feeling emboldened, the tip of your cock presses against Rosé's puckered hole, but she glares back at you, reaching behind to lower you to the correct position. "You know better than that…"

Lisa laughs at your attempt and shrugs, "It was worth a shot." Your pace starts off slow, appreciating every moment you get to be inside of her silky wet walls as you glide in and out. Her warmth hugs you tight, feeling even better against the bite of the cold winter air. Rosé's honey moans echo out into the crisp Paris night as you slowly work up your speed. "Just like that. Just like that!" Rosé screams out when you reach her optimal pace.

Your hands are wrapped around her ant sized waist–she's so slim your fingertips are almost able to touch. Lisa lightly strokes her fingertips up and down Rosé's spine while whispering dirty words into her ear.

"You're happy you caught us again aren't you? …Do you like feeling Oppa rearrange your insides?" Rosé can only silently nod, the increasing pressure in her core almost bursting out. Lisa has moved on from her back, using two fingers to massage her inflamed nub while you thrust away. "Hold it in Chaeyoung, hold it in for as long as you can."

Rosé grits her teeth listening to Lisa's instructions. Her moans have become silent, so wrapped up in pent up pleasure, she can no longer produce sounds. Then like a dam opening its gates, she is no longer able to hold out against the pressure building inside of her. The pinnacle of pleasure washes over Rosé, her entire body quivering, finally able to scream out in ecstasy, the sounds get carried away with the wind. She falls down to her knees, her breath heavy, her pent up orgasm still coursing through her from head to toe.

"Bring her inside Oppa." Lisa flush red from arousal. "We've been too loud for too long."

You carry in Rosé's listless body, laying her carefully on the bed. "Let's give her time to rest." Lisa says before pouncing back on you. She shoves her tongue down your throat while aggressively stroking you up and down. Her lips move down further and further down along your body until she's face to face with your throbbing cock. Starting at your base, she slowly glides her tongue along the whole length until she reaches the top–your fingers tangle in her hair once she takes you in.

Lisa takes you deeper and deeper into her mouth, her tongue swirling around at every step. She moves her head up and down, faster and faster, until you're physically trembling with pleasure. Then she suddenly stops. Time seemed to stand still when she painfully squeezed your balls. "You can't cum yet, Oppa."

Rosé stirs back up and joins in, starting it off by taking your length in her mouth. She works her tongue around the base, teasing and tantalizing you. Rosé can feel your body tense up as she moves up and down your shaft.

Lisa moves in next, her mouth replacing Rose's. Lisa is in full control of your orgasm, speeding up and slowing down at a whim. She licks and sucks while Rosé's soft tender hands rub up and down your thighs.

"Does your cock feel good in Lisa's throat? Just feeling your eyes on me makes me so wet." The way Rosé uses her sweet Australian accent to say such dirty words should be considered illegal.

The two idols are relentless, taking turns on your cock. They work in tandem, their mouths and hands moving in perfect synchrony. Feeling yourself getting close, your breathing becomes more and more labored.

Once again just as you're about to release, they stop their movements and Lisa painfully squeezes your balls to stop any accidental spillage. They both look at each other with mischievous grins on their faces.

"What do you say Chaeyoung? Should we let him cum?"

"Hmmmmmm," she draws out her thought long and exaggerated. "I think he's been through enough."

Each girl has taken up their respective position, Rosé is the first to jump to action, taking your head into her mouth. Lisa moves in behind Rosé and uses both her hands to stroke you into Rosé's chipmunk cheeks. If the edging session wasn’t enough, they secretly had you in their finishing move causing you to finish in mere seconds. Exploding into Rosé’s mouth would be an understatement, the amount of cum that filled her mouth makes her eyes grow wide as she struggles to contain everything in before Lisa dives in for her fair share. They look at each other then break into a laughter, proud at themselves for being able to coordinate that attack without any words. You wonder to yourself how you’ve gotten this lucky, but you also know this night has just began.

The rest of the night is a frenzy, three people focused solely on exploring each other's body. There are times with you and Lisa. Other times with you and Rosé. The most common is all three together, discovering more ways to have sex than you thought was even possible. Even when you needed to rest, the two best friends found ways to keep themselves in an endless cycle of bliss. This rest is often short lived, seeing Rosé and Lisa all over each other 'sprung' you back into action.

All good things must come to an end, every party now fully exhausted, three sweat and cum soaked bodies sprawled across the bed, limbs intertwined with each other. If there's one thing for sure, Paris, je t'aime.

#blackpink rose smut #blackpink lisa smut #blackpink rosé smut

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standfucker · 1 year

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More Than Enough

Extremely belated birthday gift for @nekomacheercaptain, thanks for being a great friend these past few months! Hope it was worth the wait, thanks for your patience!

Characters: Rosinante

Reader: Cis Fem

Word Count: 11,898

CW: fluff, explicit N.SFW content, established relationship, lots of smooches, shy reader, chubby reader, lil bit of soft dom Rosi, body worship, praise, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving,) fingering, vaginal penetration, size difference, size kink, big insertion, belly bulge, slight bit of hurt/comfort, reader does not finish but has a great time so it’s all good

Summary: When Rosinante discovers that your birthday's coming up, he does what he can to make it special.

Ao3 Link

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Rosinante’s call of your name pulls you out of your thoughts. You blink, now back in reality, and look his way. At this distance, you can see his concerned frown under the red paint, pointed opposite of the harlequin curves.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine,” you reply quietly.

“You seem distracted.”

His eyes are soft. It’s not something you would ever see around the family. To the outside world, they are cold and aloof, all out of necessity. But the way he looks at you in private–it’s like he’s a completely different person.

All Rosinante had done was comment on the date, and you had gone quiet, a realization setting in that you didn’t know how to feel about. Knowing the stakes as you do, this long after he had divulged his secret to you, it seems trivial. Now that you’re both playing this deadly game of pretend under Doflamingo’s nose, what does it matter?

You play with the hem of your sleeve, thumb sliding across the worn threads for stimulation and comfort, a nervous habit. Rosi’s eyes settle on your busy fingers. He knows it means you’re agitated, you’re pretty sure. He’s frighteningly observant.

“It’s nothing, really,” you try to dismiss, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether.

Rosinante hesitates, unsure if he should pry. He hates making you uncomfortable, but you can tell he wants you to confide in him–he told you as much, after all, those many months ago when he revealed his voice.

“I’ve told you my secret. In exchange, you tell me yours, and we’ll call it even.”

Guilt stirs uncomfortably in your chest. Rosinante had long since earned your trust, hadn’t he? He would probably want to know.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday tomorrow,” you finally admit. “I completely forgot about it, to be honest, until just now when you mentioned the date.”

His reaction is as you feared–shock slowly morphing into excitement, his lips curling up to match the direction of the face paint. He starts to speak.

“We should do somethi–”

“No!” you cut him off, surprising you both. Then you cringe at your outburst, giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know. Birthdays can be a weird time for me. I don’t know that I want to celebrate.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

The disappointment in that little ‘oh’ reinforces the guilt. You try not to overthink it–you’re too tired from the mission Doflamingo assigned you two to let minor stresses pile up now. At least you and Rosinante had finished up early. There were still two more days until you were scheduled to meet the Numancia Flamingo, from which you would be sailing to the next island, only a day’s travel away.

For now, you took temporary refuge in a recently-abandoned house on the outskirts of town. It meant that for the next 48 hours, neither you nor Rosinante had to pretend. He seemed aware of the shrinking span of time you had left, because he had been touchier since the mission ended, even for him.

“It’s just…” Rosi takes your hand, dwarfing it in his. His thumb sweeps over your knuckles, his go-to gesture when you’re anxious. “I want to do something for you.”

“I knew you would,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, because of course he would. He cares fiercely, as you've come to find out, for his loved ones–and somehow, somewhere along the line, you'd become one of them. It’s only natural he’d want to celebrate. And while you don’t know if you have the mental energy for an outing tomorrow, you wonder if you can make a compromise. Indulge him in indulging you.

“Spend time with me?” you suggest. “Just me and you staying in tomorrow, keeping each other company, doing absolutely nothing. That would be more than enough.”

That was what you needed. To relax for a day, to have no expectations, to give your nerves time to come down. Having Rosinante by your side for that seems like a pretty good birthday gift to you.

“You want to do nothing?” he questions, uncertain.

“Yep.”

Uncertainty turns to thoughtfulness. You know he’s tired, too.

“...I suppose we have earned a break.”

Rosinante holds you close when you go to bed that night, one huge arm across your torso tucking you against his chest like you're a stuffed animal. Your hands come to rest on his arm. He’s solid and warm against your back, bringing a sense of safety you’d never really felt in your life before knowing him.

With privacy among the family nearly impossible to find, you soak in each other’s presence as much as you can in these rare opportunities. He kisses the top of your head before settling, and you squeeze his arm in response.

“I love you,” he says sleepily.

That has you twisting in place, rolling over to face him. Even in the dark, you can clearly see those soft eyes looking down at you fondly.

Why? A part of you wants to ask. But you don’t. There will be plenty of time for doubts once you’re back around his brother. Right now, it’s just you, Rosinante, and the delicate, wild thing that’s bloomed between you this past year. Candid, honest, and trusting. The ‘why’ doesn’t matter.

So you say, “I love you too,” and you look into those adoring eyes of his when you do, to let him know you mean it.

Even as tired as he is, Rosinante’s smile is bright and giddy, more like a schoolboy whose crush held his hand rather than a three-meter tall grown man. He bends down to kiss you, and you stretch to meet him, freeing your arms from between your bodies so you can hold his face to yours.

He's holding you almost too tightly as he falls asleep, but the pressure is soothing, and once he dozes off, his grip loosens. You both tend to move in your sleep, you more so than him, so you’re not surprised to no longer be in contact when you wake the next morning. But when you reach your arm out to the other side of the bed, seeking his warmth, you find that it’s empty.

You sit up, right in time to hear the front door open. On instinct, you get tense, battle-weary nerves anticipating a possible enemy. But then you hear a thump, followed by Rosinante’s yelp, and you know all is well.

As you’d expected, a single night’s sleep wasn’t enough to ease your tension after the stresses of the mission. You’re still tired as you stretch and rise, briefly debating on just going back to sleep but deciding you wouldn’t rest as well without Rosinante there anyway.

You find him in the kitchen. There’s a bag with crumpled take-out boxes on the table, likely smashed during his fall.

“Good morning,” Rosinante says merrily, rubbing a new sore spot on his head. “Happy birthday!”

Right. Your birthday. The momentary blank look on your face makes Rosi chuckle.

“Did you forget again?”

“Um… Maybe?” you say sheepishly, pulling out a chair to plop into.

“Well, I didn’t,” he says, his proud look turning into a slight cringe when he removes the crushed boxes from the bag. He slides one over to you. “Got us breakfast. Should be intact.”

The boxes have the logo of what must be a local diner. Inside is a stack of heart-shaped waffles. Thankfully, being flat, they survived the fall without being ruined. There’s little containers of butter and syrup inside with them, upturned but miraculously still closed.

“Oh, it smells so good!” Your mouth is already watering–restaurant food was always a welcome change from boat food. “Thank you, Corazon! I was so drained from this week, I didn’t even think about what we’d eat today.”

“Sure." He beams at your response, proud of himself again. “We can figure out lunch and dinner later.”

After breakfast, you check on the laundry you had hung up the day prior. Sweat, dirt, blood–not a trace of the mission remains on them. Washing the bloodstains out of clothing by yourself had always felt sinister, like you were covering up your crimes. Doing it next to Rosinante, for some reason, was different. With him, it felt more like a cleansing ritual–sitting side by side, working to return your attire, and by extension, yourselves, to a state of normalcy. Afraid he would get the stain remover into his eyes somehow, you had forcibly taken over for him. After some initial protesting, he acquiesced, sitting you in his lap as you worked, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist.

Everything is dry except for Rosinante’s black feather coat, the thick material still damp to the touch. There are spots along the shoulders where the feathers are scratchy and stiff from having been singed, but the rest is soft. You run your hand over it, then lean in to sniff the garment without really thinking about it. Even having been washed, it still smells like him, a comforting mix of his natural scent and nicotine.

“Is it dry?”

Rosinante’s voice behind you makes you jerk away from the coat, face flushing warm. His goofy smile and the dusting of pink on his cheeks tells you that you’ve been caught.

“N-No, it’s not,” you say quickly. “Might be a while before it is, so try not to get that one dirty again soon…”

Rosinante’s smile widens, playful. “I guess that detergent smells pretty good, doesn’t it?”

The detergent you had on hand last night was unscented. He’s messing with you.

“Cora…” The heat creeps further up your cheeks.

“All sweet and floral,” he continues.

“Cora.”

“Or is it the cigarette smell you like?”

“Rosinante!” you say firmly.

He rubs the back of his neck, grinning apologetically. “Sorry, love. I’m done.”

The teasing is relatively new, something he didn’t start doing until you became fully comfortable with each other. You’re not used to it yet. It’s a bit frustrating how easily it gets to you, but you also know that on the rare moments you get the nerve to tease him back, he falls apart worse than you do.

Rosinante starts heading your way, but hesitates at the clotheslines strung across the yard. They’re at chest height to him, perfect to get tangled up in. You shake your head as you take down the last of the dry garments. At least he’s self-aware. (If only it was enough to prevent accidents.) You approach him so he doesn’t have to take the risk, and he holds his arms out, offering to take the clothes off your hands.

Rosinante's blushing when you set the bundle in his arms, and he doesn’t move right away, looking down at you with a bashful grin.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I like when you call me Rosinante.”

It’s not the first time he’s told you that, but you still get a bit flustered, averting your eyes like you haven’t slept together before. The last time he said that, he added, “but it can’t become habit,” concerned that it would potentially give you two away if it slipped out in front of the family.

This time, he must not be worrying about it, because he adds in a lower voice, “I like ‘Rosi’ even better.”

That makes you heat right back up again, and you fidget in place. “I thought you said you were done,” you mutter, poorly suppressing a smile.

“Ah, that’s right! I’m sorry. You’re just so cute, it’s hard to help.”

You shove your face into the pile of clothes he’s holding to hide the furious blush that must be tinting your skin, muffling your whine. “Rosi…”

“There it is.” He leans over and kisses the back of your head. “Mwah~! Come on, let’s go inside.”

Rosinante insists on folding the laundry, since you did most of the washing. He sits down to work, and you drape yourself against his back, your arms hanging over his shoulders and your face buried into his neck. He’s so tall compared to you that you have to be standing up to do so.

“Aren’t you tired, baby? You don’t wanna sit?” he asks.

“I’m good here,” you mumble, more than content to be close.

Taking advantage of the fact that your heads are currently level for once, Rosinante turns his head to kiss you, first on your nose, then your cheek, working his way down with soft pecks. Your giggle is cut off when he reaches your lips, his eyes fluttering closed. Responding eagerly, you angle your head for better access, making him hum in satisfaction.

“Don’t let me distract you, Rosi,” you whisper.

“How can I not be when you’re right here?” he whispers back. “Radiant as a star, with none of the family around to disturb your light.”

Given your eye bags and messy hair, you’re not sure where he’s getting ‘radiant,’ but at the same time, you understand–you’ve seen him dirtied, bloodied, and exhausted and still especially found him attractive. But you're not used to such compliments, no matter how often he gives them. The flattery is always overwhelming, because no one's really spoken to you that way before him.

At your doubtful look, Rosinante opens his mouth to add something. You know it's going to be more praise, and you're already blushing, so you shut him up with a kiss, small hands holding his face to pull him right back in.

At some point while he’s folding clothes, you’re suddenly hit by the domesticity of it. In another life, this could be your reality: Mundane. No stakes. No risking your life. Just the day-to-day upkeep that you would share, together. Maybe it’s still possible someday. Maybe, if you’re lucky, this could be your future. You hold him a little tighter at the thought, and his sigh of contentment is like warmth in sound form, melting away doubts and worries.

All that the prior house occupants had left behind in the pantry are an unopened jar of coconut oil, a tin of stale crackers, and some half-empty spice containers, so despite your initial plan to stay in, the two of you decide to go into town for lunch. The weather’s nice for an outing anyway, sunny and temperate with a light breeze. You hold hands as you walk and discuss your plans, settling on getting lunch from a restaurant and then buying some groceries to make dinner yourselves.

You’ve finished with lunch and are walking to the market when a storefront catches your eye, the rows of transponder snails sitting by the window standing out. They’re arranged in a neat display, though their purpose isn’t immediately obvious, as it doesn’t look like a typical snail-breeding operation. Rosinante encourages your curiosity, and the both of you duck into the store to see what’s going on. The clerk is happy to explain–the snails are actually visual transponder snails available to rent, each one having memorized three films they can project. It’s your first time seeing such a service, and you can’t help but be impressed as you browse the options, each snail resting next to a card with its films listed.

“Three entire films, huh?” you muse, picking up one of the snails and scratching along its shell until it purrs. “That’s pretty impressive. Aren’t you neat, you cute little thing?”

The snail withdraws slightly into its shell, eyestalks still poking out, but it won’t look at you, which makes you giggle. “Aww, Cora, I think it’s shy.”

Rosinante glances at the store clerk, currently a ways away but still within earshot, and then snaps his fingers, creating a small bubble of silence around the two of you. At this point, you recognize the ability when it manifests, though you don’t know why he chose to use it right then, especially so close to a civilian.

“It reminds me of someone,” Rosinante says cheekily, clownish grin stretching when you predictably get flustered.

So he didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the clerk, but still felt that teasing you was necessary enough to risk being seen using his power? Before you can come up with a clever retort or admonishment, however, he drops the bubble, forcing you to keep it to yourself lest you sound like a crazy person. You try to communicate your disapproval with a pointed look, which promptly fails on account of your blush and only serves to make him chuckle.

After you pick out a snail and continue on your way to the market, you’ve calmed down enough that your stern expression actually comes off as stern.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you chide, “taking such a risk just for the sake of teasing me. Really, Corazon…”

“Well, I won’t be able to once we meet up with the family,” he says casually, “I’m trying to get it all out of my system while I can.”

“Is that even possible for you?” you joke as you side-eye him, knowing full well that Rosinante can be a bit… unhinged, at times.

That harlequin grin returns. “Maybe not, but I don’t think you mind nearly as much as you act like you do.”

There was that keen observation of his again. Sometimes you could be apprehensive over just how well he knew you. But other times, on those long nights where you were stuck deep in your own head, and he would just know without you saying a thing, and he would come to your side and wordlessly hold you close–those times reminded you that this was what trust was supposed to be like. Even if a small, dark part of you kept waiting to be taken advantage of, it never happened.

“Even so,” Rosinante adds, “if it’s too much, you know, just say the word. I’ll stop.”

A sharp swell of gratitude in you threatens to form tears, and you look away from him, taking a deep breath to hold it in. What did you do to deserve him? To show you’re not upset, you squeeze his hand, but he still picks up on your distress, lightly returning the pressure.

“Y/n?” he questions.

“I’m okay.” You compose yourself with another breath and smile up at him. “I love you, Rosi. That’s all.”

Rosinante’s cheeks turn a shade of pink that matches the hearts on his shirt. Then, breaking out into a delighted grin, he picks you right off of the ground in a tight hug. You immediately wrap your arms and legs around him in turn, both of you giggling.

“As hard as the mission was,” you say, “I’m glad it was just us two. I’m glad I don’t have to spend my birthday with anyone else.”

“Me too.” Rosinante kisses your cheek, and you push him away half-heartedly.

“You’ll smear your paint again.”

“So what?”

“We’re trying not to stand out, remember?”

His huffy pout is so childish it makes you giggle again.

“You’re right…”

After you return to the house and put the groceries away, you spend the next hour or so unwinding from the trip. There’s a bookshelf in the living room with a variety of paperbacks, so you take advantage, each picking out one that looks interesting. Rosinante manages to knock the entire bookshelf over somehow, getting pelted by a small avalanche of books. Once you help put them away, the two of you curl up against each other to read on the rather large couch in the living room, big enough to hold even his bulk. The exhaustion from the previous week still lingers, as you both end up falling asleep, you leaning on his broad chest and soothed by the lullaby drumming of his heartbeat.

When you wake up next, you finally feel refreshed. Coming back to consciousness to the feel of his large body against yours is a soul-deep comfort, one you wish you could enjoy more often. If only you didn’t have to hide your relationship… You idly trace formless shapes on his chest, mulling the thought over like you have hundreds of times before, and he begins to stir.

The slight movement draws your attention. Rosinante had passed out hard enough to drool a bit in his sleep, and as you reach up to wipe it from his chin, he grabs your wrist, pulling your fingers to his lips to kiss them sleepily.

“Rest well?” you ask, smiling.

“Mm. Always do, when I’m with you,” he responds, kissing your palm next.

You sigh. “Cora…”

“Something on your mind?” He lowers your hand so he can fix his marigold eyes on yours, searching and curious.

You hesitate, mustering up the courage to share your thoughts. “I was just thinking… If we revealed to Doffy that we’re seeing each other, maybe we could be close more often. Share quarters instead of sneaking around. We could have this every night…”

Rosinante sits up, shifting you to sit onto his lap. He’s pensive, frowning slightly, the look alone making anxious nerves unsettle your stomach. As always, though, he notices, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back to show he’s not mad.

“I have thought about that,” he says after a minute, “but I want to save that information.”

“Save it?”

“As my brother gains momentum, the stakes only continue to rise, as do the risks we take. If we are ever out doing something conspiratorial against him, and, god forbid, he catches wind of it… I want to be able to use our relationship as an alibi. So I can tell him that we were just trying to hide that we’re dating.“

So that was his plan. Moments like these were a sobering reminder of his true nature–ever the cautious spy, strategically manipulating any and all information available to him. You imagine Doflamingo’s response to hearing that. After years spent in his service, it’s not difficult–you can picture his demonic grin clearly in your mind, and how it would widen upon the revelation. ‘A relationship? Why would you hide such a thing from me, dear brother?’

“He’d question why you went to lengths to hide that.”

“But he knows you,” Rosinante says, wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand. “He knows you’re shy, and he’s still under the impression I’m reserved. It might be enough to convince him. On the off chance that it could save us…”

You nod, if a bit reluctantly. “I understand.”

His smile is wistful, at first, before he puts on a more confident front, bending over to press his forehead to yours. “I’ll find ways to be close to you, Y/n. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay.” You cup his face, mindful not to smear the paint, and he wraps his arms around your back. You both stay like that for a while, like you can combat an uncertain future by figuratively and literally holding onto each other. And maybe it’s just because you’re head-over-heels for him, but sometimes, his embrace feels a lot like hope.

You make dinner for the both of you, outright refusing to let him help, knowing no good can come of him being around open flames or knives. After eating, you set up the video transponder snail, settling on the couch to watch the films. By then, Rosinante’s coat has fully dried, and he lets you curl up in it, more like a massive blanket in comparison to your body. He must get a kick out of seeing you practically drowning in the fabric, because he can’t stop giggling to himself as he tucks it around you.

Having not been familiar with most of the films advertised at the store, you had picked out the snail at random. The first film turns out to be enjoyable, a lighthearted but thrilling espionage flick that Rosinante can’t resist making comments on.

“That’s not how that works…”

“It’s just pretend, Rosi.”

“Still-!”

The both of you are lying down by the time the second film starts, your back to his chest, his hand resting on your hip. You’re not really paying this film much attention, focused more on the soft joys of the present: his scent surrounding you, the heat of his body that you can feel even through the coat, the sense of safety you get from being in proximity.

Rosinante must not be paying attention to the film, either, because after a while, he noses into your hair and breathes in deep. A moment later, his lips press to the back of your neck.

“Mm…” You shift a bit. “Rosi?”

“I know you said you don’t want to celebrate your birthday, but…” He doesn’t pull away from your neck to speak, and you can’t tell if the goosebumps that result come from the tickling of his lips on your skin or his deep baritone in your ear. “Can I make you feel good?”

A pulse of excitement runs through you at the husky intent in his voice, but it’s quickly tempered by doubt. It’s not like you haven’t done it before, but you’re self-conscious regardless, since…

“You know I won’t be able to finish,” you remind him.

It kills you that because of your issue, Rosinante can’t even do that much for you. He’s well acquainted with your struggle by now, and while it’s never stopped him from seeking this type of closeness, you still feel guilty. But it’s like he can sense your shame, because he kisses the back of your neck again as if to soothe your worries.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “So long as you enjoy yourself.”

That swell of gratitude returns in full force, rising in your chest along with such a strong surge of love that it almost hurts. You roll over to face him. He’s already blushing from the proposition, and you feel the heat start to crawl up your own cheeks.

“I love you so much,” you confess. “Yes, Rosi, you can. I… I want it. I want you…”

That giddy schoolboy grin returns for a moment, and then it changes, becoming something far more subdued and adult, his eyes half-lidding as he cradles your face in both hands.

“Then you’ll have me.”

Rosinante kisses you softly at first, pacing himself like he’s committing the feeling to memory. Then you grab onto the open collar of his shirt, and the tug of fabric triggers something in him, arms wrapping around you as he brings a heat that wasn’t present in any of the sweet kisses throughout the day. You can sense the change, his intent seeming to flow directly into your veins from his mouth like venom, burning you up in a good way. He’s measured, even restrained when he swipes his tongue along the seam of your mouth, only for his breath to hitch when you reciprocate, you parting your lips to curl your smaller tongue around his. His resulting moan comes from deep in his gut, stirring heat in yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he lets go of your face in order to peel his coat off of you, tossing it out of the way and swallowing your little noise of protest before his hands are right back on you, pulling you even closer. You reach up to grab the tails of his hat, eagerly pressing your body against his as you return everything he gives you.

Breaking for air lets him get a good look at your face, flushed and panting, and he curses at the sight of his face paint smeared across your swollen lips.

“Fuck, Y/n… Seeing my paint all messy on you–it does things to me,” he admits breathlessly, pupils blown wide.

“I could say the same,” you smile, as his is smudged just as badly. It would look ridiculous if it wasn’t so hot.

Rosinante kisses you again, open-mouthed and passionate. Given that he’s larger in every way, all parts of him proportionate to his height, even his tongue is that much bigger, filling up your mouth when he thrusts it past your lips. You moan around his tongue, and again when his large hands start to roam your body, greedily feeling you up. The tails of his hat aren’t sturdy enough for your liking, so you pull it off his head and bury your fingers directly into his hair, gripping the blond locks tightly enough to make him groan into your mouth. He starts to kiss and nibble along your jaw, muttering huskily in between each one.

“Could smear it elsewhere,” kiss, “could smear it all over you,” nip, “d’you want that, baby girl?”

“Ah! Rosi, y-yes! Please!”

His low chuckle sends a spike of heat between your legs, another one following when he rolls you onto your back, hovering over your form. “There’s my good girl.”

You whimper at the praise as Rosinante kisses his way down your neck, gliding his hands up and down your sides before hooking them under the hem of your shirt. He peels it up with reverence, like he’s unwrapping a long-anticipated gift, slow and methodical. You raise your arms to help him remove it, then undo the clasp of your bra yourself, figuring he’d only struggle with his large fingers. You let him remove your bra the rest of the way, too, knowing he enjoys disrobing you, though feeling a wave of embarrassment at how he sucks in a breath once your breasts are exposed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, awestruck, and you can’t help but cover your face. He always acts like he’s never seen you naked before.

Rosinante pulls your hands away, kisses you with tongue, then replaces your hands where they were, making you giggle. Then he presses his face between your breasts with a muffled sigh, enjoying the feel of your body for a moment before he shifts himself lower, mouth leaving a stripe of red down your front until his head rests on your stomach. His fingers sink into the doughy flesh of your hips, and you tense only for a moment before relaxing.

“You okay, baby?” he checks in.

“Mhm,” you assure him, “feels good.”

By now, you were used to how Rosinante reacted to your body, but the first time you had been intimate, you froze up at his touches.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you had asked him as he kissed your hip, trailing his lips along a stretch mark.

“Hm?” His eyes, glassy with lust, flicked up to meet yours, making you shiver. “Does what?”

“My, um…” Unable to say it, you grabbed your stomach to illustrate your point.

Rosinante followed your gaze down to your hands. There was a beat where he just blinked, unsure of what you meant, before his eyes widened with realization. Then he blushed even deeper. Tentatively, his hands came to rest over yours on your stomach, and then he gently pulled them away so he could lay his head there instead.

“Silly girl…”

The way he said it, like he was in on something you weren’t, went straight between your legs. He let go of your hands so he could lecherously squeeze at your thighs again.

“You have no idea…” he whispered, and kissed your stomach with the same veneration of one kissing the foot of a revered statue. “...No idea what you do to me.”

Finding out he liked it–once you got over the initial shyness–had been a major confidence booster, even if it veered on overwhelming at times. Rosinante’s size may have made you weak-kneed if you dwelled on it too much, and his hidden gentleness had its draw, of course, but the sexiest thing about him was just how into you he was.

His lips press to your stomach the same way they did that first time together, and thanks to the sheer size of him, the purr in his throat sounds more like a growl.

“You’re so soft, Y/n…” His tongue dips out to taste your skin.

“Ah!” You squirm. “Rosi-!”

Rosinante’s grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place. “Can’t get enough…” He licks his way to the top of your hip, where he starts sucking a bruise that has you whimpering. His hands travel lower to wrap around your thighs, and then, without warning, he suddenly drags you further beneath him, so his head is level with your neck, handling you like the tiny thing you are in comparison. You gasp at how easy it is for him, and again, breathier, when his lips touch your shoulder.

He’s gotten bolder in bed. You would have never imagined it from how cautious he was your first few times together, but Rosinante was keen. This long into your relationship, he’d zeroed in on what you liked–not that you made it all that difficult, reacting rather strongly whenever he manhandled you a little. Sure enough, between that and his earlier kisses, you already feel yourself growing slick.

“Soft,” he repeats, kissing your skin. “Sweet.” His mouth skims along your shoulder until he’s at the curve of your neck. “Like something to be eaten…” He bites into the tender flesh, drawing a moan from you.

“Rosi,” you whine, a little gasp escaping when he starts sucking on the spot. “Mm-! Please! D-Don’t tease me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mutters, then promptly contradicts his words with another gentle bite.

“Rosi!”

“Sorry, baby girl… Hard to help when it makes you sound like that.” He kisses your neck in apology. “I’ll take care of you, promise...”

True to his word, Rosinante pushes you back up the couch so he’s positioned over your hips this time. The removal of your pants and underwear is treated with the same careful devotion that he did your shirt, savoring the act almost as much as what will follow. He doesn’t hesitate once you’re fully nude, immediately kissing your mons despite the soft curls of hair, then kissing your outer lips, groaning with heady anticipation.

“Spread your legs for me,” he directs, the command making you throb. There's something immensely appealing about knowing he could easily do it himself, but having you do as he says anyway. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth when you comply, entranced by the display. “Oh, good girl, so pretty. I’m so lucky…”

Before you have a chance to react shyly to that, he dips his head and licks a broad stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit, and your back arches at the electric contact, a small cry slipping out.

“So wet for me,” Rosinante moans. “Tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

With that, he dives back in, warming you up with slow, persistent licks, large tongue spread flat against your entire slit. Only a few seconds in and you’re already whimpering and squirming, prompting him to hook his muscular arms around your thighs to hold you still. The strength in his grip is almost as intoxicating as his enthusiasm, all the shrewd composure he’s forced to uphold for his mission gone, not even an afterthought when presented with the opportunity to indulge himself. He’s like a different person when he’s between your legs, usual modesty replaced by something carnal and hungry.

Rosinante eats you out like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance, shameless and thorough, deftly weaving his tongue between the folds of your inner lips before suckling on them. He gives quick, toying flicks of his tongue along your entrance, teasing the idea but not yet penetrating, and you can’t stop yourself from thrusting slightly into his mouth, which makes him tighten his grip on you.

“Oh-! Oh! Rosi!” you whine, unable to escape the blissful onslaught, fingers digging uselessly at the couch.

He’s noisy about it, too, not just because of the wet, messy slurping, but because he won’t stop moaning against your cunt, like he’s on another plane of being. While he claimed to be doing this for you, you suspect, even despite how incredible it feels, that he’s the one getting more out of this. He doesn’t let up for a single moment. You’re not sure how he’s breathing.

From the very start of your sexual relationship, Rosinante has always had a natural aptitude for giving head, and he’s only gotten better with time. He reads your body effortlessly, attentive nature serving him well for the task, knowing when to be consistent and when to switch it up. He’ll lick in one direction for a while, then, right before you become used to it to the point of the pleasure diminishing, he’ll change direction, interspersing with a new sensation that has your toes curling.

Once he’s decided you’re warmed up enough, he starts being more precise, using the tip of his tongue for more pinpoint stimulation in between the steady, rhythmic licks. Then he licks a long stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit again, except this time, he finishes by circling around your engorged clit. You arch deeper, if possible, as you cry out, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging hard, and he moans even louder. There’s a brief pause where he takes a breath–more of a gasp of your name, really–and then he’s buried his face between your legs again, focusing his attention on your clit, flicking and lapping his tongue at it like it’s his goal to get you to pull his hair out. Your noises, your writhing, the slight pain of your grip on his hair, all of it drives Rosinante mad, self-control slipping as he starts to buck his hips into the couch now and then while he goes down on you.

Right as the attention to your clit becomes too much, he snakes his tongue down and finally penetrates you, licking and undulating along your walls. Thrusting as deep as he can go, he curls his tongue to collect your slick at the source before drawing it back into his mouth to swallow it down, groaning depravedly at the taste. He never slows down, either, tongue-fucking you with a drive bordering on obsessive.

You’re almost as noisy as Rosinante is, now, hopeless to stop each shaky little whimper and moan of his name that he so expertly coaxes out of you. With his relentless pace and excellent attention to detail, it’s only a matter of time before it all becomes overstimulating.

“Rosi,” you gasp, tapping his shoulder. “Rosi, it’s too much.”

He looks a complete mess when he lifts his head, hair disheveled, mouth and chin shiny with slick and drool, almost no face paint left on him, likely all smeared on your vulva–you’ll definitely need a shower later. With the color and thickness of his hair, his reluctant look reminds you somewhat of a golden retriever that’s been called by its owner to leave the dog park.

“Just a little more?” he asks with an innocence that has no place being there after how he just ate you out.

You giggle, both at that and because this was supposed to be about you, but you’re flattered that he can’t help himself when it comes to your body. “Give me a minute to recover, first. Then you can keep going. But slow down a bit when you do, okay?”

He rests his head on your thigh. “Whatever you need, baby girl. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You lay your head back, catching your breath as you come down. Rosinante busies himself with marking up your inner thighs in the meantime, nibbling and sucking one bruise after another while you stroke his hair appreciatively. Once your nerves have settled, you give him the okay, and he wastes no time getting back to work.

Rosinante adjusts his hold on your thighs and drags your body closer, grinding your cunt right against the flat of his tongue as your fingers find their way into his hair again. He doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips into him, encouraging it with a gratified moan. Pleasure builds back up gradually, only to spike too high when he turns his attention to your clit again.

“Slow, Rosi,” you remind him, and he grunts an affirmative, easing up significantly.

One of his arms unhooks from your thigh, large hand squeezing your rear before he slips it between your bodies. As promised, he moves slowly when he penetrates you with a thick finger, but you still arch from the contact–his fingers are so much bigger than yours, and taking his time means the sensation is drawn out that much longer.

“Oh!” Your gasp is only pleasured, but he checks in anyway.

“This okay?”

“Yesss,” you moan, making him chuckle.

Mindful of your sensitivity, Rosinante pumps his finger at a leisurely, unhurried pace, relishing in each of your twitches and cries.

“What a good girl you are, Y/n,” he praises, then licks along the side of your clit, just once. “Letting me do this to you behind closed doors…” His tongue sweeps over your nub again. “You’re sweet all over, aren’t you, baby?”

He keeps from overstimulating you by breaking up each pass of his tongue with praise, until you don’t know if it’s his mouth or his words that’s making your breath catch in your throat.

“Your moans are so cute.”

“I love how you try to hold back…”

“You don’t need to, Y/n.”

“After all… This is all for me.”

“All mine to see, to hear, to taste. My girl...”

Rosinante curls his finger, and you cry his name. He’s gentle but insistent, sparking little pulses of pleasure through your core. It doesn’t build up much, but you ride it as long as you can, until your enjoyment starts to wane and there’s more friction than you’d like.

“Rosi, I–I need a break,” you tap his shoulder in signal, and he withdraws from you.

“You lasted longer that time,” Rosinante notes, then grabs your thigh and drags you underneath him so he’s at eye level with you again. Despite how he moves you as he pleases, he looks at you like you’re an angel gracing the earth. “You taste so damn good… Want me to show you?” He sticks out his tongue devilishly.

You consent by reaching for his face, pulling him in for a messy kiss that tastes of your slick. He probes his tongue deep, making sure to fill your mouth with the slippery tang. You moan softly in approval, and the thought that you like it turns him on so much he’s bucking slightly again in response. If it wasn’t for the significant height difference, he’d be grinding against you, but with your heads currently level, his hips are below your own.

Rosinante growls into your mouth, hands roaming your body to grab and squeeze as he likes. You can feel the rumble of it in your chest, and along with the dizzying taste of your slick and his covetous groping, you find yourself craving even more of him, like the depth of his need has rubbed off on you. Your hand trails down, reaching for his pants, but alas, he’s too damn tall for you to get any further than his abs. He picks up on it, though.

“You want my cock?” Rosinante whispers huskily, thrusting into the couch again.

“Yes, yes, please, Rosi!” you beg, and he grins at your desperation.

“I thought you needed a break.”

“Don’t be mean! It’s my birthday…” A cheap card to pull, maybe, but you’ll say anything at this point to get what you want.

Rosinante chuckles and kisses you, gently biting your lower lip. “Think it’ll fit this time?”

Even after all of his prior attention, the words pool fresh heat between your legs, an anticipatory shudder running up your spine. “Let’s try?” you ask. “Pretty please?”

“Like I could say no to you.” He kisses you again, groaning when you grind your crotch against his stomach. “Just don’t push yourself if it hurts.”

Rosinante’s eyes glaze over as he watches you hastily unbutton his shirt, taken at your impatience and at how avidly you run your hands down the soft fuzz of his chest once it’s exposed. He’s already undone the button of his pants earlier for some relief from the tightness, and there’s a wet spot on the fabric you don’t miss. He takes enough mercy on you to remove his own bottoms quickly, sliding both off in one motion. His cock springs against his stomach, fully hard and leaking, leaving a smear of precum on his abdomen. Like the rest of him, it’s proportionate to his size, far bigger than anything someone your height was probably meant to take. The length and girth would be more intimidating if it was attached to anyone else, but Rosinante was always mindful of your limits, taking the utmost care anytime you attempted penetration. Still, you can only fight the confines of anatomy so much, and as such, there’s only been a few times that you’ve been able to take him, all of which involved the assistance of lubricant.

Rosinante sits up with his back against the couch, and you eagerly straddle him, scooting forward until your clit’s pressed against the base of his twitching cock. The tip reaches past your navel, promising an incredible stretch if you can manage to fit him.

“Take it nice and slow, okay? Don’t force yourself,” he says as he rests his hands on your hips, helping you position yourself over him. He gasps at your touch when you reach to line him up with your entrance, your fingers not meeting even around the head of his dick.

His energy has changed, all earlier lust now controlled under a tight leash, restrained but brimming beneath the surface. You can feel it in the twitch of his fingers on your hips, and in his shaky breathing as he watches you lower yourself onto him. You both let out a breath when the blunt head of him presses against you. The delicate walls of your entrance are gradually spread wider and wider, stretching to accommodate the intrusion. There’s a dull tinge of pain, one that’s not concerning enough to stop you yet. But despite how wet you are from earlier, it’s still not enough to compensate for his girth, and you find yourself unable to get even the head of his cock fully inside without the friction becoming too painful.

Frustration pushes you to try again. You want him badly, you want to be close in this way, you’ve done it before–you know it’s possible. The resulting pain of your attempt shows in your grimace, making Rosi halt your progress with a firm hold on your hips.

“Baby, stop,” he says, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. “It’s not worth it if it hurts you.”

“I’m so close,” you whine. “I know I can do it.”

“You sure?” His thumb strokes your temple. “Listen to your body, Y/n. If it’s too much, there’s no shame in calling it off for today. We can try again next time.”

You make one more valiant attempt with no luck. Since you’ve taken him before, you have an idea of what to expect when it goes right, and this does not feel like one of those times. It just wasn’t going to happen without lube. Sighing, you dismount, trying not to feel too disappointed. Finishing him with your mouth is a fun option, too, but you were looking forward to riding him…

Then you remember something.

“Wait,” your eyes widen in realization, “the coconut oil.”

“Hm?” He tilts his head cutely.

“There was some left behind in the pantry, remember? I’m pretty sure that’s body-safe…”

Rosinante considers it, then shakes his head. “It’s probably contaminated, or expired.”

“I think it’s still sealed.”

“Is it?” He blinks for a moment, like he can’t believe the luck. Then he jumps to his feet with a hastiness that betrays his excitement, only to slip on nothing and fall hard on his ass. Undeterred, he hops right back to his feet, but is stopped by you grabbing his wrist.

“Nuh-uh, you stay here. I’ll get it,” you assert, picturing him retrieving the jar only to wipe out and let it shatter onto the floor. If that happened you might actually cry.

“I understand,” Rosinante says. You meet each other’s eye and immediately know you’re picturing the same thing, making you both break into giggles. Rosinante pulls you in for a kiss before plopping back down onto the couch, his dick bobbing enticingly from the action. “You gonna stare or you gonna hurry it up, then?”

Caught, you can only flash him a playful grin before you dart into the kitchen. (Wandering through someone else’s home nude always feels a bit awkward, but knowing it’s been abandoned helps ease the discomfort somewhat.) The coconut oil is unrefined, thankfully. Bringing it back to the couch, you scan the label to make sure it’s still in date. The lid is stuck tightly enough to prove it’s still sealed, resisting your attempts to open it until Rosinante twists it off in one easy motion that has you staring at his flexing forearms. He sniffs the contents before offering it to you to inspect. It smells light and faintly sweet, and the pure white color along with the smooth consistency reassures you that it’s safe.

You straddle Rosinante again. He’s so broad your legs don’t reach the couch when you do, but his muscular thighs are sturdy enough that it doesn’t matter. He bites back a whine when you start applying the coconut oil, bucking into your hands.

“Oh, shit. Your hands are so warm,” he moans.

“I’m even warmer on the inside,” you joke.

His chuckle breaks into a gasp when your hand passes over the head of his cock. You keep eye contact while you work, reveling in the flushed, needy way he watches you, this giant of a man now putty in your hands.

“You need–mm, fuck–you need some, too,” he pants, dipping two fingers into the jar and prompting you to raise your hips. Slick with oil, both of his thick fingers slip inside you without resistance, causing you to grab his forearm for stability as pleasure buzzes through you like static. He fingers the oil in deep, eyes half-lidding as you grind into his palm. “There you go…”

While Rosinante seems content to watch you fuck yourself on his hand, you have no intention of getting this messy only to not go all the way.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, come on,” you insist, and he curls his fingers teasingly before he withdraws them just to hear you moan. He wipes the excess oil on his hips before grabbing hold of yours, helping you position yourself again.

“Take it slow,” he says softly, watching your face for signs of pain.

The lube makes a world of difference, eliminating that threshold of friction that stopped you before. Holding your breath seems involuntary, an instinctive response to the feeling of your walls gloving the broad head of his dick. The stretch seems endless as you gradually lower yourself, slick flesh sliding past with little resistance until you’re spread impossibly wide around the first few inches. Rosinante reminds you to breathe through gritted teeth, his strained expression telling you just how good it feels. You don’t need the added motivation, plenty resolved to keep going for the euphoric stretch alone, but knowing it’s just as good for him only makes it better. A helpless little whimper falls out as you take a few more inches, holding onto his forearms for support. He’s thicker toward the tip, so once you conquer the first half, the rest is a matter of patience rather than struggle.

“Gods, Rosi,” you breathe, legs trembling as you work your hips in little up-and-down motions to open yourself further. “You’re so big. So big...”

Rosinante moans, head falling back on the couch. “Oh, fuck. Say it again.”

“You’re so big, Rosi!” Your eyes roll back as you sink another inch, his girth stretching you to your very limit until, finally, he’s more or less bottomed out. There are a few inches of him still left out, beyond what you can physically fit, but the fact that you can manage to take the majority of him at all is an amazing feat on its own.

You stay still for a moment, basking in the bliss of being filled near to bursting, the taught stretch of your walls shooting hot pulses of sensation through your pelvic floor without him moving. Even the slight edge pain feels incredible, cutting through the pleasure and keeping you grounded and aware of everything you’re feeling.

“You are warm,” Rosinante says, and even with him essentially in your guts, you can’t help but giggle. He shifts just slightly, but the slick movement inside you has you gasping and clenching down hard, making him groan and tighten his grip on your hips. He bends down to press his forehead against yours, lust morphing his expression into being both broken and ravenous as he looks into your eyes.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands breathily, almost against your lips.

“It feels so good!” you moan without shame. “Rosi, it feels so good.”

“There’s my girl.” He splays his fingers over your abdomen, feeling the distinct bulge of himself through the flesh with a pleased hiss. “You look so damn good like this. Love the sight of you stuffed full of my cock.”

You clench at the words and rock your hips forward, making you both moan in tandem, and again when you start steadily moving up and down his length. His hands on your hips keep you stable, supporting but not guiding your movements, letting you go at your own pace while he mutters filth in your ear.

“Can’t believe you took all of me… What a greedy little cunt you have, Y/n. Such a good girl, opening up for me…”

Rosinante kisses you roughly, drawing messy stripes on your tongue while you fuck yourself on his cock. You try to pay it back once he pulls away, praises spilling from your lips when you have enough presence of mind to do something other than whimper. But where Rosinante can dish it out, it seems he cannot not take it, because after only a few enamored ravings of how big he is and how good he feels, he’s suddenly stuffing two fingers in your mouth to silence you.

“If you keep talking like that, I’ll cum too soon,” he rasps, but it immediately backfires when you start sucking on his fingers, making him twitch and curse. “Fuck! Little demoness, you like that too?”

He’s plugging your mouth with the fingers that were inside you earlier, and maybe it’s just because of the sex high, but the lingering taste of yourself alongside the sweetness of the coconut oil combines into something incredible. You let him know with a moan, sliding the tip of your tongue between and around his fingers as he presses down on the back of it.

Your body’s more adjusted to him now, letting you ride him harder and faster. His gaze flicks between your fucked-out expression, a little drool trailing from the corner of your lips, to the point where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear in your heat. After the rigors of the mission, you can’t maintain the pace for very long, tiring earlier than you normally would–unfortunately, your stamina can’t keep up with your need, but Rosinante always has plenty to spare.

You pull his fingers out of your mouth with a wet gasp. “Rosi, I need help. Please–”

“I got you, baby girl.”

He adjusts his grip on your hips, getting a more secure hold so he can lead your movements rather than just guide them. The passing of control to him is unspoken, an agreement given with intent gazes instead of words. You feel completely safe in giving yourself to him fully, letting your tired legs relax as he takes over, and in turn, he’s careful in the way he bounces you on his length. He sets a faster pace than how you were taking him, but doesn’t go as hard as you’d like–thankfully, at this point in your relationship, you’re better at communicating your needs.

“Harder, Rosi,” you pant, “I need it harder.”

The brief flash of his grin is your only warning before one of his hands wraps around your thigh and yanks you further down onto him, spearing his length in as deep as it’ll go. The breath is knocked out of you as his cockhead nudges your cervix, but the intensity with which you clamp down on him, along with your full-body shudder, tells him all he needs to know.

“You even like that, huh? You like when I use you like a plaything. Filthy, needy girl…”

You cry out in agreement as Rosinante takes you harder, thrusting up into you while pulling you down to meet his hips. The furrow in his brow and the grit of his teeth indicates he’s close and trying to hold out, tapping into that crazy willpower of his in order to please you for as long as he can. Each deep thrust works you further into a blissful haze, coiling pleasure in your gut until you can barely keep your head up–you can barely do anything aside from moan. He tilts your chin up with one finger, slowing down slightly so he can steal another kiss. Neither of you can maintain it very long with you both breathing heavily from exertion, but you stay close, lips parted and panting against each other.

You go from bracing your arms on his chest, to his shoulders, to raking your nails down the scarred expanse of his arms, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers. His gaze is fixed on yours, and you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. Even with his pupils blown wide and his eyes half-lidded, it’s every bit as adoring as it always is in private, but there’s something deeper to it now. It’s in the years of him having watched your back, it’s in the long process that was the gradual lowering of your defenses, it’s in getting to the point you could be so mutually vulnerable, it’s in wanting to make each other feel good out of love and nothing else. You wished you could exist in this moment forever, just to be close in the ultimate way.

No matter how good Rosinante feels, it never builds right. You wish you could cum. You want to experience that with him. But at the same time, you know he won’t be upset with you for it. And so, when you inevitably feel the pleasure start to wane in a way that indicates oncoming discomfort, you feel no shame in speaking up.

“I can’t… Rosi, I can’t go much longer.”

Rosinante immediately slows down. “Want me to stop?”

“No, I–I want you to cum.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Where do you want it, baby girl?”

“Inside.”

You can feel his dick twitch when you say it, and he rests his head on your shoulder with a low groan.

“Fuck. Okay. Sure, I can do that for you.”

Rosinante plants a sloppy kiss on your neck before turning toward the long end of the couch, gently laying you back without pulling out. He repositions you both into a more comfortable missionary, resting his burly arms above you.

“This feel okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, s’good.” You raise a hand to touch his cheek. “This way I can see your face when you cum.”

Got him. It took all day, but you finally turned the tables for once, and the result is a wonderful sight to behold. Even flushed with exertion, the blush across his face deepens to a shade you’ve rarely seen before, his jaw going slack. To his credit, he recovers quickly, bringing a hand to cup yours on his cheek and grinning down at you.

“Guess I deserved that after all of today.” He turns his head to kiss your hand. “I won’t be much longer, but stop me if you need to, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

Rosinante lets go of your hand to trail it down your side, settling on your hip to anchor you in place as he starts thrusting. He’s only slow for the first few thrusts, quickly working himself back up to a firm, brisk pace. Having held out until now, it doesn’t take him long to get back to the edge, evident by the way his groans deepen and intersperse with broken gasps. Just as erotic as the sound of him is the sight of him, abs flexing as his huge body rolls into you. It’s enough to spark your weary nerves back to attention, dragging the pleasure out one last time.

“Fuck, it’s so good,” he moans, “always so tight, every damn time.”

Rosinante curls over you like he can’t hold himself up anymore, his head pressed to your shoulder, but it doesn’t slow the pounding of his hips at all, nor does it stop him from singing your praises into your ear.

“My sweet girl, so good to me. Love you so much, love that you’re mine…”

The husky devotion with which he says it has you throwing your head back onto the cushions and arching into his thrusts, whimpering when it angles him perfectly into your g-spot. The sound must trigger something in him, because his talking plummets from praise into filth faster than an angel falling from grace.

“You’re right, Y/n. We should tell my brother about us. That way I could fuck you every night, ‘til I’ve molded you to the shape of my cock. You’d get so used to it I wouldn’t need to hold back, and you’d fucking love the process, wouldn’t you? Begging me to fuck your pussy even though you can barely take it. We could even fuck in the room right next him and thanks to my power, he’d never even hear you screaming my name.”

“Rosi!” you cry, throwing your arms over what part of his back you can reach and digging your nails in. “Don’t you dare hold back! Give me everything, right now!”

It’s not a request he’s ever really granted you, but drunk as he currently is on the pleasures of your body–and maybe because it’s your birthday–he relents this once. A deep, uncharacteristic growl rumbles in his chest as his thrusts turn brutal, one arm braced above your head. His other hand’s wrapped around your thigh to keep you from bouncing off him from the force, ironlike grip keeping you in place so he never slips out. For a short but wonderful amount of time, you’re at the mercy of the brunt of him, just like you’d asked. At no other time does the scope of his size come into perspective like when he’s throwing all that weight behind his thrusts, three meters of solid muscle bullying your insides. It hurts a bit, but you’re treated to the incredible sight that is Rosinante on the edge, gritting his teeth and groaning like a beast, completely lost to higher thought.

“Gonna cum,” he gasps, and then he’s chanting your name like a sacred incantation, each time a little louder. His pace stutters, grip on your thigh tightening, and he pulls you down on him one last time, thrusting as deep as he can go and staying there with a penultimate moan. You can feel his length throb and pulse as he releases, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

For a minute, neither of you move, catching your breath and weakly holding each other. Then he pulls out, the absence feeling like a gaping loss as much as a relief. He has just enough presence of mind to collapse next to you rather than on top of you, trembling with what must be little aftershocks. A gentle touch to his cheek grounds him, making him blink and focus on you. He breaks into a dopey grin, pulling you close.

“You’re perfect.” He kisses you softly, all traces of roughness vanished. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You beam, somewhat giddy after having your craving sated so thoroughly. He’s no better off, giggling and kissing you again.

The post-orgasm clarity must hit him around then, because his face suddenly falls, levity turning to concern in an instant.

“Oh, shit! Oh, Y/n, are you okay?” He cradles your face in his hands, inspecting you as if it was your face that endured any of it. “I’m so sorry–I got a bit rough there, and we never went over a safe word–does anything hurt?”

“I’m okay, Rosi!” You cover his larger hands with yours, rubbing your thumbs across the back like he does for you when you’re stressed. “It hurt a little, but I would have stopped you if I didn’t like it.”

That helps him relax somewhat, though the worry doesn’t fully leave him. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not much. Might be sore later. Nothing I can’t handle.”

It takes some more reassurance before he’s satisfied, listening to you soothe his concerns while he massages your hips and thighs. You help each other come down, sometimes with touches, sometimes with soft words, sometimes just holding one another close and listening to the sounds of your breathing. You can only ignore the aftermath for so long, however, in this case being the trickle of his cum down your thigh.

“It is far too late for me to be realizing this,” you say, “but we forgot to put a blanket down, and now there’s stains on the couch…”

“Yeah,” Rosinante says, “I’m gonna be honest. I don’t feel bad at all.”

You snicker. “A pirate’s a pirate, huh?”

“Actually, that’s the Marine side of me.”

“No way. Pirates fuck way more than Marines.”

“I have news for you about shore leave.”

You mirror his grin. “You can tell me all about it, but I’d prefer a demonstration.”

“I bet you would.” He pulls you in for a kiss.

The last movie had long since played and ended without your noticing–thankfully, the snail put itself to sleep after the end of the movie (you sure hope so, anyway.) The shower isn’t large enough to fit both of you, so you take turns, each helping wash the other from outside the tub. While Rosinante’s no worse for wear, you benefit more from the hot water, easing your tension while he runs his hands over your sore muscles in an echo of his earlier worship.

After you’ve both cleaned up, you rehydrate with some tea before bed, sitting in his lap at the kitchen table and talking.

“Rosinante?”

“Hm?”

You turn in his lap so you can look at him clearly. “Thanks for today. I really enjoyed my birthday. Probably for the first time in a long time.”

His smile lights up the room, and he hugs you tight, pressing his face into your hair. “I’m so glad!”

You giggle. “This is kind of dumb, but I kind of wish I had a cake after all.”

Rosinante pauses. When he lifts his head, his expression is hard to read, some odd mix of contemplative and sheepish that you can’t discern.

“Rosi?” you ask.

“Um…”

“What is it?”

He glances to the side. “...Well… I actually got a little cake this morning, but I dropped the box it was in when I fell… It’s still in the fridge.”

You sit up straighter. “Wait, seriously?”

“Don’t get excited! It’s totally ruined, at least in appearance. Still edible, but I was so embarrassed I didn’t want to say anything…”

You’re sliding off his lap before he finishes his sentence, going to see for yourself. Sure enough, there’s a little box shoved in the back of the fridge that you didn’t notice. It’s bent in a few places, and the clear plastic window on top of the box is smeared on the inside with cream, blocking your view of the damage.

Rosinante covers his face as you open the box. It’s a disaster; the layers of the cake are in different places, the whipped cream frosting is more on the inside of the box than on the cake itself, and the fruit pieces that must have been a beautiful outer decoration are now scattered. It’s hard not to laugh at the chaos of it, but you manage for his sake, especially considering the circumstances. The thought that he got up early after a tiring mission in order to find a bakery for you is more than a little overwhelming, and you know you’ll cry if you dwell on it too much. You’d take a dropped cake over a flawless one any day if it was coming from him.

“For the record, Rosi,” you say, “I think it’s perfect.”

There’s no way to cut a uniform slice out of the cake, so you fork a piece directly from the mess. It’s delicious, fresh and not too sweet, and even though Rosinante doesn’t care for baked goods, your pleased look convinces him to try it, too.

There’s some symbolism there, something about appearances and damage and sweetness in spite of it all, but for once, you don’t overthink it.

Rosinante has one last surprise for you when you snuggle into bed, getting your attention once you’ve settled in. “I had an idea,” he says.

“What about?”

“It would be a few days late for your birthday, but… I looked into the next island we’re going to stop at. Apparently, it’s famous for its zoo. And, you know, Law told me he’s never been to a zoo before.” He gauges your reaction, hesitant. “...I’d love to take you and the kids.”

Your love of animals didn’t escape his notice either, then. You smile at that, though it falters. “Sounds kind of like a date… What will we tell the others?”

“I won’t say anything. You will mention the zoo in front of the kids. Law will pretend not to want to go, but Baby 5 and Buffalo will jump at the idea, and he’ll end up tagging along. I’ll accompany you all as a ‘bodyguard.’ There’s a chance others in the family will want to come, but it could still be nice.”

It does sound nice. Even if you won’t be able to hold hands as you go, even if you’ll have to keep up pretenses–he’ll still be there, and the two of you will know the true meaning behind the visit. That’s more than enough.

Rosinante’s presence alone has always been enough, but the little ways in which he’ll go out of his way for you serve as comforting reminders of his devotion. It’s not as easy to harbor doubts when he always shows up to chase them away.

“I’d love to go with you, Rosi.” You scoot backwards until his chest is against your back, solid and warm as always. His arm automatically drapes across your body to bring you just a bit closer, and you both drift off like that–sated, secure, and looking forward to the coming days.

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #gift fic #chekov's coconut oil #den den mushi blockbuster #did the snail sleep through it all or did you traumatize him? the answer is in your heart #zen writes

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 3 months

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Spring, 2020 - San Diego, California

Chapter 7 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: After your inquiry, you've been feeling oddly adrift. It feels weird, being back in your house, in your life like you belong in it. Things feel different. A chance encounter with your soulmate on the beach has you falling into something which seems incredibly close to love.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3880

A/N: You all remember how I teased you with slow burn a year ago, right? We're finally starting to feel the burn now. I know it's taken me nearly a year to get here, but now is when we're going to have some sweet fluff for Tink and Rooster!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

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Tinkerbell

You’ve found yourself retreating to the ocean more often since the day of the inquiry. The crashing waves help you process everything that has happened over the past few months. You've been struck with so much pain, sorrow, and guilt; at times, it feels like you were barely living at all. You’re not sure if you actually lived through those horrible months or if a robot took control of your body. Some of the same feelings came back to you when you walked into your hangar on base the day after the trial.

The work is the same. Your team is the same. Yet, you can’t help feeling like everything has inexplicably changed. Your team has flourished under Commander Greyson's steady, quiet leadership. In your darkest moments, you wonder if they wouldn't be better off without you at the helm. You can't deny that Commander Greyson is brilliant at what he does. There would be so much your team can learn from him - so much you can learn from him. Even the drone project for Admiral Cain is completed with so much detail it makes your head spin. It feels odd, being back on the North Island Naval Base as notorious as you are. It leaves you with a prickling, itching sensation of being seen.

Jake and Javy had dogged you relentlessly that first day, spending all their time off hops draped over the worn sofa in the AMDO hangar in turn like a pair of eager, hungry, sweet Dobermans. They never hesitated to growl at the gossip floating around, even before your inquiry. But you chased them away after the first day, knowing you needed to stand by yourself. Being back home, in your actual house, helps too. The familiar sights and smells wrap you in a warm hug. So does being able to tinker with your cars and motorcycles.

But what you've missed the most when staying with Jake and Javy was having the sea nearby. The crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the way the sand is rough under your feet. Every night, you had taken to languidly strolling at the tide line, relishing in the prickle of small seashells against the pads of your feet in the wet sand. The rush of water soothes the roar of your thoughts and grounds you. If only it could soothe your unconscious mind as well as the sea soothes your conscious thoughts.

Of course, nothing can soothe your thoughts, not even the rush of the ocean in the distance as Bradley opens the passenger side door for you in front of a gorgeous off-white stucco house. The long, shaded drive is packed with cars, and you can feel your nerves with every footstep you take. You willingly take hold of a couple of the many tote bags full of alcohol Penny had given Bradley because you may not be sure what you’re doing here. You're still not sure why you accepted his invitation to celebrate his dad. Still, at least you can cart alcohol into the colossal house.

When the door opens, it's to a wall of pure sound. You're shell-shocked by it but more so by the slight man with dark hair and green eyes standing at the threshold.

“A-admiral Mitchell!” With your arms encumbered by the bags, you can’t salute, though a part of you wishes you could.

“At ease, Lieutenant Commander.” His grin is mischievous, and his voice is sardonic. “Come on in. I'm glad Bradley finally got off of his ass and invited you out to meet us.”

Your smile is nearly a grimace as you follow Admiral Mitchell into the kitchen and set the bags down on one of the counters. You turn and brush invisible dust off of your fingers. Admiral Mitchell's looking at you with a knowing smile on his face.

“I guess he didn't tell you he was bringing you here?”

You shake your head and let him take the bags out of your hands. “Well, you’re always welcome, kid. And please. Call me, Mav.”

The door swings open again, and this time, you’re hit with a waft of that sandalwood scent that you’re quickly coming to adore. It's Bradley, and you're not sure why, but he's easily holding all of the other bags, bulging with bottles of alcohol in his brawny arms.

“Hey, Baby Goose!” You grin at the naked affection in the other man’s words. “It took you long enough to get Tinkerbell to come here.”

“But, kiddo, you could’ve at least warned her what she was walking into!”

Maverick Mitchell looks like he’s practically leaping for joy. You have to stifle your snicker as a blush crawls its way up Bradley’s neck.

“It was a spontaneous invitation, Dad.” Now, the endearment has you looking wide-eyed at Bradley.

“Go on, get all the drinks in the kitchen. Ice is out in the backyard, manning the grill. All of the others are out there, too. Grab whatever you’d like for yourselves, and get on out there!” Mav seems quite content to ignore the look on your face, skirting around you and Bradley in the hallway and disappearing through an arch at the end of the hallway when someone calls his name.

“Come on, Tink.” You follow his broad shoulders as he leads you through the house. The walls are covered with pictures, a lot of them depicting a tow-headed boy in various stages of growth. Of course, you realize they're Bradley when you see his graduation pictures right next to his Officer promotion pictures on the wall. When you walk through the same arch Mav disappeared through, you’re spellbound at the sight of the sun setting through the big picture windows. There are fairy lights strung through the trees and music playing. On an impromptu dance floor, you can see couples dancing.

There are a lot of people floating through the backyard. You recognize most of them from dossiers and others from reputations built on hearsay in the Navy, and all of a sudden, you're absolutely sure you shouldn't be here at all. The icing on the proverbial cake is when you see Mav kissing Iceman, yeah, that Iceman, tenderly on the lips.

“Yeah, Dad and Pops are soulmates.” You squeak just a little as those words hit.

“So you’re telling me your dad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, and your Pops, Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, the COMPACFLT of the US Navy, are soulmates?”

You’re sure you can be excused for your tone. This is a whopper of a secret to find out. Bradley takes one look at your face and snickers like he can’t believe the expression on his face. You poke your elbow into his side gently, trying to make him let up on his teasing. You’re not serious about it, enjoying the light air between the two of you. But when Bradley wraps his arm around your waist, you have to sigh at the warmth his arms bring you. He stops moving when he’s wrapped around you, one hand securely holding his beer, the other curled around your front like it was made to be there.

His sandalwood scent wraps you up as securely as his arms do. Standing here, seeing the sun setting behind the party happening out in the yard, it almost feels like you can do this - be soulmates with Bradley Bradshaw. Obviously, there is a lot you still need to talk to him about. But, the warmth Mav has shown you as some of Bradley’s only family goes a long way.

“It’s beautiful here,” you hum as you sip from your icy cold cider bottle, relishing in the condensation dripping onto your sun-warmed skin.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” There’s something reverent in Bradley’s voice as he looks out over the yard with its sprawling green lawn.

“I’ve always wanted to have a life like Mav and Ice’s.” He smiles softly, his eyes sparkling in the golden light of the setting sun like amber shot through with motes of molten gold.

“My mom and dad have a house, you know?” You gasp and slide your fingers down until they’re laced with his across your stomach.

“It’s in Virginia. They got acres of land with the property. My mom’s parents gave it to my mom and dad when they got married. I can’t help but wonder if everything would have been different if I still had them both with me.”

“They loved you, Rooster. I don’t have to have met them to know that. They would have adored seeing the man you’ve become, Bradley.”

“I know they would have, Tinkerbell. I wish I could make that house a home, is all.”

“Who is to say you still can’t?”

“Who would want to build a life with me, anyhow?” There is sorrow in his voice, the same emotion streaking across his face in a flash.

“Well, I know I would be willing to try?” You’re not sure what prompts the words to spill out of your mouth. They feel so right on your tongue. The words also leave you feeling oddly vulnerable because they’re the vocalization of a dream you’ve been carrying yourself for a very long time. Bradley’s sweet intake of breath makes something light up in your chest.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, “C’mon. Let me introduce you to everyone here. They’re the closest things to a family I’ve got. I want them to like you, but chances are, they’ll love you. They might not love me once they hear what happened, though.”

You slide your drink onto a table and slip your arms around his waist. His arms curl around you tenderly. His lips feather against the top of your head in a soft, barely there kiss.

“They’re your family, Roo. They’re going to love you no matter what.”

He chuckles ruefully at your earnest words.

“They’re going to love you too, Tinkerbell.”

With those final words on the matter, you’re whisked out into the setting sun. A part of you can’t believe you’re out here rubbing elbows with US Navy elites. Every person Bradley introduces you to is another surprise. Before you can blink, you’ve chatted with Rear Admiral Kerner, who asks you to call him Slider, and laughed with Admiral Kazansky. You adore how this colossal cobbled-together family acts with each other. Every conversation is littered with inside jokes and teasing words. But more than how happy you are, it’s gratifying seeing how happy Bradley is. He seems to be in his element, laughing and reminiscing. There have been so many stories of Goose Bradshaw where you’ve seen him wiping away tears even while laughing that gloriously deep belly laugh.

People leave the party in pairs and trios, alcohol-soaked with colossal smiles curling their lips and laughter sneaking out as the ocean breeze brushes through the trees, salt-laden and wet as it smacks into your face. Before long, there are only a handful of the guests left in the garden. You’re not sure when he lit it, but Mav has started up a fire in the firepit, coals glowing red in the night air. You join the rest of the stragglers around the bonfire, settling in next to Bradley in one of the Adirondack chairs.

“So, Tinkerbell.” Your head snaps up so fast at the sound of her voice that it kind of hurts. It’s Sarah, The Iceman’s sister and Slider’s wife (how is this your life), who asks you, “How did you meet our Bradley?”

You swallow your sip of cider hurriedly - nearly choking on the fizzy liquid - caught on the spot as every face in the circle turns to you. Bradley grins as he lays an arm securely over your shoulders. That first night at The Hard Deck feels like it was a million years ago. A part of you can’t believe that it has only been a little over six months. It feels like you’re reliving that night over again when you recount it. You can taste the cocktails you’d been downing all night on your tongue. You half feel the sensations of Bradley’s hands on your skin as you recount the crush of people in the bar that night and the fear as you nearly get trampled.

You unconsciously turn until you face Bradley, drinking in the sight of his face as he looks at you as you retell the first meeting of your fraught relationship. The electricity you’d felt that night is swarming through your veins again as you finish your retelling. You don’t mention a thing about the words you’d shared with him before leaving the Hard Deck and how you’d cried your eyes out in your bed at home, jet lag and exhaustion working in concert to make the words hit harder than they ever should have.

“That’s such a sweet story!” Sarah has a dreamy look on her face as she reaches for Slider’s hands with her own. They look so happy with each other, true soulmates if you’ve ever seen them. But you’re not one to ask. Since you were a little girl, you’ve had it drilled into your head to never ask someone what their soulmate marks are or even if their partner is their soulmate. It’s considered incredibly rude to do so when you’re not immediate family members or intimate friends. There are still people who do it, but they are rare and mostly do it to be rude. “I’m sure the two of you are going to be very happy together.”

You smile a little stiltedly, not sure how to answer that because while things are good between you and Bradley right now, far better than that first night anyhow, they’re far from where you could believe you’ve reached your happily ever after. Bradley seems just as discomfited as you are by his aunt’s well-meaning words. He joins the next conversation topic with aplomb, energy radiating out with him until it seems like everyone is wrapped up in the fun as the music plays low and quiet out of the speaker system. A few minutes later, he tugs you up out of your Adirondack and pulls you down towards the bottom of the garden.

“They love you, sweetheart.” You grin, wild and unabashed, as his words make you light up. Your heart is soaring, but your brain’s still unsure of this sudden need to have him at arm's reach, always touching you, always close. It feels too easy after all the pain you’ve been through.

“I’m glad, Bradley.”

“You don’t sound glad, Tink.” You’ve been trying to keep your emotions from your face, and now, more than ever, you’re sure you haven’t succeeded. The bond between the two of you must be acting up as well because Bradley’s got this knowing look on his face. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the thought.

“I am.” He snorts and slides his Hawaiian shirt across your shoulders. It leaves him in just a white singlet. The top clings to his muscles and almost shines under the golden lights. Unbidden, the words spill out of you.

“I promise I am, Bradley. It doesn’t feel like I deserve this, you know? Being this close to you? Seeing you happy.”

“So what do you want to do?” You fall in love the moment those words leave your soulmate’s mouth. There are no half-hidden attempts to over-explain what you’re feeling or urges to comfort you for something that isn’t a physical struggle. “How can I make it better?”

You shrug, burrowing into the thin fabric of the shirt as the cool ocean breeze wafts across the backyard.

“Would it be weird if we took things kind of slow for the next while?”

“How slow are you thinking?”

“Not too slow.” You’re quick to reassure your soulmate as you wrap an arm around his waist. Even now, there’s an ache burrowing under your skin at not feeling him pressed up against you. “I think we should date each other and get to actually know one another.”

When he doesn’t say anything for several long moments, you start to worry. It has you babbling, “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to?”

His hands gently slide over your cheeks and tip your face up until you can see the soft look in Bradley’s whiskey eyes.

“It sounds like a good idea.” He chuckles as his lips press against your forehead. “We’ve moved in extremes since we’ve met. We need to get to know each other, care about each other, more than just the feeling of this bond linking us together.”

You feel like you can barely breathe at the look in your soulmate's eyes as he leans in close enough that you can feel his mustache on your lips.

“What do you say about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

You hum in thought, aching to press your lips to his. His body is a line of heat pressed up against yours, and you want more.

“I’d love to.”

His exhale of joy brushes damply across your lips, and at that moment, you can’t resist pressing upwards. His lips are petal soft and gentle as they slide over yours. It’s a sensation in direct counterpoint to the rough bristles of his mustache. Your arms slide around his thick neck, fingers catching at the furrowed scars on the smooth skin. Bradley’s breath catches as you trace lightly across the slightly raised skin. If he’s this responsive to your touch, what would he do if you were tracing your lips and tongue down his throat?

When he pulls away, you whimper, actually honest-to-god whimper, at the feeling of his skin leaving yours.

“Slow, sweetheart.” He chuckles as he pulls away, a tender smile curving his lips. “We said we’d go slow, right?”

“Fine,” you huff, licking your lips in a futile urge to taste more of your soulmate on your skin. If it’s any consolation, Bradley seems to be just as affected by that slow, languid, blood-boilingly hot kiss as you are.

“Tell me more about your dads.” It’s a plea closer to a demand than it should be. But you have to control yourself. If you look at him any longer, you’ll jump him. You can’t do that to him, not when you’ve just decided to go slow.

“What about them?”

You grin. “How’d they meet?”

“At Top Gun.” He’s got a faraway look in his eyes. “When Goose and Mav came to North Island in ‘86, one of their first stops was the O-Club. It was one of the only places catering to mostly Navy personnel and was quite famous. That’s where they ran into Uncle Ron and Pops.”

“Did they like each other at first sight?”

“I don’t think so, sweets.” You chuckle and shiver as another breeze makes the lights sway over your heads.

“Were they better or worse than we were when we met?”

Bradley grins and opens his arms to you. You melt into his arms and sigh in pleasure at the warmth of him in your arms. His voice rumbles comfortingly in his chest as he continues, “I think they were worse, sweets. Much worse.”

He sounds sardonic and sarcastic, something drier than the desert in his tone.

“So you’re telling me there is worse than calling me “a little thing who just got her position in the Navy on her knees”?” Your tone doesn’t hold any heat because you know while he said something first, you continued it. You’ve definitely given as good as he dished out.

“Shit.”

You giggle at his hushed exhale because as angry and hurt as you were when you heard him say those words, you’ve forgiven him long ago.

“That was a bad night for me, Tink.” He pulls his hands away from you only to tangle them into his curls as anguish and shame twist his features. Half hidden against his chest, you tug him in closer, soothing his pain with your presence as much as you can.

“You have no idea what you looked like that night, did you? Fuck, you looked so beautiful, it took my breath away. I was hanging on to your every word. From the first thing you said to me, I was seconds away from ripping that little sundress off. All I wanted was to lay you out on my bed and never let you go.”

When you inhale, it feels like the ocean-laden breeze burns. If he felt like this on that first day, how come he didn’t act on his feelings?

“Then that fight broke out. All I wanted to do then was protect you. So I grabbed your waist and got you to that bar stool, holding you there with my back to that room so nobody could hurt you. It would’ve been too soon to kiss you then, no matter how much I wanted to, with the heat of your skin imprinted on my fingertips. Too much, too soon. So, after the fight was broken up, I grabbed my drink and tried to look nonchalant. At least, I did until I heard Hangman calling for you. He sounded so worried like he cared so much for you. I assumed then and there, he was your soulmate. So I backed off.”

“I was in a completely shitty mood the rest of the night. I’d never been so close to someone who I thought could be mine. I wanted you, only you. But I managed to convince myself that you weren’t mine, that you would never be mine. I got drunk. So drunk I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. I let my anger fester, and when it boiled to a fever pitch, I spat those words out when I saw you walk by, at a volume at which I knew you could hear.”

“I’m sorry, Tink.” Bradley’s voice is a growl, a pained one, as he apologizes to you again. “I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive me.”

There’s so much pain on his face you can’t help reaching up until you’re cupping his face in your hands.

“I forgave you a long time ago.”

It feels like an absolution saying those words into the night air. The disbelief on his face cements your decision even more. You forgive Bradley Bradshaw for all of his past sins, and you hope someday he can forgive all of yours, too. You press a kiss to his upturned jaw just because you can.

“There will never be anything but forgiveness between us, darling.”

“But how?” His voice is disbelieving. “How can we get past this?”

“The way we always have been meant to. Together.” Your eyes are soft as you tug on his hands until they wrap around you again. “And maybe, Roo, you should open that mouth and ask me if Jake Seresin is my soulmate next time.”

When he starts to snicker, you laugh, too. He pulls you in closer until he can press his lips to your forehead. You have many questions about your soulmate. For now, standing here at the bottom of the garden at his parent’s house is enough. You have the rest of your life in which to chat with Bradley. It’s a chance you’re not going to give up.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@roosters-girl @infamous-reindeer @caitsymichelle13 @mattyskies @cosmic-psychickitty @mygyn @julesclues @greenbaby12 @bubblegumbeautyqueen @briseisgone @soulmates8 @meganlpie @captain-fandomwriter58 @caidi-paris @mazzbarnes @super-btstrash-posts @eli2447 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @faithiegirl01 @shanimallina87 @harrysgothicbitch @zombicupcake3 @djs8891 @bellaireland1981 @tsumudoll @scoliobean @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

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marvel-ous-m · 10 months

Note

44. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” :D -@a-little-unsteddie 🌼

@a-little-unsteddie many apologies for this taking so long!! Writers block and family emergencies have been plaguing me for a while. I hope you enjoy!! I got a bit of inspiration from a post that said something like “there’s nothing more romantic than someone wiping blood off of their partners face after battle, especially if it isn’t their blood”. And this just kinda… came from that.

————————————————————————

The final battle begins a little over three months after the end of Spring Break.

It almost makes sense, that everything end mid-summer. Just a year after the mind-flayer, a year after Billy and Russians and Starcourt. Still, three months gave them time. Gave Eddie time to heal, gave Max time to wake up and tap into her mental connection to Vecna with the aid of El.

It gave them time to prepare. Gave them time to clear out all of Hawkins, call in reinforcements, and finish this- once and for all. The nature of their plan of attack finds Eddie, Joyce, and most of the kids right side up at Hopper’s cabin while El, Will, and the rest of the teens and adults fight Vecna hands-on in the Upsidedown. And it works.

Everything starts to wither away when Vecna takes his last breath. El has to exert herself to hold the portals open, using up all her residual energy, but everyone makes it out.

There’s a tearful reunion on the other side. A fair amount of patching up wounds, too. Joyce leads that effort with a level of skill and precision that no one else could come close to.

The commotion of the reunion leaves Eddie to wander around the crowd. He watches on, not needed (thankfully) for administering medical attention, but still struggling to find his place in this group that had faced these horrors time and time again.

He spots Steve pretty quickly once he actually starts looking for him.

Steve, who is standing away from the crowd, loosely holding his bat in his hand, with a sort of vacant look in his eye. There’s dark blood splattered across his face, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was under Vecna’s curse.

But Vecna was dead and gone, so the best explanation that Eddie could manifest was that Steve was just… shocked.

Which, yeah, he had a fucking right to be. But… maybe he could do with sitting down?

Eddie crossed the crowd, stopping in front of the battle-worn boy with a gentle smile. “Hey, Stevie. Wanna come inside? We can get you a little cleaned up?”

Steve blinked once, then nodded at Eddie’s words- silent recognition the only thing he could muster at the moment.

Eddie nodded back and carefully wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, guiding him towards the cabin. Miraculously, none of the (admittedly nosey) kids intervened.

He led Steve towards the bathroom in Hoppers cabin, guiding him to sit on top of the toilet lid. The bathroom had been prepped beforehand with clean towels and gauze in case the worst happened (Eddie sent a silent thanks that those preparations remained unused), which made it easy for Eddie to grab a clean towel, wet it, then kneel in front of Steve and begin to gently dab away some of the blood covering his face.

He talked while he did it. Eddie knew Steve appreciated his rambles, as shown by Steve actually listening and asking questions whenever Eddie went off on a tangent.

It almost felt like everything was normal, would have felt that way, if it weren’t for the red-ish black-ish goo that Eddie was wiping away from Steve’s face.

After a few minutes of Eddie’s gentle attention, Steve came back to himself.

From one moment to the next, Eddie went from wiping away blood to also wiping away tears.

“S-sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. We won.” Steve mumbles under his breath. He tries to reach a shaking hand up to wipe away his cheeks, but Eddie takes his hand instead, bringing it back down to rest in Steve’s lap.

Eddie continued to clean Steve’s face with one hand, the thumb on his other hand rubbing small circles in Steve’s palm. “We did win. And it’s over. But… you look like you just crawled out of hell. Fuck, Stevie, you basically did. You faced the very real monster that plagues our nightmares and you lived to tell the tale. I think you’ve earned the right to cry, Steve.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and his hand tightens around Eddie’s. “But- I should be happy.”

“Emotions are complicated.” Eddie set the towel down, finally satisfied with the level of grime he cleaned off Steve’s face. The boy could definitely do with a shower, but Eddie knew he’d probably be falling asleep long before then.

Eddie stood then, wincing at the pull of tight skin against his still-healing wounds. He still held Steve’s hand, but Eddie now looked down at him. He gave Steve’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “As far as I’m concerned, you can feel whatever damn emotions you want. I’m just thankful you came back to us.”

That you came back to me was left unsaid.

In one fluid motion, Steve tugged on Eddie’s hand, forcing Eddie to lean forward. From his seated position, Steve then grabbed onto the fabric of Eddie’s T-shirt and pulled him forward, their lips crashing together in a searing kiss.

Some things don’t need to be spoken.

They separated for breath soon after. Eddie sucked in air, bit his lip, then let out a breathy, high-pitched giggle. That was entirely unexpected but very, very welcomed. He searched Steve’s face, relieved to see Steve grinning back at him. But still… crying.

Eddie reached his hands up, and with his thumbs, he carefully brushed the area under Steve’s eyes, wiping his boy’s tears away.

When Eddie had finished drying Steve’s cheeks, Steve took Eddie’s wrist and guided Eddie’s hand towards his mouth. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the pad of Eddie’s thumb, then smiled against Eddie’s fingers.

Eddie felt twin droplets of water roll against his hand. One from Steve, and one, much to his surprise, from himself.

“I’m always going to come back to you, Eds.”

I love you.

Some things didn’t need to be said, and some tears didn’t need an explanation.

#my writing #steddie #ask box #Em writes #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie getting together #post vecna battle

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 2 years

Text

🐺 Being MSBY's Manager 🐺

Being Atsumu's Crush and Pregnant

Atsumu Miya with/MSBY x Female Pregnant Manager

Warnings: reader is pregnant, swearing, angst to fluff, toxic behavior from YN (drinking to cope, unsafe sex), description of birth (dramatized for funsies)

AN: This was a suggestion from kitty 😺 anon!!! Its based off my MSBY Group Chat, Team Disappointment!

🦋 please like, comment and share to support my art 🦋

Ok I'm wasting zero time getting into this one

Because it's about to be LONG

We have 9 whole months to cover people 👏🏻

At this point, just consider it a short story in bullet point format 🤣

Enter Miss YN LN, manager of the division 1 team the MSBY Black Jackels 🙌🏻

I love that for you 🥰

You are so loved and adored by all your boys and they support you so much 🥺

However there's one team member that you have an extra special relationship with

One, Atsumu Miya ❤️

I know, shocking right?

But there's always been something about Atsumu

You two just get along really well

He teases you, you throw a volleyball at him 🥰

We love a strong relationship

It wasn't long before you developed a crush on Atsumu

But you learned quickly that Atsumu didn't feel the same way about you 😕

Or at least you thought 🙃

Sakusa was the first to notice your infatuation with Atsumu

He's amazing about observing and noticed how your eyes lingered on our favorite setter

Sorry Oikawa 😶

But you are too nervous to say anything

You go a while thinking you might have a chance with Atsumu

Until you overhear him talking with Bokuto and Hinata

"YN is a real catch right? Any guy would be lucky to date her!"- Bokuto, our hype king

"Yeah I guess. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like YN but she's just not my type"- Atsumu 🤡

It's a hard pill to swallow 😔

Hearing that is a total bruise to your ego

The tears start to well as you turn around to leave, seeing Sakusa standing right behind you

Great now your all embarrashed 😫

"YN are you ok?"- Sakusa, concerned

You smile "Yeah I'm good. I just- I gotta go clean up"- you quickly making your exit past Sakusa and the rest of the team

"What was that about?"- Meian, looking at Sakusa

Sakusa narrows his eyes and turns to leave

It's not his business to share and he doesn't want to say anything

However, what you don't know is that Atsumu is full of CRAP 💩

This man is in such denial that the girl who has become his best friend is also perfect for him

Fucking clown behavior istg 🙄

Atsumu is having such conflicted feelings for you and he has no idea what to do

He's never had turmoil like this before people 👏🏻

Unfortunately for him, things start heading south

You start to pull away from him at practice and he has no idea why

You still talk with him but its not the same

"Hey YN, you wanna hang out this weekend?"- Atsumu

"I'm sorry Sumu, I can't! Im going out with friends but thanks"- You, running back to practice

Atsumu is confused because you always made time for him

However what Atsumu doesn't know is that his "rejection" of you caused a downward spiral

Every weekend you've been going out, dancing with friends and drinking excessively

When you'd drink, the pain of your one-sided attraction to Atsumu went away

You were the center of many guys affections and ended up going home with several of them

Atsumu began to talk with you less and less, noticing you pulling away

Sakusa and the team watched as you two, once good friends became practical strangers

"Anyone feel weird when Atsumu and YN are on the court together?"- Inunaki

"Yeah, it's like being in the room with two divorced parents"- Thomas adds

Sakusa knows exactly what's happening and he wrestles with telling the truth or letting it go

Ultimately he sides with keeping it quiet

Please he still feels like it's nOnE oF hIs BuSiNeSs

A few weeks pass and tournament season kicks into gear

You've been forced to settle down with your wild nights because of your new rigorous schedule

Not to mention how tired you've been

Your body seems more worn down than usual and you figured you were just getting sick from all the extra practices

One morning you woke up, and your breasts were extremely sore

Like tender to the touch sore

"Geez ouch- I can't even wear my normal bra"- you say to yourself as you slowly dress

You honestly didn't pay any mind to the soreness, figuring you pulled a muscle in your chest for the previous practice

So you pop a few Tylenol and head to the gym

You enter the office as Meian and Barnes are sitting and talking

"Hey YN"- they say as a sudden wave of nausea hits you

Your eyes widen as the smell of coffee hits you and you sprint from the office to the bathroom, throwing up

Barnes and Meian take after you quickly

"Jesus YN are you ok?"- Barnes says knocking on the bathroom door

"Yeah YN, what the hell? You sick? Why are you here!?"- Meian

"YN's sick! "- Bokuto 😱

"Stay away from me YN. It's still flu season"- Sakusa

Please they are all so supportive 🤣

"I'm not sick! I don't know what came over me"- you say as you stand up, flushing the toilet and going to the sink

You wash your hands and begin to process what's been going on

Your exhausted, your breasts ache and you got sick off the smell of coffee?

How strange 🙃

Well it's a good thing there is a well placed tampon/pad machine right by the door to the bathroom to remind you of one teeny tiny thing

Your face pales as you look at the machine, mentally trying to calculate when your last cycle was

You feel sick and hot as you splash water on your face and try to figure out what to do

Good thing you have the most supportive team 😍

"YN ARE YOU FEELING BETTER YET? ATSUMU ISNT HELPING ME WITH MY SPIKING DRILLS AND I NEED YOU!"- Hinata crying through the door

"HINATA LEAVE YN ALONE!"- Meian screaming

Please you need to be alone and think about this

Probably after you buy a test 😅

You figure your best bet is to attend morning practice and run to the store on your lunch break while the guys head home to rest

"I'm coming"- you say, trying to shove all thoughts of being pregnant out of your mind

The morning drags on as lunch finally hits

The guys leave and you run to the nearest pharmacy, quickly running 🏃‍♀️ back to the bathroom of the gym

You read the instructions, as you mentally thank yourself for consuming extra water during practice

You pee on the stick and wait

Now, having taken multiple pregnancy tests in my life, I can say that 3-5 minite wait is arguably the scariest wait of someone's life 😅

It's a life changing thing YN!

You pace as you await the results, trying not to freak out

"Ok ok YN calm down! You don't even know if you're pregnant or not. This could all just be a giant fever dream. Or maybe your period is just really really late! Yeah that happens all the time"- you trying to talk yourself down from the cliff 😅

The timer on your phone goes off as you slowly approach the test...

You peer over, seeing a giant "Pregnant" on the screen

Your body gives out as you fall to the floor and sit there is shock

Ok but me when I first found out I was pregnant with my son 😆

Luckily or unluckily there seems to be a team member who hasn't yet left for home 🙃

Atsumu is walking by the girls locker room when he hears something fall

He stops, listens and knocks, slowly opening the door to make sure no one is in need to help

By this point, you're full on sobbing

He opens the door, seeing you on the floor, eyes wide and tears streaming down your face

"Yn! Omg are you ok?? What happened?"- Atsumu now running to you, falling besides you as he check you over

"Atsumu-" you say crying

Atsumu looks at your hand, seeing the test there

He picks it up, seeing the "pregnant" that brought you to your knees

"Where did you get this yn? Geez I knew you were an empath but YN this is a bit too far don't you think?"- Atsumu

Like I said 👉🏻 🤡

You 👉🏻👁💧👄💧👁 Atsumu it's mine...

It takes him a few seconds to process

Man goes through the 5 stages of grief

"No no- it- it cant"- Atsumu, in full denial

"Atsumu I'm pregnant"- you say, crying

"How YN??"- Atsumu

You 👉🏻👁💧👄💧👁 seriously...

"I know how YN but like HOW"- Atsumu

"I- I don't know! I thought I was being careful"- you, embarrassed now

"Jesus YN, is this why you've been pulling away from me?"- Atsumu says sitting next to you

Your head snaps to him

He noticed you'd been pulling away?

As much as you want to tell him, you feel like it will only add more to an already complicated situation

So you decide to keep quiet

"Yeah I- I didn't want to bother you"- you

"YN you're not a bother. Please I want to help" Atsumu says

"I don't want your pity Atsumu"- you say as you wipe your tears

"Shut up YN! It's not pity! You're my best friend and I care alot about you!"- Atsumu

You just stare at him, still crying

"Ok let's just think about this YN. Do you know what you want to do??"- Atsumu, jumping into adulting mode

"I think I should call the doctor"- you, wiping your tears

"Ok let's do it now"- Atsumu standing up

"Now- but Atsumu"- you

"No buts YN let's get going"- Atsumu says pulling out his phone and dialing

Please, assertive men 🥵

You just stand there as Atsumu talks to the receptionist

Atsumu tells the receptionist your birthday and name

"Yn they have an opening tomorrow afternoon is that good?"- Atsumu, putting his hand over the speaker

You 👉🏻👁👄👁 yeah-

Honestly shocked by Atsumu assertiveness and protectiveness

"We will take it! See you tomorrow"- Atsumu, hanging up

"Atsumu what are you doing?"- You

"If you think Im letting you do this alone YN, you're wrong"- Atsumu

Your heart swells as Atsumu smiles at you, hugging you tightly

He hasn't let the full situation sink in yet but don't worry, it will happen soon enough 🙃

You manager to get through afternoon practice and the next morning practice before you head to your appointment

Except you don't head there alone

Oh no no

Atsumu is right by your side

"Atsumu you don't have to-" you say, as Atsumu opens the door for you

"YN- enough! I told you I'm here for you"- Atsumu, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the clinic

In the clinic, Atsumu acts like a nervous father 😅

Honestly we love him for that

"Atsumu chill out, I'm the pregnant one"- You

"I know- I know but like I'm worried"- Atsumu pacing as the doctor comes in the checks you over

You get an ultrasound to check for due dates

And now, for moms educational time 🙌🏻

So sometimes, a person will have an ultrasound done to check on the fetus

And this ultrasound might be a probe ultrasound, which is done vaginally

Yes, it can be uncomfortable but it's sometimes easier to see the fetus this way and get a more accurate gestational age

I'm not doctor or nurse, this is just my own personal experience from having been pregnant 3 times

So let's just say that's what you do

Atsumu is still in the room when the doctor goes to perform this ultrasound

His face goes from 😐 to 😳 to 😱 real quick

"Whoa whoa you have to do that!"- Atsumu says interrupting the doctor, standing right by your wide open legs

"Atsumu, please"- You

"Sir I promise, your wife will be fine"- the doctor says, reassuring Atsumu

"Oh he's not-"

"I'm just worried about her that's all"- Atsumu says walking up to you, grabbing your hand and smiling

The fact that he didn't correct the doctor is both reassuring and confusing 🙁

You are already in a super emotional state and this isn't helping

"Well it's looks like you are 8 weeks YN and if you look here, you'll see what your body is working so hard for"- the doctor says, turning the screen to show you the fetus

It hits you all at once as your situation sets in

You're pregnant, actually pregnant

And you have no idea who the father is

You sit and stare at the screen as Atsumu stares with you

Except Atsumu is so amazed and in complete shock

Please he's so excited 🥰

The doctor prints you a picture as you clean up and get an updated folder of appointments and a book to read

You walk out with Atsumu, not speaking as you head towards your car

"YN, hey are you ok?"- Atsumu

"No- no im not ok"- you say quietly as the tears start to form

"Hey come here"- Atsumu says pulling you into his embrace as you sob loudly

"Atsumu, I- I'm scared to do this on my own"- you confess

"Don't you want to let guy know you're pregnant?"- Atsumu

Atsumu can't help but feel a little jealous

He never expressed his feelings to you

Heck his feelings didn't really make sense until just recently

You dodge the question and huddle closer as Atsumu holds you

"Hey yn- shhh you aren't going to be alone!"- Atsumu says rubbing your back

"What about the team? What about my job? Oh my god Atsumu"- you sobbing

Please those hormones can hit HARD

"Hey hey now! I'm here for you YN! I care about you and you're my best friend"- Atsumu

Please it pains him to say "best friend" but he basically friend zoned himself 💅🏼

"You- you really mean that?"- you 🥺

"Of course! And trust me, Meian and the team would rather go without a manager than see you go YN. I promise, we can tell them together"- Atsumu

You smile as you hug him and kiss his cheek

Please he melts from that act alone 😭

The next day, you walk into practice nervous

Atsumu is waiting for you at the door as he grabs your hand and leads you in

Immediately, when you enter the gym, all eyes land on you

"Ok what's wrong?"- Meian, sighing as he crosses his arm over his broad chest 🥵

You 👉🏻👁👄👁 seriously!!!

"It's just weird that you and Atsumu are acting so close when you've all but ignored each other for months"- Sakusa

"Yeah we are just a bit skeptical"- Inunaki

"Just spit it out already"- Barnes

"I'm Pregnant" "YN's Pregant!" - you and Atsumu say at the same time

The guys 👉🏻😐😳😲

"Atsumu you idiot! You knocked YN up!!"- Barnes yelling

"What the hell dude?? We talked about condoms!"- Meian

"I love how YN isn't getting lectured"- Sakusa 🤔

"She should know better too! Jesus christ!"- Inunaki

Please their overreaction isn't helping

You start to tear up and sniffle as your embarrassment sets in

"Hey! Knock it off you guys"- Thomas coming up to you

Atsumu hugs you as you continue to sniffle

Meian puts his fingers on the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath

"We're sorry YN. This is just shocking"- Meian

"It's ok. But please, it's not Atsumu's fault"- You, protecting Atsumu

Bokuto and Hinata 👉🏻🤨🤨

"YN you do realize how a baby is made right?"- Bokuto

"Oh dear god"- Sakusa, walking away

"Yes Ko, remember I'm the one who taught you"- you 🙄

"She's saying I'm not the father guys"- Atsumu says calmly

Everyone stops and stares at you

Please where do they go from here 😅 this is so awkward

So leave it to us to blaze a trail

"I havent contacted the father yet. I- I'm pretty much on my own"- you explaining it gently

"YN say less, we are not here to judge"- Inunaki, his hand up stopping you 🤚🏻

"Yeah YN, we are only here to support you"- Barnes

"Have you decided what you plan to do YN?"- Meian

Atsumu stands next to you holding your hip and squeezing lightly

"I want to keep it. But I also want to stay your manager..."- You, whispering and trying not to cry again

"YN of course you can stay on!! We could never replace you"- Meian

"Really?"- you, now crying happy tears instead of sad ones

"Omg YN you are crying so much and I'm not sure whether it's happy or sad tears"- Hinata, panicking 😰

"It's happy tears Sho"- you say as you hug him tight

Atsumu is so happy and smiling bright as the team and you embrace

A month goes by things are progressing

"Good morning YN, little YN"- Meian says rubbing your belly as he walks by

First off, he asked and you said it was fine 🙂 always ask a pregnant person if you can touch them please!

Ask anyone if you can touch them... consent 👏🏻

Secondly, your bump has become a bit of a good luck charm for our boys

Inunaki swears it's the reason they are on a winning streak

Last week they beat EJP and this week they managed to win against the Adlers

Hinata and Bokuto come bounding at you as you brace for impact

But their force is stopped by a brick wall in the form of Atsumu 🧱

"What did I tell you two about jumping on YN?? She's growing a little YN!"- Atsumu 😡

Please he's so protective 😫

Sakusa walks up to you and pulls you into a side hug, whispering in your ear

"Hes got it so bad for you YN"- Sakusa, strolling away leaving you confused

Sure Atsumu has been attentive and very caring the last few weeks

He's taken to driving you places, making sure you have something to eat and taking you to appointments

He's stepped in as a friend and your biggest supporter

Too bad it's become more confusing than it was at first

Atsumu acts super protective of you and so loving

But then why did he say you weren't his type?

Maybe he's just being nice? Maybe he's caring for you as a friend would?

That must be it

You shove Omi's comments about Atsumu down as you proceed with your day

The weeks go by and soon your 20 weeks

Yay for half way through with your pregnancy 🙌🏻

You've been through alot these past few weeks and it's been entails and emotionally exhausting

You hadn't told anyone but you contacted as many of the guys you slept with as you could

None of them showed any interest in being a father, nor did they want anything to do with you 😔

It's was a big hit to your ego and your emotions

You spent the weekend crying and dodging all Atsumu's attempts to hang out

Claiming you were too sick

It honestly worried Atsumu who wanted to make sure you were OK

Mans was willing to drive to your place at 11 pm to take you to the urgent care if needed YN 👏🏻

But you just wanted to be alone and process everything

You never felt so alone and it was honestly so scary

Despite all the love and support you received from the team, it wasn't the same

You managed to hide your sadness from the team and soon it was time for your twenty week ultrasound

Atsumu asked to come with you and of course you said yes 🥰

It felt so nice to have someone with you, supporting you even if it was just as a friend

"Ok YN, would you like to know the babies sex?"- the ultrasound tech says

"Yes please"- you say, watching the screen as the tech moves the probe around your stomach

"Looks like a baby girl to me"- she exclaims as you begin to cry, tears flooding your eyes as Atsumu stands up, kissing your forehead, his tears mixing with yours

Please supportive Atsumu 😭😭😭

Guys I can't 🥺

The next day, you walk into the gym only to be bombarded by the team

"It's a girl right?"- Bokuto says as Meian pushes him back

"Knock it off Bokuto, we all know it's a boy"- Meian says smirking

"What? So you can tell what the baby is just by looking at YN?"- Barnes 🤨

"I told you it's captain intuition! I'm in tune with my team"- Meian say proudly

"Well you need to retune Shugu because the baby is a girl!"- you say as Bokuto and Hinata jump up and down, celebrating with you

Inunaki, Thomas and Barnes all laugh at Meian as he glares back

"Ok ok- fine I was wrong! But everything is good right YN?"- Meian

"Yep! She's perfect!"- you say, smiling as Atsumu puts his hand on your belly and kisses your forehead

Sakusa looks at you both questioningly

"Alright let's get changed for practice! YN do you got everything?"- Meian says

"Yes captain"- you say rolling your eyes as you take your jacket off, revealing your MSBY shirt covering your now growing bump

"Don't lift anything YN"- Barnes says

"Thomas and I will do the nets YN"- Inunaki says

"And I'll get the towels"- Bokuto chimes in

"Guys I'm fine!! You can help with the nets and carrying the water but I'm still capable!"- you throwing your hand in the air as you walk away

The guys all move the the locker rooms, a permanent smile stuck on Atsumu's face

"You look happy dude"- Hinata says

"I am! YN and I have become really close again. It's nice!"- Atsumu

"So you only plan to be her friend?"- Sakusa

Please he's held out as long as he could 😅

"What are you talking about?"- Atsumu

Hinata, Bokuto, Meian, Inunaki, Barnes and Thomas are all like 👀👀👀👀

Nosey bitches

They will purposely change slowly just because 🤚🏻

Sakusa sighs, he really doesn't want to say anything but he also knows your in a fragile state and he doesn't want you to get hurt

"Listen Sumu-"

Oh shit he's broken out the nickname 😱

"A few months ago, YN heard what you said about her not being your type-"

Atsumu's face pales, Sakusa continues

"I think it really got to her man. Listen, I knew she liked you but I didn't want to interfere. Maybe I should have but I didn't know she was going out and doing what she was doing"- Sakusa

Atsumu states at Sakusa in shock, sitting down on the bench, all the color now gone from his face

"What was she doing Kiyoomi?"- Meian interjects

Sakusa sighs and continues

"She was going out with her friends, getting drunk and going home with different guys. Listen I don't want to speculate but hasn't anyone wondered why YN has mentioned the baby's dad?"- Sakusa

"I mean I just figured he didn't want to be involved"- Thomas

"Are you saying that YN doesn't know who the father is?"- Barnes says sitting down

Sakusa nods and looks at Atsumu who is sitting quietly

"Holy shit-" Hinata says

"Sakusa, what the hell man? Why are you bringing this up now?"- Meian says

"YN is really fragile right now and I don't want her or you getting hurt. I know you care alot about her but-"

"I want to be with her Kiyoomi"- Atsumu interjects

The room quiets as Atsumu looks up to see his teammates gaping at him

"Dude are you-" Thomas says

"Atsumu, nobody expects you to take that on. I mean, not even YN would"- Barnes

Atsumu knows its alot but he can't help but recount his feelings the last few months

He remembers how sad he was when you pulled away and began ignoring him

How upset he was when you continued to shrug him off week after week

How the knot in his stomach grew when you told him you were pregnant

The jealousy he felt knowing he wasn't the baby's biological father

It killed him to see how upset you were the day he found you in the bathroom

Then to see you so happy again your ultrasound

It made him want to be apart of everything

"I think you need to talk to YN first Atsumu"- Thomas

"Yeah I mean, she's the one who will need to ultimately decide"- Inunaki

Atsumu sighed as he went about getting changed and then heading to practice

He knew he needed to talk to you and he had just the plan to do it

A few weeks went by as you and your belly continued to grow

Being almost 27 weeks was exhausting and taking an emotional toll on you

Your body was always sore, your feet hurt and all you wanted to do was sleep

You took it as easy as you could at practice

Atsumu made sure to constantly have a chair available for you as he pushed you into it more than necessary during the day

"Sumu really I'm fine"- you, being set carefully in the chair

"YN, sit!"- Atsumu says, grabbing another chair and putting your feet on it

"Sumu-"

"Here YN, Samu made you some Onigiri"- Atsumu said handing you the package as you grab it from him

You start eating as your eyes fill with tears as you chew

"YN Jesus, there's no need to cry!"- Atsumu

"It's just so good Sumu"- You 😭😭😭

Ok then 😐

That weekend, Atsumu asked over for dinner

Your agreed, enjoying your time with him

During dinner, Atsumu decided to approach the subject he's been avoiding for weeks

"YN, listen I want to talk to you"- Atsumu

"Sure Sumu, what's up?"- you a tad bit nervous

"YN, I want to be involved in the baby and your lives"- Atsumu

"Sumu you already are"- you confused 😕

"No- I mean, I want to be more than just a friend YN"- Atsumu

Your eyes widen as you sit back, your hand going to your belly

"Sumu I-"

"Listen YN, Sakusa told me what you heard and I just want to let you know, I was confused"

"Wait what? Sakusa told you"- you now standing up, mortified

"YN listen, it's ok! There's nothing wrong! I know you dont know who the babies father is and thats ok!"- Atsumu

You're absolutely mortified and feeling sick

If Atsumu knows, does the whole team know?

You feel so cheap and it's breaking you 🥺

"No everything's wrong Atsumu! God I can't believe Sakusa told you! Told you about everything! God I'm so embarrassed!"- you now stumbling around the chair, rushing towards the door

"YN please wait!"- Atsumu chasing you

"Sumu no! I don't need your pity! I got myself into this and I can do this myself. I know I'm 'not your type' or whatever but I'm not just some charity case"- You, crying

"YN Please stop!"- Atsumu, trying to get you to stay

"Leave me alone Sumu! God I can't believe I was so stupid!"- you, completely emotional and irrational

You take off out the door as Atsumu stands there, not sure if he should go after you or not

He calls Sakusa who answers right away

"Hey man-" "YN left! She fucking left! God I fucked up so bad! And now she's out on the streets alone. God what if she gets hurt or something happens to her!! Oh my god! What do I do??"

"Fuck- ok I'm going to call her, you go down and look for her. Follow her if you have to and make sure she gets home safe. I'll call Meian and see if he can go check on her"- Sakusa, our planning king

"Ok"- Atsumu says hanging up as he runs down the stairs to try and find you

Only your gone 😔

Your phone rings and rings as you sit on the train

You look to see you have missed calls from the entire team including Atsumu

You put your phone back in your pocket as you head to your apartment

Once inside you strip your clothes off, shower and put comfy sweats on

At this point, your just going through the motions, your brain on auto pilot

A pounding on your door jolts you from your trance

"YN OPEN UP NOW"- Meian shouts

You walk to the door, opening it to see Meian, Thomas and Inunaki all standing there

"Jesus woman! Could you answer your phone maybe?"- Thomas says

"I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about" you say in a monotone voice

"Well that's not what Atsumu said YN. He said you ran out of his apartment when he tried talking to you"- Meian

"Listen I don't need Atsumu or anyone's sympathy ok? I know I'm a fucking slut! I know I fucked up! I don't need anyones pity!" You now shouting as the tears fall down your cheeks

Seriously the theme of these headcannons is alot of crying 🥲

"YN"- Inunaki says as you look at him, his eyes sad

"I just want to be alone ok? Please let me be alone"- You, begging and tears falling

"Text us later ok?"- Meian says, taking the hint and turning to leave

You nod as you close and lock your door

Your tears falling steady as you turn to head to bed

The next few weeks go by in a daze

There is a odd unsettling in the air at the gym as you go about your job, steering as clear of Atsumu as you can

He watches you as you try and put the towels up

"Let me help" "I'm fine but thank you"- you say as you put the towels up and walk away

He's miserable, you're miserable, everyone's miserable

And you know what we love to do here 👀

Make everyone more miserable before we make them better 🙌🏻

So let's bring on some more pain, shall we 🙃

At 30 weeks, you wake up feeling exhausted

You haven't been able to sleep much and your body is constantly tired and sore

You make it to the gym just as you feel a sharp pain stab your back

You bend over, grabbing a chair as you curse

"Fuck" you squeak out as the pain dissipates

You wonder what's going on as the guys flood the gym and you straighten up

Atsumu looks at you as you smile lightly, turning to walk away

You come out from the office, a stack of papers in your hand as another pain shoots from your back

"Oh fuck"- you scream, as the papers go flying and your legs buckle

The teams heads snap your way as they rush to support you

"YN what's wrong?"- Atsumu

"My back- fuck it hurts Sumu"- you say, crying as the pain continues

"Shit, get her a chair Bokuto"- Meian says as Bokuto runs to grab you a seat

"Here YN"- Bokuto says as Sumu and Sakusa help you sit

The pain continues as you moan and cry through it

"We should take you to the hospital YN"- Thomas says as you nod

You're scared and it's about to get scarier

You stand up, and Barnes gasps

"Fuck YN your bleeding"- Barnes says as your face pales, looking at the seat seeing your blood soaking through

"Ambulance now!"- Meian shouts as Sakusa calls and Atsumu supports you

You start crying frantically as Atsumu holds you

"Sumu, the baby!! It's so early!"- you cry as Atsumu hugs you

"YN shhh- it's ok! Hey it's going to be ok! I'm not leaving you!"- Atsumu says reassuring you

"Atsumu, I'm so sorry- please" "shhh none of that! You have nothing to be sorry for baby!"- Atsumu says holding you close

The ambulance arrives as you are loaded in, Atsumu riding with you to the hospital

When you arrive, the doctors whisk you away to the maternity unit

Atsumu tries to follow up is stopped

"I'm sorry sir but only family from here on out"- the nurses says

"Fuck-" "He's the babies dad! Please let him come"- you shout as Atsumu looks at you, his eyes wide and tears filling the ducts

"Ok come with me sir"- the nurse says, bringing you both to a room

Hours go by as you sit and wait

The doctors were able to locate the babies heartbeat within seconds, reassuring you and Atsumu she was still ok

Atsumu sat next to you, holding your hand as he watched you

"YN, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. Please I never wanted this to happen"- Atsumu says

"Don't apologize Sumu. I should have listened to you. But I didn't. I'm sorry for this whole mess"- you, saddened

"YN, I love you and our baby so much! Please don't apologize for anything. I want to be here with you the entire way. That is, if you'll have me?"- Atsumu

Please now I'm crying 😭

"Atsumu, you mean it?"- You 🥺

"YN, if I didn't think it was inappropriate, I'd propose right now"- he says, smiling at you

"Please don't yet, I've had enough excitement for one day"- you say, laughing at Atsumu smiles

The doctor walks in

"Well good news YN is that your waters haven't broken and baby seems ok. It looks like you had a small subchorionic hematoma. It wasn't noted earlier on your ultrasounds, probably because it was so small. However it could have grown and then burst, causing the bleeding. It looks like everything is fine but just to be safe, I want you on bedrest for the next few weeks. That means laying down 23 hours a day, only getting up to use the bathroom"- the doctor says

Your eyes widen and you nod your head, you look to Sumu

"Sumu, my job. I cant-" the tears are falling again

Seriously so many tears 😢

"Hey- hey, it's fine YN! I'm here to help you. Let me help ok?"- Atsumu says as you nod, placing trust in him

The doors to your room fly open as 7 giant men enter

Please they probably scared everyone on the floor 😅

"Hey hey hey YN! How are you feeling?"- Bokuto

"Much better thank you guys!"- you say smiling as you place your hand on your belly

"Is that the baby's heartbeat?"- Sakusa asks

"Yep that's our baby girl"- Atsumu adds

"And she's staying in for a while??"- Meian 😑

"Yes, unfortunately I'll have to go on bed rest so I won't be able to manage for a while. I hope that's ok?"- you, really hoping it's ok

"YN please you think we could ever replace you?? Plus Atsumu would never allow it"- Barnes

Atsumu nods as you laugh a little

Suddenly your belly moves as the baby shifts

"What in the hell was that??"- Hinata 😳

"Oh she's just moving and kicking. She really hates these straps. Do you want to feel?"- You being freaking cute

Hinata nods as he approaches and feels the baby as she kicks

"Omg thats SO COOL YN!"- Hinata

"Hey me next!"- Bokuto

Like I've said before, literal children Yn

The guys leave soon and you spend your night trying to sleep

Astumu stayed by your side the entire time

The next morning, you were discharged and Atsumu drove you home

Only it wasn't to your home 🤨

"Umm Atsumu... this is your place"- you say, questioning

"Yep! You're staying with me so I can take care of you"- Atsumu says getting out of the car and walking over to your door

You 👉🏻👁👄👁 uhh ok...

Atsumu opens your door, lifting you into his arm as he carries you to his apartment

He sets you down gently on the bed and kisses your forehead

"You know, I can walk right?"- You

"You're growing my baby YN and the doctor said 'only get up when you need to use the bathroom' so no you can't just walk"- Atsumu

You roll your eyes as you hear the doorbell ring

Atsumu leaves and returns with Osamu who has brought food

"Hello my future sister in law"- Osamu, just stating the obvious

"Hey Samu! It's so nice to see you!"- You hugging your future brother in law 🥺

"I brought you food and enough to help feed you for the week. Because I don't trust Atsumu to make sure your feeding my niece enough"- Osamu

Atsumu 👉🏻😐 🧍‍♂️ I'm right here-

"Oh I know you are, that's why I said it"- Osamu 🙃

The weeks go by as you slowly approach your due date

At your 37 week appointment you are cleared to go back to work as long as you take it easy

The next day you waddle your way into the gym

"Whoa YN, you smuggling a couple volleyballs under that shirt"- Inunaki 🤣

You 👉🏻 😐 and I'm leaving

"Jesus christ we just got her back! Don't make her leave!"- Thomas

"YN!"- Our two bubbly boys say running at you

Sakusa steps in their way to stop them from mauling you

"Do you two have any other speed besides full steam?"- Sakusa

Meanwhile, Atsumu is dragging in two chairs, one for you to sit and another to put your feet up

He's also brought a bag full of water, refreshments and snacks for you

"Jesus Atsumu, did you bring the bag for the hospital too?"- Barnes jokes

"Yeah it's in the car! Do you think I'll need it??"- Atsumu ready to run to the car

"Atsumu love, chill out! I'm fine"- You

"YN the doctor said the baby can come anytime now, I'm just preparing ok!"- Atsumu

"Sumu I'm not even dilated yet! I doubt it's going to happen that fast"- You

Famous last words YN 🙃🙃🙃

Ok now before I get to the labor part, I just want to say that every labor is different

Like VERY different and I'm exaggerating this for funsies

Because who doesn't like chaos???

So let's get to it!

39 weeks 🙌🏻 congrats YN you made it to "full term"

And honestly, you are SO done

You can't sleep, your back hurts, your constantly going to the bathroom, your feet hurt and your body is just done

Not to mention, your patience with pretty much everyone

Most days, you sit in your chair in the corner of practice brooding 🤣

Hinata and Bokuto are scared to approach you

Heck all the guys are 😅

But today is the day YN and oh boy is it going to be painful

You wake up that morning feeling off

Atsumu is out on his run while you go about showering and getting ready for practice

At your last appointment your cervix was barely dilated and the doctor said it could be another 2 weeks before they see anything happen

But today just felt strange

The baby is lower and there is alot of pressure in your pelvis

Your back hurts and you are struggling to walk

You lean over the counter trying to relieve some pressure as Atsumu walks in

Immediately our man is on alert

"Whats wrong? Yn are you ok?"- he says running up to you

"Yeah Sumu I'm ok. Just alot of pressure and my back hurts"- you say as Atsumu applies pressure to your back to help

He kisses your neck as he rocks you

"Maybe you should stay home today?"- Atsumu

"Nah I'm ok. Maybe walking will get this little one going"- you say

"Ok baby. I'm going to change and we can head to practice"- Atsumu says, kissing you as he goes to change

As he's changing, you feel a pressure build in your back, stay and then leave

I'm no expect YN but I think that was probably a contraction

Spoiler alert: it was 😏

You sit there after the pain leaves and wonder what exactly is happening

It's one of those "I think I might be in labor but I'm not sure and I don't want to get too excited" moments

You brush off the contractions and move to get ready to leave

At the gym, you are sitting in the office when another contraction hits

It's your 3rd one in a half an hour and you start to think you are actually in labor

But you don't tell Atsumu yet 👀

Because you know exactly what will happen

Alot of panic, very little disco 🤣

You vow to tell him of your contractions start coming closer together

Which happens alot sooner than you plan

"Hey YN! Can you bring the copy of the new roster out?"- Meian yells as you grab the paper

You make it to the gym floor just as a huge contraction hits

You grab onto the door frame and feel a slight pop as your leggings begin to dampen

"Shit!"- you cry as Meian and Barnes heads snap to you

Barnes notices your leggings dampen and looks from your legs to your eyes and back down

"Oh holy SHIT!"- he yells as Thomas, Inunaki and Sakusa come running out

"What??"- Thomas says

"Yn did your..."- Meian

"Yep, my waters broke"- you, still gripping onto the door frame

There's a good 1 minute of silence before sheer panic sets in

Meian and Inunaki run to you and help you to make sure your supported

Meanwhile, Atsumu, Hinata and Bokuto come in from the back after filling water bottles

Atsumu sees you being supported, looks down, sees your pants, looks back up and sees your face

That's all she wrote people

Those water bottles are done for because Atsumu is SPRINTING to you just as another contraction hits

"Shit YN!! Are you ok? Tell me what's happening?"- Atsumu

You breath through the pain as Atsumu and the guys watch on

"I think I've been having contractions all morning but just now I'm pretting sure my water broke or I peed myself"- you

"Eww YN really"- Sakusa

You glare at Sakusa who is now your enemy

"We have to get to the hospital"- Atsumu

"Sumu remember the doctors said it could be hours or even days! We have time-" you growl as a contraction hits

"You think you have time YN? Because those contractions are awfully close together"- Barnes

"How do you know about that?"- you, gritting through the pain

"Atsumu sent us all an emergency birth plan with details that we all had to read"- Barnes say shrugging

You 👉🏻👁💧👄💧👁

"Now is not the time to deal with this! We have to get YN to the hospital NOW!"- Atsumu in adulting mode

Meian and Inunaki support you as Atsumu runs around

Please he's so excited, nervous and scared he can't function

"Tsum tsum calm down!"- Bokuto

Everyone looks at him like 😲 because Bokuto being the voice of reason 🤨

That's strange, that's weird

Suddenly a huge pressure hits you as your knees buckle and you begin to fall

"YN holy shit-" Hinata says running to you

"It hurts so bad"- you, screaming

For real tho, I screamed so loud they said they were lucky the birthing floor was empty 😅

And imagine the echo of a gym at that 🤯

"What hurts YN?"- Sakusa

You're head snaps to him like bro... seriously

"MY VAGINA SAKUSA!"- you, screaming

"I know that you idiot I mean what are you feeling?"- Sakusa

"Hey don't call the mother of my child an idiot ya idiot!"- Atsumu, ready to fight

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP"- You, gritting your teeth

Any chance you had at a serene birth experience is long gone YN 😅

"Ugh I feel like I have to push"- you shout as everyone freezes

Meian and Inunaki are still supporting you

Thomas and Barnes 👉🏻 👁👄👁 here???

Bokuto and Hinata just stand there 🧍‍♂️ 🧍‍♂️

"Wait- now? You said we had time YN!"- Atsumu, panicking

"Clearly I was wrong Sumu"- you say gritting your teeth as another contraction comes

"I'm calling an ambulance now"- Sakusa says running

You feel pressure as you move your hand to lower your pants

Please everyone is about to lose their minds

"YN I don't think the gyms insurance covers this"- Meian

"Seriously are these floors even stain proof?"- Barnes

"I mean their water proof right?"- Thomas

You glare at them as they all stop talking

"You're right YN not the time"- Meian says, holding you as you move your pants down

"The ambulance is like 5 minutes away"- Sakusa says running back in

"We need towels"- Atsumu says, realizing this is not waiting

Hinata and Bokuto run 🏃‍♂️ as fast as they can and grab towels

"Ok YN, you need to breath. Remember in and out, good job baby!"- Atsumu says praising you

Please he's a rock in a tough situation

He just goes into autopilot

"Sumu, it hurts so bad" you say gritting your teeth

Atsumu checks under your shirt to see

"Oh my god ok this is really happening. Yn the babies head is right there"- he says his eyes as wide as saucers

"WHAT??"- you scream as another contraction hits

"Ok ok YN when the contraction hits, bare down on and put your weight on Meian and Inunaki"- Atsumu

"God YN, I'm so sorry some man did this to you!! I'm scheduling a vasectomy tomorrow"- Inunaki states

You scream as you feel the pressure hit a new high

"The ambulance is a minute away YN just hold on"- Sakusa screams from the doors as he waits

"Sumu I cant- I can't! I was promised drugs! You promised me drugs!"- You scream

Fun fact 👉🏻 actual quote from me

"YN, hey, I believe in you and I love you"- Sumu says as he looks up at you smiling

You nod, bearing down as you feel the pressure build and then slip from your body

"Holy shit"- Barnes shouts as the gym floods with first responders and Atsumu holds your new baby girl

"You did it YN! You did it baby! I fucking love you so much! Omg she's so perfect!"- Atsumu says crying as he holds your now screaming daughter, the ambulance crew handing him towels and checking her vitals

"Hello YN! I'm Mai, let's get you to a gurney ok??"- Mai says as you nod and Meian and Inunaki help you on the gurney, you daughter still attached by her umbilical cord

"Dad would you like to cut the cord? Then we can help YN get the placenta out"- Mai says handing Atsumu the scissors as he holds your baby close.

"Wait I'm not done yet?"- you say panicking

"It will be quick YN. After birth contractions will help"- Mai says as she helps you deliver the placenta

Atsumu hands you the baby as you look at her and start to cry

"Sumu she's perfect"- you say looking at him

"Just like you YN"- atsumu says, kissing you as you head the to hospital

✨️ Bonus ✨️

1 month later...

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jeannereames · 1 month

Note

You already wrote it like twice lol so I apologize for bringing it up again… but if you were to rewrite the final scene of Rise once more but from Philippos’s POV… what would you envision his final thoughts to have been when he’s killed? Or, I'm not sure if he would have even been capable of having any by that point, but, for imagination's sake really :)

Below are my thoughts about Philippos’s mindset at the time.

Before I get to that, for anyone wondering what the asker is talking about, my website for Dancing with the Lion has several “out-takes” (scenes cut from the novels), plus a few scenes (and one short story) that take place in the c. 10 months between book 1 and book 2.

Among these is a rewrite of Rise's last scene, originally done in Alexandros’s head, seen from Hephaistion’s POV. (Click image)

(Fair warning, and it probably goes without saying, but while the first set can be read after finishing Becoming, the second set should wait until you’ve finished Rise, as they naturally contain spoilers.)

So, first, at the parade’s start, Philippos would still be irked with Alexandros after their quarrel over (ironically) Pausanias. He said they’d continue the discussion later, after telling Alexandros his choices were about managing difficult personalities, especially when they’re about to be away from Macedon for some years.

Ergo, at the start of the parade, he would’ve been thinking about how to get through to his idealistic child that sometimes full justice must take a back seat to avoiding interminable blood feuds. He’d probably also have been hoping he’d live until Alexandros was more mature. He’d not be thinking assassination, of course. They’re about to embark on a serious military campaign to Persia, and Macedonian kings often died with their boots on. He’s in his mid/late 40s, his leg is lame and he’s not as fast as he used to be. He could fall in battle.

This isn’t overly morbid. These are pretty normal thoughts (ime) for parents of teens, and Alexandros is still, effectively, a teen, even if he just turned 20. You just hope the inevitable blunders of adolescence are none so bad they die before the neurons in their frontal cortexes finish fusing. Not that the Greeks understood adolescent neurology, but they certainly understood teenaged hotheadedness. And Alexandros (and the real Alexander) were more hotheaded than most. After all, how many times did his own bravery almost get him killed?

So that would’ve been on Philippos’s mind in the immediate aftermath of their quarrel, but it wouldn’t be the first time—I’m sure it was a well-worn grove of worry—so he’d have kicked it off once the parade started. After that, right up until the moment he was stabbed, he was having a great morning. It was truly his triumph. That’s the irony of his death … and why Pausanias picked that event.

Historically speaking, it seems he was stabbed in the back, or perhaps from the side, so I doubt he saw it coming—or who stabbed him. Now, we get into a bit of speculation and back to my fictional take. I wrote it so that he died almost immediately. Pausanias was a soldier, and even with a cloak in the way, he could find the heart fairly accurately, I think. (Whether this was true in history, we don’t actually know. The historical Philip may have taken a few minutes to die if Pausanias was off target by an inch or two.)

In any case, the heart is delicate. A direct wound by arrow, sword, spear, knife, bullet is almost always fatal without immediate medical intervention, due to extreme bleeding into the chest cavity. Ergo, shock takes over in under half a minute, more like 15-20 seconds.

In the novel, in those, let’s say, 20 seconds, Philippos was able to call his son’s name, and would have seen Alexandros turn and call him Pappa, reaching for him. The surprise on his son’s face would tell Philippos he wasn’t involved. Philippos would know he was a dead man, so I think it would matter to him that Alexandros wasn’t behind it.

I don’t say in the novel, but Pausanias could have whispered something in his ear at the end. I describe him as right behind the king, one hand on his elbow. Alexandros thinks he’s helping to hold his father up (not realizing the other hand had the knife). And, again, as a soldier, Pausanias would have twisted that knife, once it went in, to be sure, even if he’d hit off center, that it would do maximum damage. Then, of course, he’s off like a shot, shoving Philippos at Alexandros.

Philippos was probably still conscious enough to feel his son grab him and hear him shout, “Get him!” But after that, shock would’ve kicked in and he’d have lost consciousness. He’d look dead to Alexandros (and be as good as).

In reality, the brain still survives for a few minutes even after the heart stops. He’d no doubt have had the “life flashes before your eyes” experience. He might have felt fury at Pausanias, but largely, I think, for interrupting his plans. I suspect his main concern would be the safety of his son and of his kingdom. At the approach of death, things pare down to the most basic and most important. I doubt that included Pausanias except peripherally (probably to Pausanias’s dismay, if he knew).

So that’s my take on what Philippos probably thought at the end.

#asks #Philip of Macedon #assassination of Philip of Macedon #Dancing with the Lion #DwtL #Alexander the Great #historical fiction #ancient Macedonia #Pausanias

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carmenpeach · 3 months

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this is for the carmen lore lovers okay i always think "i should complain less both irl and online since its probably not good to be so negative all the time" but anger really does keep me alive etc but good god this mold shit is driving me insane like thank god i live with all my irl friends cause no way in hell would i invite someone over like "yeah ignore the mildew smell and dont look too closely at anything and dont touch the walls theyre permawet" its humiliating and it's so shameful just having to exist here and who knows where im gonna be living in a month im soooooo sick of this bouncing around where i live the last so many years -_-

like i havent really had a proper home it feels since 2018 like it's just "this is where im gonna be for maybe a year and its just where i keep some of my stuff and sleep at" like cant even put posters up cause theyll die. i have one big painting i made in our room to add some color but we gotta clean off the mold every so often but its abstract so at least it's hard to see and i really dont care about it enough if the paint gets worn away.

still waiting on the landlord to finally get back to us considering the repair guy (who she lives with but idk if theyre a couple but thats not my business im just a nosey nancy) and he was like shocked and mortified at the mold (he used to live here and hadnt seen mold this way) and okay it's a concrete house with stucco exterior but the fact that the middle most wall is wet he said something like uh thats kind of impossible to dry. any professional/ legal ppl weve talked to have said this is basically hazardous living and unsuitable conditions (even with the semi illegal mold agreement we were forced to sign that was snuck small into the lease, if anything its incriminating) and like now what? will we get relocated since this is house needs to get torn down (it has 85% humidify with is like 10% over legal livable limit) but if not then how long do we have to move? if its condemned then what man. we have a backup plan but it's a long as hell drive and far from everything so at least we dont gotta worry about nowhere to live so im trying to not stress too hard and just let da wind take me where it goes. so maybe we will soon live in a real house thats dry and i really cant beleive im back to where i was like 6 years ago of "i just need a bed to sleep in" i want to live a normal life where our cutting boards dont get moldy.

fuck all life.

#sometimes i go i wouldnt even notice with the shit i got going on. but i am grrr

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eyes-of-mischief · 7 days

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weekly fic recs | 52

fandoms: hp, mdzs, svsss, tgcf

evans by DragonflyxParodies

There is a picture in one of the books of a worn young man, heavily scarred with gentle eyes. Remus Lupin, he is identified as. The man who was watching Charles, and presumably Harry. The man who died defending them. Harry traces his fingertips over the man’s face and wonders.

And then he stops, and reels all those thoughts into a tangled knot and tucks it away.

They didn’t want him; that’s fine. He doesn’t want them either.

xxx

Alternatively; Harry James Evans is Sorted Slytherin, desperate to stay hidden from the family that gave him up so many years ago. Severus Snape owes debts to a child presumed dead and the child's tormented godfather; and now he has a cunning, paranoid snake to charm all without tipping anyone else off to the boy's true identity.

snaca by orphan_account

snake: a long limbless reptile which has no eyelids, a short tail and jaws that are capable of considerable extension. Some snakes have a venomous bite.

mdzs

D.C. al Fine by westiec

For a moment Lan Wangji thinks he is dead, and he is wracked with such shocking, unexpected grief that he stops breathing.

Wei Wuxian gets a second chance, just when he is least ready for it.

Alter by Solmae

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con, underage)

Qishan Wen Sect's power is growing, overshadowing the land like the rising sun.

While other cultivation sects are becoming uncomfortable, they also want to avoid trouble. But Gusu Lan Sect has been a thorn in the Wen Sect's side for years, slowly growing isolated, until even the famous Gusu lectures are closed to outsiders. Until one day, Wen Ruohan decides he's had enough and sends his forces to Gusu.

The Cloud Recesses burns. The Lan Sect is slaughtered. The Twin Jades are taken prisoners, forced into impossible choices to protect each other.

And the uneasy peace shatters.

svsss

To Conquer an Emperor by zarasu

(explicit)

Transmigrating into the stallion novel he hates most is bad enough, but why did it have to be into the body of one of the protagonist's wives? Shen Yuan spends exactly two months dealing with harem intrigues, sullen maids and his husband utterly ignoring him before he decides to go on an extended holiday. Very extended. Surely no one will care if he just forgets about being married and becomes a cultivator, right?

(In which Luo Binghe goes on a quest to bring his errant husband home and Shen Yuan takes him on an adventure instead.)

Tarnished Gold by Prim_the_Amazing

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

Becoming emperor of the cultivation world will start with a first step as small and basic as becoming Head Disciple of Huan Hua Palace. For that, he must steal the position away from the current Head Disciple. Luo Binghe will sabotage, upstage, and completely and utterly best him.

The road to destroying everything and everyone who has ever wronged him, to becoming the highest ruler so that no one will ever have the right to control him ever again - it will start as simply as ruining Gongyi Xiao’s life.

Compared to everything else he’s already done, this should be easy.

Luo Binghe brings all his skills of cunning and brutality to bear on Gongyi Xiao, Head Disciple of Huan Hua Palace Sect. It… doesn’t go too well for him.

Every Gamble Has A Price by Lost_Starlight

(mature)

Shen Yuan’s careful preparations to fake his own demise are rudely interrupted by actual death, and that should be the end of his story.

But in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way, nothing is ever quite that simple.

Or: Shen Qingqiu dies while Luo Binghe is in the Abyss, and all his hard work goes to waste when the half-demon follows his original’s cold-hearted career path to the throne. However, fate (and the System) are not finished with the Demon Lord yet. And what better to throw at him than traitors, unknown diseases, and odd, suspicious civilians who know more than they should?

tgcf

Lost in the Tide by kianspo

(mature)

Once-upon-a-time an aspiring surgeon and now a down-on-his-luck vet Xie Lian is struggling to keep his little clinic open. He's not doing very well until one night a handsome stranger bursts in, begging him to save his dog.

of death, and love, and absolution by Naamah_Beherit

(mature)

Every year, a ghost king roams the night in search of lost souls and leaves only destruction in his wake. Every year, Hua Cheng's temples are burning.

Or: a story in which Xie Lian is a Devastation, Hua Cheng is a Heaven Official, and nothing is what it seems.

Torn, Trampled Flower by hoarder_of_stories

(explicit) (rape/non-con)

Xie Lian, cursed to be the target of any rape that happens around him, has what is unfortunately a fairly normal day for him. Hua Cheng finds him afterwards.

Stunned, he drops his bag of scraps. The flower in his hand flutters to the ground. He watches it fall, and resigns himself to what comes next.

He knows not to fight, by now. The curse on him is vindictive. He fought, at first. And then he learned about the people whose suffering replaced his own.

He fixes the image of the woman he’d found, broken and lifeless, all those centuries ago, in his mind’s eye, and forces his muscles to relax.

#weekly fic recs #no prompt #hp fic recs #hp #mdzs fic recs #mdzs #svsss fic recs #svsss #tgcf fic recs #tgcf

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ninjacat1515 · 4 months

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Community

Steve and Alex interrogated Matias, torturing him for the exact location of his illager town; only giving him moldy bread or a scrap of rotted meat. The shock collar and enchanted chains dig into his flesh and infected wounds. Months of this misery dragged by with it feeling like a dream.

But the two Heroes have underestimated his pain tolerance and love of his people. Matias does not even come close to cracking and both humans are stumped as to what to do.

"Listen here you evil freak we don't care who is coming to rescue you, and why would ANYONE save an Illager?! Your kind are a calamity upon the land and will be dealt with in time! ALL of you. And that is a promise."

Matias paid Alex no mind, it was just the blathering of the enemy. Their insults and torture had grown tiresome and he focused his mind on drifting away through memories of his daughter, his last words to Fiadh, and the fun he had with his friends at the tavern. The faces of the thousands of illagers who called his town home filled his spirit and gave it strength.

He would never give in, even if it killed him. His drive to live was potent, his stubbornness great. But the devotion to his family, to illager kind, to the town he had helped construct from the ground up were more powerful. If he had to die to keep them safe he would do so.

Rumblings of Ravagers and hundreds of people made the dank prison tremble along with the humans. A clawed hand worn from battle and the elements punched through the dungeon door and in charged a female Pillager that looked even more feral than Matias.

"My dearest Alex," the old warrior chuckled, relief flooding him as savage joy and hunger raged to the surface. "We illagers do have people who come to rescue us! Our own kind. We protect one another. My town has come to help me, just as I've helped them for so many years."

Steve was snatched by multiple Vindicators and a furious tide of Illagers entered the room, most going to Matias to undo the chains.

"You humans loathe anything that doesn't roll over and show its belly. You destroy your own environment to the detriment of your health and can't even get along with your own damned species! I will never understand it."

Fiadh seized Alex by the throat and lifted her off the ground, eyes completely red. Alex couldn't even utter a word of anger or defense for her kind. Steve clawed and kicked the illagers who held him but it did no good.

"ALEX!" He screamed, tears staining his tunic. "LET HER GO!!!"

"Oh? Like how you were going to let me go?" Matias spat at him.

"TAKE ME INSTEAD THEN! JUST PLEASE LET HER LIVE!!!" He could see the hunger in the Pillager's eyes and wished belatedly that he had given Matias proper food or just not even taken him to begin with.

Matias was now free and an illager doctor was treating his wounds.

"Boy I am no stranger to pain but you cannot seriously believe I would let either of you survive after this? I am not a passive, meek Villager. I. Bite. Back. And I am hungry..."

Steve's cries became a gurgling mess when teeth met his throat and ripped it away. Alex's hope faded and she shuddered with a strangled sob. Her fate was just as bloody, the illagers being like a pack of ravenous wolves after they let Matias have his fill first.

Fiadh embraced him, both covered in blood and bits of human leaning into eachother and touching foreheads. Fiadh wiped away some tears. Her husband was alive and that is what mattered.

"I missed you old goat...scared me to death, don't you ever get caught again!"

"I don't plan on it my beautiful devil."

#pillager oc #minecraft steve #minecraft alex #character death

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yasashiiku · 9 months

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@ianuarius sent a crow ;

011. / Serizawa + Shou

011, the last train compartment that's not full.

𝑯𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅, he sits deafeated on one of the worn out discolored train seats, with his legs pulled all the way up against his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around them as he huddled around the faint uncomfortable churning of his stomach and the frantic beating of his heart, forehead on the knees, fireburst hair tossed and messy around them. There were no gashes or broken bones this time around, he made sure of it, but his head hurt, and his whole body felt strange. So he just curled around the strangeness, embracing it in hopes it would fade away sooner than later, mind too blank and fuzzy from fatigue to think of anything else to do.

Dealing with new faces has always been the hardest part of a fight, if it's someone he recognizes, he would be aware of their powers beforehand, knowing what to expect, ready to counter them effectively. But his solo mission to investigate an abandoned Claw base didn't go as planned, much like a lot of other things lately. It turned out the place wasn't abandoned as everyone thought, and the former scars gathering over there brought new friends. It's laughable, truely, he got hold on information about espers clashing in there last week, it made him convinced that the government weren't doing their job properly when it came to targets, and that's when he decided to take matters into his hands, his rusty, small and poorly trained hands which haven't punched someone square in the face for nearly a month.

Electrokinesis weren't a joke, it makes Shou laugh regardless, because he was as stupid and slow as to let someone use it on him again. He hasn't forgotten -he probably never will- the all-encompassing, burning sensation of every fiber of his body cramping and screaming with agony, even it was just for split a second of his bastard of a father toying with him like a bug he could squat away with ease. It appears the culprits Claw left behind has awakened to a new sort of realization, it's like they've suddenly discovered strategies and wise decisions were a real thing an esper can use in battle, instead of brutal force driven by arrogance and bloodlust.

He wasn't in for a fight, really, not that he minded it, but he simply went there for investigating, getting clues on how things were being handled behind his back, dealing with Joseph has gotten frustrating, the asshole won't spill a word on any of their agents' progress, and it sat with Shou in all the wrong ways. A lot of things sat with him in all the wrong ways, like the few seconds of paralysis he endured after the enemy esper was forced to release him from the hold of electric shock waves, or the fact that Serizawa of all the people in this fucking world happened to be the one to save his pathetic ass, or the unusual somewhat funny feeling that crept up the nerves in his fingers and into his arms.

Shou holds his head up, sparing Serizawa a quick glance, not like he needed it to make sure the man was sitting right there besides him, accompanying him in the way home, letting Shou be engulfed in the familiarity of his aura. There was something new about it, ever since Serizawa started a new life away from Claw, there were many new things about him, it's almost overwhelming, but that didn't change the comfort, Serizawa has always been nice, even when Shou despised it with ounce of his power.

Shou supposed he has to worry about how Serizawa found out where to find him, he thought he was being subtle with his schemes, but he doesn't ponder too much on it, the sensation in his hands beginning to tick him off. He lets his legs slide down all too quickly, then makes work on checking his hands, looking at them with detached abhorrence. He turned his hands over on his lap. Palms up, palms down, fingers spread out, then all the way back, curling them until his hands turn into fists, them wash rinse and repeat. But it's the same no matter how he moves them; they are shaking. Quivering. Straight up trembling.

❝ Serizawa, ❞ Shou calls without as much of a second thought, a weirded out smile making his lips wobble, breathing starts to become a harder task with every passing second. ❝ I don't think I'm okay... ❞

He raises one of his hands and holds it out in front of the elder esper so that he can see the tremors, speaking between uncontrollable breathy giggles. ❝ Look, it's just like you... ❞

#Shou please you can't roast people while you're on the verge of a freakin meltdown 😭#hi hades *grips you like a doll* it's time for PAIN #⤷ ᯽･ﾟ: 鈴木将 | in character.#⤷ ᯽･ﾟ: more than free to continue | asks.#ask to tag /#cuz i genuinely dont know bad this is

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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staysaneathome · 2 years

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Let’s Meet At The Gathering of the Witches (4)

It feels like the next Gathering of the Witches lies in ambush to catch him off-guard.

One minute it’s a month away and the next it’s today.

He and Martin travel up to it together.

He does ask whether Frey will be traveling up with them, but Martin just shrugs.

“Xey told me xey’ll be going with xir uncle.” He says. “Though they’ve been very…distracted these past few days. Distant. I think xey might be trying to be more independent, to better access xir magic?”

Jon shrugs back. He doesn’t really care so long as it means he doesn’t have to spend time in the company of the Lukas who let Robbie get hurt in the first place.

This of course means that they have no reason to linger outside the inner sanctum. They do so anyway.

Jon’s Eyes try to find Robbie in the crowd. It’s unlikely but maybe, just maybe, Georgie will have brought them here…?

The crowd of apprentices and familiars is unusually sparse despite how close the Gathering is to starting, so it’s easy to See that Robbie isn’t in it.

His Eyes keep Looking though, hanging around long enough that Jon has to actively corral them into following him again.

One of them catches the attention of Tim Stoker who, against all reason, gives Jon something approaching a grudging nod.

Jon, who has been on what can politely described as “bad terms” with Tim ever since he went to the Desolation, is so shocked all he can really do is return a shaky little nod of his own before following Martin inside.

The oddities don’t stop there.

He finds himself and Martin confronted by Jane Prentiss, Witch of the Corruption.

She’s smiling unpleasantly, though considering all the wasp larvae crawling in and out of the many holes making up their hive, it can be argued that every expression she makes is unpleasant.

“Eye Witch,” The way the words come out is an awful mix of a rasp, a hiss and a purr. “So glad to finally be forming an alliance between our territories. The Corruption shall not forget the debts owed to you.”

Martin is glancing between Prentiss and Jon with such incredulity that Jon’s mildly worried he’ll strain something.

Jon does what he does best when he has no clue what the hell is going on.

He puts on his most firm and serious expression and inclines his head back, pretending he understands the situation perfectly. “Th-thank you. You have my word, the Eye will honor the ties between us as well.”

Prentiss lets out a hum that Jon…thinks is positive? Before she turns and strides off.

“What was that?” Martin whispers, frantic.

“I have no idea!” Jon mutters back.

No sooner has Prentiss left them in peace than they’re being confronted by the Witch that is Not Sasha James.

Or rather, the Grand Witch. The jewel-toned regalia which Nikola had worn so proudly looks gauche and ill-fitting on her, which given that she’s a Stranger may be the point.

She’s followed by a vaguely male mannequin which dogs her footsteps with something that Jon almost feels like he recognizes.

“Jonathan Sims. Witch of the Eye.” She says. “I would like to request negotiations for a ceasefire.”

Jon’s glare hardens, finding his footing on familiar ground. “You? After all you and yours have done? You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that.”

The mannequin gives what would be a derisive snort on any other being. “As if what Nikola did was in any way comparable to what you turned her into, and you setting Seven of the Fourteen on us—!”

Wait, what?

“Easy, Tom.” The Not!Sasha pacifies with a hand on the mannequin’s arm and a fond look, before turning a very obviously fake smile on him. “How about it, Witch of the Eye? A cessation of hostilities between us, with an embargo on either entering each others’ territories. Are these acceptable starting terms?”

Jon feels like he’s lost the plot a bit on this. Still, his mouth moves on its own as he says, “No attempts on your part to capture or claim Robbie. Non-negotiable.”

“Done.” The Not!Sasha says it almost before he’s finished speaking. “The further away from us that awful little familiar of yours is, the happier we’ll all be. I’ll be in contact to negotiate whose grounds we’ll meet on to formally discuss the terms once you’ve tied off your outstanding loose end.”

And with that she and what Jon thinks might be her boyfriend sweep away in that uncanny fashion which comes naturally to all Witches of the Stranger.

“What was that??” Martin whispers, nearly hysterical.

“I have no damn idea!” Jon mutters back, in a similar state himself.

They don’t quite flee towards where Georgie and the others are, but it’s a near thing.

Melanie, Georgie and Oliver are all huddled together, talking quietly and quickly. For some reason all of them look worse for wear.

“…out of control for months now!” Melanie is hissing. “We’re lucky no one’s been killed! This is bigger than us now, Georgie, bigger than your pride. Either you tell him, or I will!”

“Tell who what?” Martin asks as they draw level with the group.

The three of them freeze, eyes fixating on Jon.

“Well…” Georgie heaves a sigh. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, Jon, but…?”

She trails off, biting her lip.

“But?” Jon prompts, his Eyes clustering closer.

They note the slight tensing of her expression, the stiffening of her posture as though rigor mortis has set in.

Finally, she bursts out, “Melanie’s familiar is attempting to court Robbie!”

Jon promptly chokes on his own saliva.

Martin makes a worried noise and begins rubbing his back as he coughs.

“Georgie!” Melanie squawks in something resembling outrage.

Oliver is covering his face with his hand, for some reason.

“We didn’t want to bring it up,” Georgie says, cheeks flushed. “But I realized not long after they moved in, given what Emil did to them at the last Gathering. I’m not entirely sure he knew? What he was doing, by stabbing them there? But—“

“Explain.” It’s a legitimate struggle to keep the Compulsion out of his voice. Especially considering that the feeling of prickling-licking-a-tea-towel is back in full force.

Georgie gives him a cool look and makes a careless gesture. “It’s something. Something Melanie did to me not long after we first met. A wound inflicted close enough to the heart that you’ll feel it with every beat, but careful enough to avoid damaging the heart itself in any way. It’s weirdly romantic once you get down to it.”

Melanie’s cheeks are flushed, but there’s mutiny warring with affection in her eyes as she picks up where Georgie left off. “S dumb is what it is. So our magic gives us various impulses. Doesn’t mean he should’ve acted on them.”

“I think it’s sweet!” Georgie teases.

“I don’t.” It feels like Jon’s mouth is responding on autopilot. His body is prickling all over, uncomfortable and itchy.

And it’s not because of the idea that his familiar (good lord, they’re not even a teenager yet, how was this allowed to happen?) is apparently the subject of romantic interest from a violent ghost.

Well. Not just that, anyway.

Melanie’s expression creases with indignation that might be performative. “What, you think Emil’s not good enough for your familiar or something?! I’ll have you know—”

Fortunately the Gathering is called to order at that moment, so Jon remains blissfully ignorant to what she would have him know.

The entire meeting passes by Jon in a blur.

He can’t concentrate on what’s being said, can barely recognize that different people are taking turns speaking.

Because while talking over distance through the crystal ball diffused its effects somewhat, the unfiltered face-to-face interaction has made Jon realize what the source of that awful, dry-mouthed, prickling feeling is:

Georgie’s using the truth to lie to him.

And that. That hurts. Not in the least because Jon hasn’t any clue what she could possibly want to lie to him about.

He can’t even talk about it to Martin, because Martin murmured something about “need to have a Word with Oliver, love, won’t be but a minute, wait for me outside.”

And it’s as Jon’s waiting outside the inner sanctum that he is ambushed by the worst possible person in existence.

“Ah, Johnny-boy!” Says Trexel Geistman as he sidles up besides him. “Good old Johnners, that’s you. The Johnster! Johnston and Geistman, united at last!”

“No.” Jon grits out, as if the verbal denial will somehow affect the awful reality he’s found himself in.

Trexel Geistman fails to dematerialize. “Not a fan? Hm. Well I think those are much better than boring old John, but who knows? Who cares? I do, because that’s what Trexel does. He cares. Caring is the Geistman way, except for when it comes time to crush those ungrateful worms you call superiors or colleagues or family or friends under your boot! That’ll show them, Johnny! That’ll show them, for not coming to my ventwarming party—!”

Good lord, but Jon loathes Trexel Geistman. Every word out of the man’s mouth is nothing but pure drivel, coherent enough to make you feel like there should be a logic you’re following and responding to, but circuitous enough that trying to do so only results in frustration and a Spiral-induced migraine that effectively blinds him with its ferocity.

He’s trying to talk himself out of murdering the pompous little creep here and now and causing an international incident, and he’s not sure he’s succeeding.

“Jon.” A hand lands on his shoulder. “Might I steal you away for a word? Sorry, Mr. Geistman, important Eye business.”

Jon’s so grateful for the opportunity to escape that he doesn’t really protest Elias leading him away, even as Trexel Geistman babbles some nonsense beginning with, “But you tol—!”

His head is swimming as Elias leads him through passages that he’s not sure he knew existed before.

His Eyes try to keep track of the journey, but they’re affected by the pounding in his skull as well, too dizzy to really take in any relevant details.

They arrive in what Jon thinks might be a room? But it’s too curved, convex and concave, sending his poor brain reeling with the idea that he’s somehow stumbled into the Pupil of a giant Eye.

Elias’ voice is too loud, too echoing as he recites an incantation that Jon’s muddled brain can’t quite follow.

There’s the overwhelming THUD of doors slamming shut.

“El, Elias, what…?” Jon’s barely able to stammer, turning around.

His limbs lock in place under the luminous green gaze that greets him.

Jon can’t even move his mouth to speak as Elias walks forward and pushes him to his knees with a gentle touch.

His Eye are immobile witnesses, only able to watch as Elias manacles his wrists and ankles to the circular depression in the floor.

Why, Jon thinks but cannot say, what’s going on, why is Elias doing this?!

“Oh, Jonathan.” Elias smiles at him, responding to his frantically racing thoughts. “You only have yourself to blame for this, you know. If you’d just been a bit more observant, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

All of a sudden, like the moon emerging from behind the clouds to reveal something terrible in its stark light, Jon remembers.

Elias’ eyes were blue. Pale, watery, often red-rimmed blue, but blue all the same.

They had twinkled when Elias was high off his gourd, slurring about how proud he was of his four star apprentices, how he was sure they’d all surpass him in witchery someday.

Until one Gathering where Elias disappeared off somewhere after the meeting and remerged with green eyes so dark they resembled rotting mulch on the forest floor, with a calculating gleam turned on the four of them.

Eyes that had previously been in the head of former Grand Witch of the Eye, James Wright.

“Of course, if you had noticed, it’s unlikely it would’ve done you much good anyways.” The thing that is Not Elias Bouchard says as he pours the memories of how many times he has done this into Jon’s head, how many witches of the Eye he has brought to this very room before taking up the mantle of Grand Witch anew in fresher, younger bodies. Cheating death and amassing power in one fell swoop.

“After all, Knowing never saved poor Miss James, did it?”

Oh God.

Jon chokes on a whimper as he Sees it, sees Sasha putting the pieces together, attempting to bargain with what Jon now Knows is the First and Only Grand Witch of the Eye, Jonah Magnus.

Sees as she’s sent off to be Unmade at the hands of the Stranger Witches, the secret apparently dying with her.

“I really must thank you, Jon. The life you’re leading now is practically perfect.” The tool in Magnus’ hand is old, ornately carved, pristine. Jon Knows he is an expert on how to use it by now, hasn’t left even an incriminating bruise in well over three hundred years.

“Your powers are strong enough to reduce even a Grand Witch of the Stranger to a mere plaything, to say nothing of the way you smote her followers.” Magnus’ voice is reverential, almost proud. “You have secured steady alliances with the End, the Fog, and the Slaughter, to say nothing of your unwitting arrangements with the Flesh, the Buried, the Hunt, and the Corruption, thanks your little familiar. The Stranger has been severely reduced between the two of you, their Grand Witch so weak it will take next to nothing to wipe them from the map.”

He openly laughs at the confusion permeating Jon’s brain. “Ah yes. Ignorant of that, aren’t you? I’ll admit, it was a noble effort to try to send it away in an attempt to keep them out of my clutches. Pathetic, but noble. It’s a shame its devotion to you lead to it undoing all of your hard work. Did you know it only remained in the End for three days before it managed to give its protectors the slip? It can be quite creative, when it applies itsef.”

Three days?

Robbie was only with Georgie for three days?

Jon’s mind is forcibly transfixed on memories of teaching Robbie how to get to the End from Eye territory, back when they first started staying with him. Of ensuring they could plan diversions and re-routes through other domains, in case the quickest path was ever blocked.

But—! No. They were in the End, they are in the End, they have to be in the End, because Georgie—Georgie…

A thumb smooths over his cheekbone in a parody of comfort. “But rest assured, Jonathan. I’ll bring my familiar home from its gallivanting about the domains, and put it to far better use than you could have ever dreamed. It’s sacrifice will pave the way to greater understanding about a soon-to-be-extinct magic.”

The smile that splits Elias’ cheeks is nightmarish. “Though of course the work I’ll do on it will pale in comparison to what I’ll be able to do to dear Martin. I’ve done good work with Peter, of course, but a Fog Witch with genuine emotional attachment? Think of the possibilities, Jon. Will he ever even realize the man he’s saying ‘I love you’ to is gone?”

Rage sparks uselessly through Jon’s paralyzed limbs, leaving him able to do little more than bare his teeth in defiance. Don’t you dare touch them.

“How sweet.” The tool is poised over his right eye. “Well, I’m afraid this is goodbye, Jonathan. If it’s any consolation, you far exceeded everything I’d hoped you’d b—”

BANG!

Jonah Magnus pulls back, a frown marring his features. “What in the world…?”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The harsh blows continue, as if something is throwing itself against every door to this place with all its might. It does so in a way that’s rhythmic, the pulse of boots marching to war, of bones cracking beneath a fist.

Magnus sneers, leaning back over Jon’s face. “It seems time is of the essence. This won’t be as clean as I’d li—”

“GBWEH!”

That actually causes Magnus to startle back as he looks up at something that has somehow entered the room.

Something that stinks of alcohol, lotion, and half-rotted fish.

Jon, who cannot operate his vocal cords, wishes he could groan in despair.

“Geistman?!” Magnus snaps, obviously as repulsed as Jon now is. “How did you—?! Ugh, never mind, get back to your vents and your boozing, you blithering, incompetent—!”

Jon’s head has been tilted upwards all this time, to better allow for Magnus to perform his little “operation”.

Which means he has a perfect view of the vent that is suddenly present in the ceiling, and Robbie dropping out of it with murder in their eyes and jaw unhinged.

There’s a short, sharp scream from Magnus that ends in a wet gurgle.

Then all of a sudden, Elias’ voice is shouting something indecipherable that’s less a counter-incantation and more a frantic desire to Stop, to Open, to LET JON GO.

He finds his limbs loosening, slacking from their rictus as his eyes blink and move and swarm over to his familiar.

Robbie’s spitting something out with a disgusted look on their face, head shaking and hands flapping by their sides.

Then they spot him and their expression turns frantic as they run full-tilt over to him, colliding heavily as they practically trip over themself to get a good look at his face, staring at his eyes with a desperation bordering on manic.

“I, it.” His tongue feels thick and heavy, unwilling to obey him. “S okay, Robbie. He didn’t. It’s me. It’s me.”

His familiar’s eyes fill with tears as they fling their arms around him and bury their head in his chest.

Jon rests his head on top of theirs as best he can while manacled, trying to soothe their gasping sobs. There’ll be plenty of time to scold them for running off and not sending him any word of their harebrained schemes later. Now he can let himself feel the relief that they’re here, they’re alright.

Or perhaps not.

Jon’s Eyes catch sight of Magnus rising, blood staining Elias’ high collar, his tool clutched in a tight-knuckled grip and raised over his head like a dagger as he staggers towards them.

Jon curls over Robbie as best he can, trying to summon some, any of the power that allowed him to reduce Nikola to lifelessness—!

Several things happen in rapid succession.

A pair of large, cool, familiar arms coil around Jon and Robbie, yanking them through the Fog and away from their attacker.

There’s the harsh thud of several doors opening at once, pouding footsteps and panicked voices filling the room.

Magnus is impaled from behind on several shard of glass and metal, as Melanie’s familiar unleashes his wrath.

A swarm of butterflies descends as Magnus gurgles and topples forward again, the earth itself reaching up to claim him.

Jon’s thankful that the Gathering’s been over for long enough that most of the other attendants have gone home.

It means there’s less witnesses for the apparent murder of the Grand Witch of the Eye.

Though, Jon considers, looking around at the motley crew gathered in the corridor outside of Jonah Magnus’ de-eyeballing room, there are still quite a lot of them.

Thankfully Trexel Geistman is not one of them.

“So let me see if I’ve got this right.” Martin says, looking desperately like he wants to pinch the bridge of his nose but is wholly unwilling to release his grip on Jon and Robbie to do so.

“You,” A squeeze of Jon’s arm which he replies to with a nudge of his head into Martin’s shoulder. “Somehow the most sensible person in this scenario, thought that the best way to protect Robbie was to send them to the End so they couldn’t get caught in the crossfire when Nikola attacked your cottage.”

“Hey.” Jon mutters without heat. Martin gives him a quick, pacifying kiss on the forehead.

“Georgie agreed with this and took Robbie in. But you,” A squeeze of Robbie’s shoulder, who fidgets and looks guilty. “Somehow got it into your head to run away from the End, to…what? Fight the Stranger witches directly, or something?”

Robbie shakes their head as they sign, “I wanted to come home. I wanted to protect Jon. I kept having to make detours, though. They were trying to stop me.”

Martin heaves a sigh. “Which is, I suppose how you all got involved?”

Petra Ito, apprentice of the Buried, gives a careless shrug with her arm around Frey Lukas’ hunched shoulders. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Robbie helped me an’ Janey get rid of the spiders! So Janey said I could go!” Des Fuentes-Macías, the very young apprentice of the Corruption, pipes up. Prentiss has a proud hand set on his head.

“I just wanted to torch it.” Tim admits, a flame sprouting from his clicked fingers that has Robbie flinching minutely. “But then I got the chance to burn even more of the stranger fuckers.”

“I-I wasn’t actually involved in, in any of this until this morning, when they arrived on the Fog’s borders, so…" Frey Lukas trails off under Martin’s hard stare, head ducking again. “Sorry.”

The Monster Pig has wandered off back into the Eye room after a few cursory sniffs.

Emil Walpole, Melanie’s wayward familiar of the Slaughter, flickers slightly even as he hovers a few centimeters above the floor, steadfastly not looking at anyone. “…They asked for my help.”

Jon can’t quite decide if that raises his estimation of Mr. Walpole or not. Especially given that Robbie’s face feels hot when they hide a small smile in Jon’s arm.

“Okay,” Martin begins diplomatically. “And I’m guessing that while Robbie was trying to get back to Jon, Georgie, you were trying to…what, rescue them? While keeping Jon in the dark about it?”

“Me and Melanie were helping as best we could.” Oliver chimes in as Melanie nods. “Ever since Robbie and Emil vanished from the Slaughter together.”

“But why?” Jon bursts out, unable to keep quiet any longer, eyes fixed on Georgie. “Why hide it from me? Why lie that everything was fine when it wasn’t?”

She somehow looks small, even in her End regalia, one foot scuffing the floor.

“I didn’t—!” She pauses, takes a breath, and starts again. “You came to me for help and trusted me to look after them, Jon. I didn’t want to betray that faith and disappoint you, not when I thought I could have the situation in hand.”

Jon’s mouth works soundlessly. He can appreciate that, but. But.

“But the problem was that Robbie was more resourceful than you gave them credit for.” Martin’s gentle tone continues. “And by the time you were considering telling Jon, it had already gone on long enough that admitting felt like it would be worse than not. Even though he had a right to know from the start.”

Georgie gives a weak huff of laughter as she nods.

Melanie plasters herself against Georgie’s side and glares daggers at the room. “Lay off. She was just trying to do her best.”

“No, love.” Georgie nuzzles into her hair, and then straightens to look at Jon. “I am truly sorry, Jon. For keeping you in the dark.”

Jon nods, trying to decide how he feels about that, but ultimately being too exhausted to come to any firm conclusions.

At his side, Robbie circles a fist over their chest. “I’m sorry for running away. I didn’t want to make you sad. I just wanted to go home.”

Georgie quirks a small smile at that, but doesn’t say anything else.

“So.” Martin says. “At some point, Robbie and company find out about Jonah Magnus’ eyeball-stealing and race here in the nick of time to stop it happening, with Frey providing cover to sneak them all into the Gathering…how did you find out about that, anyway?”

“It was the lady that wasn’t!” Des Fuentes-Macías pipes up. “She said the old Eye man was gonna steal his!”

Robbie nods, signing, “The One Who Isn’t Sasha James contained her memories after eating up her life. She traded The Grand Imposter’s secret to us, so we could save Jon. And then we hit the slimy Spiral man until he agreed to help.”

“Traded?” Jon asks, feeling wary. “Traded for what?”

Emil Walpole’s smile is chilling. “Not finishing what we started in the Stranger’s domain.”

Suddenly a lot of context for Jon’s earlier conversation with the new Grand Witch of the Stranger slots into place.

“So, what?” Tim interrupts. “We killed old Jimmy Magma, yippee for us. Does that mean Jon’s the new Grand Witch of the Eye?”

The very thought of it sends a shudder of pure revulsion down Jon’s spine. “Oh lord, I hope not. Elias, Elias’ body is still mostly functional, I, I think? Maybe we can—?”

The Monster Pig emerges from the Eye room, licking its chops clean.

Everyone stares at it as it gives a vaguely self-conscious grunt and trots off, presumably to make its way back to the Flesh’s territory.

“Well.” Oliver says. “I suppose that answers that question?”

“Wonderful. Just. Just wonderful.” Jon groans. He doesn’t want to become a Grand Witch yet, doesn’t want to have to leave his little cottage, forsake Robbie or Martin for any of the new responsibilities that will surely fall to him, without even an apprentice in training to help him manage them.

Oh good lord, he’s going to have to be diplomatic. Jon’s not got a diplomatic bone in his body, there’s no way he’s cut out for this.

“Well, about that…” Frey Lukas glances at Petra, who sighs and reaches into one of her many pockets to pull out what looks like a particularly mucky metal tin.

The contents of the tin inspire several groans of revulsion from the onlookers.

“Good lord.” Jon mutters as Robbie cringes and hides their face between him and Martin. “Did you really…?”

“Well,” Frey Lukas is actually standing up straight now, xir eyes bright. “When everyone told me what was going on, I figured that probably meant that there aren’t any real measures in place for the transferral of power, between witches of the Eye? Given that it was just Jonah Magnus giving it to himself every time. So I thought it was best to have a contingency prepared, like Martin’s always telling me.”

Martin quirks a small half smile at that, and Jon can’t not quickly peck the dimple that lovely expression brings out.

“Plus Grand Witches just need to be there, not actually do anything. That’s what they have us for.” Petra adds, closing up the tin. “S how Hezekiah keeps holding onto the position in the Buried. Wouldn’t be surprised if half his brains are mulch by now.”

Georgie inclines her head. “That’s…not entirely incorrect. But you’d still need a vessel for him while the power transfer is ongoing, and poor Elias. Well. Isn’t, anymore. Now what do we use?”

There’s a moment of contemplative silence.

“I believe,” Jon says slowly, the grin growing on his face only matched by the incredulous one on Martin’s, “I may have an idea.”

“You only have yourself to blame for this, you know.” Jon tells the scarecrow.

Jonah Magnus’ eyes glare at him hatefully from what he now knows is Nikola’s face.

It’s the perfect prison, really. In order to ever let the body have any chance of reanimating, Magnus will have to give up his dependence on Eye magic and his need for total control to let Nikola’s Stranger magic take autonomy.

And Jon’s suffered under his tutelage for enough years to know that this is something Jonah Magnus has no capacity for.

“Don’t worry.” He tells Magnus. “This won’t be forever. Just until I’ve got some other Eye witches properly trained up and established myself well enough to take over the Grand Witch position. Then we’ll give this puppet to Tim to make a bonfire with. He and Melanie are particularly excited for that. Frey too, if you can believe it. Xey’re very protective of xir uncle and xir teacher.”

He delights in the glimmer of fear that’s entered Magnus’s gaze.

His Eyes tell him that Robbie and Martin are on their way to being done with the cake they’ve been baking, that Melanie, Emil, Georgie, and Oliver are almost here for afternoon tea.

There’s a bar of Martin’s “properly bubbly” soap by his sink, Robbie’s converted what used to be the spare room in the cottage into their permanent bedroom, there are several ladybirds with spots ranging from thirteen to seven flying around, and Farmer Peter’s Damn Cow is safely in its field, chewing a cud of grass for once.

“You were right about one thing.” Jon smiles. “My life is practically perfect. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

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