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sometimesanalice · 4 months

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I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation. You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.”

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch.

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

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pullhisteeth · 7 months

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Hi, lovely! Just wanted to drop by and say that I miss you and your amazing writing 🥹🧡 I understand if you're taking a break or stepping away from the app, but if you're up for it, I was wondering if I could drop in a request? No pressure at all! I REALLY love the way you write fluffy and angsty fics so I was wondering if you could write about a besties-to-lovers with Eddie where he asks the reader for help with asking a different girl out, without knowing about reader's feelings for him...and then along the way he realizes his feelings for the reader hehe and maybe a lil sprinkle of jealous!Eddie too 😎 Ily and I hope you're doing okay! 🩷🩷🩷

hi my love! this is the sweetest message thank you - not taking an intentional break, just busy as anything. work’s been my whole life the past couple weeks (today is actually my first day off in like a month) and what with that and trying to eat/sleep/speak to other human beings I am …… deceased

it’s so kind of you to say hello! I loved writing your request, it was a nice break for my brain and it felt good to get back into it. ♡ love you!

contains hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. tried to get some jealous!eddie in there for you :-)

3.4k

Eddie looks pretty like this.

He’s sitting at your desk in the library. You’re not sure why he’s here, though that wasn’t your first thought when you spotted him on your way over. He’s hunched over slightly, unruly hair keeping his face hidden, but it’s catching the light of the afternoon sun just right and it’s glowing a blushing golden and the flutters in your gut are relentless.

“Hey,” you murmur, wary of both startling him, and the strict Hawkins Library warden who likes to shush people like it’s a sport. Regardless he starts, shoulders jumping and face whipping up and around to look at you with wide, surprised eyes that soften when he realises who you are.

“Hi, sugar,” he says, voice ebbing as he notices how loud he’s being. He looks around quickly, just in case he’s about to get scolded, before looking back up at you and beaming. It doesn’t fool you, though; his presence here coupled with the sheen of anxiety behind his eyes gives him away.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the table and taking the seat opposite him.

He begins fiddling with his ring again and diverts his eye. He’s nervous and you want to know how to fix it more than you wish to let on.

You hum an encouraging noise when he says nothing, sliding textbooks out of your bag along with your pens.

“I, uh… I need your help,” he says warily.

“Oh? With what?”

“I want to, uh… I wanna ask Tara out,” he says, and the words come out in one quick breath, his eyes still on his hands. “But I dunno how.”

You’re quiet, busy hands halting with a book halfway open. You look at him, mouth agape, for a second too long - he looks up after a beat and catches you before you have the sense to close it.

“Please?” he begs, those eyes like a puppy dog, wide and brown and far too lovable. “I’d take her to the Hawk but she’s- Man, she’s way too cool, it’s intimidating, and I really wanna impress her, you know? And I think the Hawk’ll be too busy on Friday ‘cause I know that new movie’s out that all the kids wanna see, so what if-”

“Okay,” you say. You’re sharp, voice like a whip, cutting him off before he derails.

He looks at you blankly for a second before saying, “Really? Shit, thank you.”

You look down at the books in front of you, eyes on the printed pages but taking nothing in. “Take her to the Garage,” you tell him quietly.

“What?”

“The Garage,” you repeat, closing the textbook and piling it on top of the others to return them to your bag. “It’s on the east side, on the road out.”

“Yeah, I know where the Garage is, but- Wait, are you headin’ out already? You just got here.”

“Don’t feel like studying,” you say flatly. “The Garage is cool. Rob took me there once. Tara’d love it.”

“Hey, hey-” His restless hands reach over to grip your wrist, to stop you moving, but you’re slippery and quick and far too determined on leaving. “You don’t have to leave, I’ll leave you alone. Your exam’s next week, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I’ll study tomorrow.”

“But-”

“See you around,” you say quickly, tugging on the zipper on your bag and standing so fast it makes your head spin. You can hear him protesting behind you but it’s no use - the only place you want to be right now is home.

Eddie doesn’t call that evening. He doesn’t call the next day either, or the two following that. You float between your bed, the fridge and various shifts at work without so much as daring to call him yourself, though you lie awake at night and worry you’ve done something terrible, something earth-shatteringly cruel by leaving him like you did. Something so bad that twelve years of friendship is lost forever.

“Maybe it’s better like this,” you tell Nancy over the phone. It’s Thursday night, four days until your exam, and you haven’t spoken to Eddie since Sunday. “I was gonna spend forever like that. Maybe now I can move on or somethin’.”

“We both know you’re not going to move on,” she tells you. You groan, turning over onto your back to stare at your bedroom ceiling. Your bed is like a rotten pit, unmade for nearly a week and the past five days’ dirty (and clean) laundry is littered all over the top of the comforter. “And you shouldn’t. You’d just be hiding from your feelings.”

“I hate you,” you tell her, though the way your voice comes out through your smile deceives you. “You always sound so wise, how is that?”

“I am wise,” she says, smiling too. “And I’m wise enough to know that Eddie feels the same, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. Apparently I’ve got the brains for both of us, ‘cause he’s a bit dumb like that sometimes.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” you whine, “I can’t get the image of him and Tara outta my head.”

“I can go, if you want,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I can take Rob to the Garage on Friday, keep an eye on stuff.”

“Shit, would you?”

“Yeah, why not? What’re you doing that night anyway?”

“Dunno,” you say, morose, “Probably heading to the library again.”

“Okay,” she says sympathetically. “You’re gonna smash this exam, you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you grumble.”

“Well I know you will. And then Indiana State’ll have the best biologist known to man on their campus.”

“Funny,” you say.

“I’m wise and funny? You’re kind tonight.”

“I’m gonna go, Nance.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’ll call on Saturday, okay? And please eat some dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply, hanging up. You balance the receiver back on its stand and roll back over, willing the tears back when you feel them roll down your temples.

Friday nights are your favourite nights at the library.

Who else spends the one designated social evening of the week in a room designed for quiet? You, apparently, alongside two old ladies knitting in the comfy corner, and a kid who looks like he might be home from college for the holidays. You’re settled at your usual desk with textbooks and papers scattered everywhere - the tabletop, the chair next to you, the floor. You’ve been here for hours, pouring over all of your work, oblivious to most of the minimal movement and chatter happening in the room.

You’ve got a tape in your Walkman - classical, one your dad found at the record store downtown - so you feel Eddie before you see him. He startles you, his wide hand on your shoulder, and you jump, pulling your headphones down.

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your heart beating a mile a minute. You twist in your seat and put your pen down, looking up at him. You couldn't worry about the warden if you tried, far too enamoured by him despite everything. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’s hovering over you, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink. You notice he has his nice shirt on - a deep blue, so dark it’s almost black - and his lips are rosy.

“Tara needed the bathroom on the way home, this was the closest place. How’s it going?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that churns your stomach. It’s the one he gets at parties, or that night just before your birthday when the two of you drank wine in his living room and didn’t sleep until six in the morning.

He’s been drinking and, judging by the smell lingering on his clothes, smoking, too, and his smile and the pink blooming over his cheeks only makes the churning worse.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Was in the zone, sorry.”

“No,” he breathes, finally backing away. You fill your lungs and watch him as he rounds the table. His eyes keep moving from you to the door across the room, presumably watching for her. “I interrupted you, ‘m’sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Gotta run,” he says, face brightening in a way that makes you want to vomit. You turn back around and see Tara in the doorway, waving, beaming. “Don’t work too hard, please? Get some sleep. And eat something- Have you eaten at all today?”

He’s standing a foot or two from the table now, but he stops as he asks you this.

“Uh,” you look down at your watch. 12:07am. “I had lunch.”

“Shit, you need’ta eat something. Please.”

“Okay, Eds. I’ll have some toast when I get home. Have a nice night.”

“You’ve got this,” he says, and it’s here that the silly smile on his face falters. He still hasn’t moved, and you can see Tara looking over, watching. He’s looking at you and something breaks - his smile drops completely and his eyes go all sad and weird.

“What?” you ask, unamused.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Get some sleep okay? See you later.”

He turns and walks across to the exit, and you watch him leave. He’s slow and slumped, like someone’s just delivered bad news.

You head out fifteen minutes later, and chew unhappily on three slices of toast before you get to bed.

Studying until late is never a good idea.

You’re hopping around your bedroom, pulling stockings up your legs and praying to anything holy that the traffic on your way into work isn’t too bad.

“I know this isn’t really what you wanted to hear,” Nancy’s saying sadly. You’ve got the receiver propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you stumble around and stretch the cord within an inch of its life. “They just… It really did look like they were having fun.”

“He came to see me at the library,” you tell her breathlessly, desperate to think of anything but Eddie and Tara playing pool and laughing like lovedrunk teenagers

“What? When? Last night?”

“Yeah, said she needed a piss on the way home.” You stop hopping, both stockings finally in place, and take the phone in your hand. “He was really weird, actually.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. He seemed happy, but then he got all sad.”

“Did you tell him off?” she asks, faux-stern.

“No,” you tell her, “just told him I’d have dinner, and to have a good night.”

She hums, and you look at the clock.

“Shit, Nance, I’m sorry, I really gotta go, I’m gonna be so late-”

“No, no, you go, I’ll see you soon. And good luck on Monday, yeah? I know you’ll ace it.” -

Your body takes you to the library like it’s on auto-pilot or something. You finished the entrance exam three hours ago, and though it seemed to go okay, you daren’t be too optimistic. You’d hovered around town for a while, eating ice cream and watching birds, before your feet walked you right here: your desk on the first floor of Hawkins Library.

It’s here that you’ve been sitting for an hour or so, flicking through novels but finding no interest in the words on the page. Your brain is melted from a near-fatal combination overworking and overthinking, and without an exam to worry about, the latter is now the one clocking overtime.

You can’t get the picture of Eddie’s face out of your head. His eyes had been so sad, his face drooping like the dawning of some cruel realisation. The way he’d walked out of the room had matched it, sorrowful and curled over.

Worst of all, he hasn’t called.

There’s only two reasons you can think of. Firstly, he’s busy calling Tara instead of you. He’s telling her about his day, spinning new inside jokes and letting her hear his pretty laugh.

Or second: he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re too cold, flat, uninteresting. Tara is cool.

There is a third possibility that you daren’t think about for the sake of your own heart: that both are true.

You slam the hardback in your hands shut and place it roughly on the table.

“Woah, was it that bad?”

You look up and find Eddie standing across from you, precisely where he’d been that moment something had changed on Friday. He’s far less put together now, dressed in his usual bedraggled jacket and jeans.

He laughs as you stare at him. After a minute, he takes the seat opposite and pulls the book towards himself.

“Weird choice for you, sugar.”

“Quiet,” you tell him in a whisper, nodding to your right where the warden is circling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back with a smile. “What’re you still doing here? Wasn’t the exam this morning?”

“I like it here,” you tell him. A half-truth - you do, but you’d really rather be anywhere else right now.

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “And how’d it go?”

You shrug. “Okay, I think. I hope.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do great.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” you say, looking out of the window to your left.

“What? That you’re smart?”

“That I’ll ace it. I have no idea.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you’ve definitely got a better idea than me.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, turning back to look at him.

“I just… You’ve got more brains than me, that’s all.”

He’s fiddling with his rings again, eyes trained on the tentative movements of his fingers rather than you. It gives you a chance to take in his face properly: tired, sallow, unhappy.

“How was Friday?” you chance. He shrugs. “Just okay?”

“Fine, yeah,” he says, voice flat and unfeeling. “Had fun, ‘til we came here.”

Your instinct is to be offended. You didn’t say anything cruel or unwarranted; in fact you barely said a thing at all. How could you have ruined the evening?

“What?”

“Tara, she, uh… She said bye when we left. I was walkin’ her home, only stopped here for the can, I mean- You know we’re miles from the park, took me forever to get back to mine. Thought, y’know…” You hum so he doesn’t have to utter the inevitable and break your heart.

“What happened?” you ask softly, hands on the table in front of you like an offering.

He looks troubled, truly, and it hurts - you may have gone a week without contact, the longest since he went on a fishing trip with Wayne when you were both 18, but he’s your best friend, and his pain is your pain.

He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath.

“When we left, she said… She told me I need to ‘really think about things’, which made no sense to me at the time, I guess ‘cause I was, like, 4 whiskey sours in and we’d smoked on the way over, and then she used the payphone outside to call a cab so I waited with her and walked home, and the next morning I realised what she meant.”

You look at him with nothing to say. He takes another deep breath.

“She probably saw me over here with you, y’know, and I’m sure to other people we seem pretty… Comfortable. And then you said you hadn’t eaten, and you looked so tired, I- All I wanted to do was take you home and make you dinner. And then the next morning, and, like, all weekend, all I could think was that one day some other guy’d be doin’ that for you, some college guy or somethin’, and I’d have to watch, ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Eddie, I don’t understand.”

You’re genuinely bewildered. He’s still whispering, or at least talking in a low voice, and at multiple points during the past five minutes you thought you’d completely misheard him. It’s definitely your Eddie sitting opposite you - he has a tendency to be a little dramatic, and this is certainly that - but he’s never been so brashly honest like this with you before.

“I had fun with Tara, really, but… I realised I’d spent all night thinking about how much better it’d have been if you’d been there.”

You can feel the flush like fire up your neck and across your cheeks. Your palms are clammy so you pull them inwards, back towards yourself, to save yourself the embarrassment.

“I think I need to get some air,” you say, standing and leaving without waiting for him.

You hear him behind you as you descend the stairs and push the clunky glass door open. You’re met with a wall of cold air and you breathe a heaving sigh as you stand in its frost.

The door opens again only a few seconds later, and you turn to face your friend.

“Eddie,” you begin, “I need to know that you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

“You left your coat,” is all he says, handing you the jacket. You don’t move, too stunned, so he steps behind you and you let him manipulate your arms into the sleeves like a sullen child.

“Eddie,” you bite, impatient and frustrated.

“Yeah,” he breathes behind you. When the coat’s on, he squeezes your shoulders, and you round on him.

“Please just tell me what the fuck is going-”

“I think I love you,” he says, louder than you. It’s a declaration, said without hesitation or subtlety. It’s so confidently loud that a couple of people leaving the library turn to look.

“It shouldn’t have taken me taking someone else out to realise it, but fuck, once I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess ‘cause we see each other all the time I never really questioned why I think about you so often, or whatever, but… I wanted to take you home and make you dinner on Friday, make sure you got some sleep, fuckin’ look after you. Made me feel dumb as hell because you’re not a kid or anythin’, but I just want you to be okay.”

You’re not sure when you started crying. Maybe it was as early as the declaration itself, but you know that by the time he told you he wants to take care of you, tears were rolling over your cheeks, unstoppable and filled with elation.

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, stepping toward you without thinking, reaching out to hold you somehow. He settles for a hand on your upper arm, almost at your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I-”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, I’m, uh- I’m happy,” you say, giggling, your tears making it wetter, thicker. “They’re happy tears.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes, shoulders sloping. You spot the beginning of a grin through cloudy vision. “Thank god.”

While you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper, Eddie’s hand moves from your shoulder and to your neck. You feel the heavy weight of him pressing there, not threatening but a comfort. It forces you closer, until you’re both looking at each other and laughing.

“The exam went really well,” you tell him. “Honest.”

“I knew it would,” he says, curling a finger behind your ear to move a piece of hair from your face. “You’re gonna kill it at college.”

“I’ll miss you. And everyone else.”

“We’re not going anywhere any time soon,” he says softly, fingers dancing until he’s cradling your face. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, and you’re close enough that you can reach in and grasp it, pulling it out so you can wind your fingers between his. He looks down and smiles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s almost a whisper and you almost miss it - almost. “For the exam, I mean. You did well, y’deserve a kiss.”

“Sure,” you say, laughing again. “For the exam, yeah.”

He chuckles before dipping his head just enough. You lift up to meet him halfway and he presses his lips to yours, firm but quick.

“Again,” you breathe, and he doesn’t ask questions. He bows again and kisses you, his force solid and homely. You kiss him back, breathless and keening.He’s warm and you want to take, take, take. You only stop when the door opens behind you again, creaking and followed by quick footsteps as someone else leaves.

Eddie kisses your nose and says, “Shit, you’re cold.”

“Can we go home?”

“No,” he says, and before you can finish protesting, he adds, “We have to celebrate. You’re done with studying! Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

You wrinkle your nose, determined that you won’t be going to the diner you work in. “How about pizza?”

“Whatever you want, smartie pants.”

You physically bristle at the petname, cheeks flushing again despite the chill. Eddie’s arm settles around your shoulders and squeezes as he kisses your temple.

You stop walking once you reach the end of the block. He stops with you and turns to look at you without dropping your hand.

"I think I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I didn't say- Back there, I should've said it. I- Well, I know I love you."

He smiles - beams - at your return of his declaration. He squeezes your hand in his and tugs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go."

#thank you !!!#request #honestly my life is a nightmare rn I promise u I would rather be doing this #I hope you like it x #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson request #stranger things 4 #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader fluff

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silkscream · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist.

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling.

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you.

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression.

“What was that?”

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly.

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice.

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him.

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement.

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion.

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself.

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table.

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same.

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it.

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery.

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that.

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor.

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend.

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery.

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind.

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself.

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues.

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things.

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder.

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students.

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!”

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less.

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it.

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since.

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases.

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it.

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.”

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.”

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.”

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different.

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him.

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout.

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s.

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it.

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him.

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly.

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him.

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.”

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal.

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie.

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles.

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins.

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist.

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace.

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.”

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes.

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously.

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother.

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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asliceofzosan · 2 months

Text

On Sanji's birthday, a smaller version of him shows up on the Sunny one day. Sanji reflects on who he once was and finally learns to forgive himself.

Happiest Birthday to Sanji <3

He was so small.

He wished it was like looking into a mirror — where he could clearly see everything about him that he considered weak in those glassy blue eyes that would never stop crying. But it didn't even feel like he was looking at who he once was, who he once remembered being, living, and breathing as.

He was so small.

Small enough that the birthday hat that Luffy made for him out of cardboard and rubber bands flopped over his forehead and covered his eyes. Those tiny, shaking hands gripped the tip of the hat and peeked from beneath the shade, confused but captivated by his captain's ever present grin. Small enough that when he was handed a riceball, he had to hold both hands out just so he wouldn't drop it.

He was so small.

And Sanji had forgotten how small he once was.

"You haven't moved for a solid ten minutes," Usopp said as he slid up next to him, leaning against the railing with a drink in his hand. "I'm sure baby Sanji won't get hurt if you look away, you know?"

"I'm not worried about him getting hurt." Sanji still kept his eyes on his younger self regardless. He was now playing a little card game with Chopper, who more or less didn't know the rules to the game either. So neither of them were winning.

"Okay," Usopp elongates the last syllable before sipping his drink. "Then go have fun, man! It's your birthday, after all."

Sanji hums and moves to light a cigarette. But one look at his baby self running around with Luffy and Chopper made him decide against it. Usopp pretends not to see the way Sanji brushes off the gesture like he always meant to do that.

Waking up with a crying child in his bunk bed this morning was not how he pictured his birthday to start out. Waking up and seeing the version of him with that wretched steel helmet on his head was something else entirely. His younger self looked terrified and almost tried to escape – run away from him.

"P-Please... Don't hurt me..." The little boy said, his trembling hands covering his head as if that would truly protect him. Sanji's heart broke. It's been years since he thought of this moment, years since Whole Cake Island, and years more since Germa ever occupied the forefront of his mind. So seeing his younger self, shaking and crying and begging for his life, stirred something protective within him. Protect the child inside of him that was screaming to be held for once, held tenderly, held like he was loved.

"I won't hurt you," Sanji said with his voice barely above a whisper. "No one will hurt you here."

"How do you know that?"

Sanji swallowed, ducking his head. Living on a pirate ship doesn't necessarily guarantee safety. But there's one thing he can always guarantee when he's with the Straw Hats...

"I know because you're loved," The little Sanji's eyes clouded with doubt. Sanji understood all too well why. So he slowly reached out, his hands stopping just shy of the lock on the helmet. Little Sanji moved back a fraction of an inch but Sanji just smiled at him. "Let's get this off of you and I'll show you just how loved you are."

Years ago, if he saw this version of him, he would have tried to avoid the kid like the plague. He didn't want to be reminded of such a horrid time. He didn't want to remember a point in his life where he was too weak, too fragile, too human.

But now it is different.

Now, he knows that being too human was not his greatest flaw but his greatest strength. And that being weak doesn't mean he can't be strong too. It may have taken him so many years to get to that point. But better late than never, right? He doesn't know what will happen if he lets his younger self know that he'll find these people one day. But he's lived through tough times with a dream and the smallest spark of hope that Luffy and his crew kept ignited.

And it wouldn't be such a bad thing to let his kid self... finally be a kid.

"Hey," Usopp nudged Sanji and pointed with his lips in one direction. "Check out who little you took a liking to."

Sanji looked back just in time to see a certain green-haired swordsman giving tiny Sanji a piggyback ride. Something mushy and sappy and gross stirred inside his heart. One that he hasn't been a stranger to for a couple of years now. His hand subconsciously gravitates to the long golden earring dangling from his left ear and finds himself smiling as his younger self laughs at something Zoro said.

"I wanna grow up to be as big and strong as you!" Little Sanji exclaims, his tiny arms wrapped securely around Zoro's neck and shoulders. Zoro laughs — a loud guffaw that shouldn't be as attractive to Sanji as it is this very moment. He reaches up to ruffle little Sanji's hair.

"You'll become even better, little buddy."

"Even stronger than you?!?"

"That's debatable," Zoro says with a little snort. Sanji rolls his eyes with more affection than he ever wants to admit. Within that time, Zoro has transferred little Sanji off of his back and into his arms, and the image of Zoro holding this version of Sanji – with a tenderness he only ever reserves for Chopper – has his mind racing with scenarios his heart can barely take.

"One of the strongest people I know is also the kindest," Zoro says, tucking a strand of blond hair behind little Sanji's ear. "No matter how many people put him down, he'll serve 'em if they're hungry. Doesn't mean jack shit to him if they've got the highest bounty in all the Blues."

"And I think..." Zoro looks up and locks gazes with present Sanji — his Sanji — and gives him a wink. "If you ain't got a big heart, there's no way you can't be strong."

"My father says I care too much..." Little Sanji says, his hands bunch up the fabric of Zoro's shirt. Zoro smooths the hair out of his forehead and does something that makes Sanji's stomach do backflips.

He kisses the little one on the forehead.

"We all need someone who cares a little too much." Zoro assures him and it feels like Zoro isn't speaking to baby Sanji anymore. His eyes are stuck on the man he married, his gaze unwavering and true, and Sanji can't help but blink back a few tears that were forming the whole time. "It's okay for you to care. It's okay for you to feel. Heck, it took me a hell of a long time to learn to love someone properly as much as I do now."

Little Sanji looks up at Zoro, stars in his all blue eyes. "Will I get to love someone too?"

"Of course you do, kid." Zoro ruffles his hair again and touches the tips of their noses together briefly. "You're so loved, Sanji."

Hearing that, Little Sanji's eyes flick over to older Sanji, who's been watching them the whole time. Remembering their previous conversation, Little Sanji smiles the biggest smile that could put every star in the sky to shame.

I'll show you just how loved you are.

When everyone is asleep and the only ones left on the deck are a tired little blond cook-to-be and his future self, something in the air tells them that it might almost be time to go. Little Sanji's arms were wrapped around older Sanji's neck, his head resting on the man's chest so he can hear his steady heartbeat.

"This was the best birthday ever," Little Sanji says as he fights back a yawn. Sanji chuckles, holding the boy a little tighter.

"You'll have so many more birthdays like this, kid."

"Will Zoro be in all of them?"

Sanji laughs. Leave it up to his tiny self to also fall hopelessly in love with his oaf of a husband. Time is a circle, perhaps. "Not all of them. But enough of them to matter."

"That's good," Little Sanji whispers, nuzzling even closer into Sanji's space. Silence befalls them and distant wind chimes greet them. Little Sanji stirs, unsure. "I don't wanna leave."

"I know."

"I'll be back, right?" Little Sanji looks up at him, that same fear burning in his gaze. But Sanji sees something brighter there – the persistent spark of hope that things will eventually get better. That he'll leave that cold lifeless cell and breathe in the salty sea air on a pirate ship that has never been more alive.

He wants this version of him to always have that spark. For that spark will eventually become a roaring fire – the one that tells everyone that Black Leg Sanji is here. And he's here to stay.

"You will," Sanji tells him, giving his younger self one last bright smile. "It's gonna take a while, buddy. But you'll be right here."

Little Sanji mirrors his smile, reaches out to hold his face between his tiny hands, and presses their foreheads together. In the blink of an eye, the child was gone, and Sanji lets out the shakiest sigh. He leans his head back to rest against the wall, feeling happier than he's ever been since the day he got married.

"You'll be right back here, kid." Sanji whispers into the air, reaching his hand out to the sky to trace his own constellations. His own path. His own vision of the future, fortified by the euphoria of living in his present.

Sanji's other hand goes back to his left ear. Back to that earring. And smiles.

"Because you are so loved."

Happy Birthday, Sanji 🥹 I know this is late but I really wanted to write something for my favorite babygirl. Something a little different to the Zoro birthday piece because I need my boy to admit how loved he is 💛💛

#Happy Birthday Sanji!#one piece #sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #usopp #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #the obligatory de-aged sanji fic but make it less angsty ??#niki's fics: your future march

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cherrieflavouredheadcanons · 9 months

Text

I've fallen in love with Fontaine and especially Neuvillete so I had to write my thoughts about him down. I hope you all enjoy my Neuvillette ramblings

CW: None GN Reader

Romantic/ Cute Neuvillette headcanons

Awkward. Neuvillete was so awkward when he first fell for you. He may be a very old dragon but human emotions still often confuse him so suddenly having this warm feeling in his chest whenever he looked at you confused him on what to do.

At first he thinks he is getting sick, not connecting the fact that this weird feeling in his chest and stomach only appears when either you are around or he is thinking about you.

Though Neuvillette finally makes the connection and understands his feeling, when one day you laugh at something he said and he wishes to preserve that laugh, to have it always replaying in his head. It is the most beautiful sound to him and he is willing to do anything just so he can hear it again. You of course laughed around him before but somehow the moment he understood his feelings your laugh became even more special to him.

Furina teases him that it took long enough to realise his feelings for you, and that if he had taken any longer she’d probably have intervened, so let's all be glad Neuvillete realised it on his own.

Once you two are finally an official couple he is so gentle with you. It's almost as if he is afraid that any touch that may be a bit rougher would hurt you.

Also he is such a gentleman. He holds the doors open for you, he always makes sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, pulls out your chair for you. He is just the perfect man.

Though if you think his awkwardness stopped once you two became an official couple I have to disappoint you. While he sees many couples near the Fountain of Lucine and sees how they interact with each other he is rather clueless himself on what to do in a Relationship.

He may be over 100 years old but he had never been in a relationship with anyone, yet alone a human so you have to be patient and show him what humans in relationships do.

This is how he learned that he loves cuddling and being physically close to you. Neuvillette enjoys the feeling of having you in his arms and holding you close. If you lay your head on his chest when he holds you close you will be able to hear that his heart is beating faster than normal. This happens regardless of how long you have been dating each other. It’s honestly adorable that even after months and years of dating you still have that effect on him.

Now we all know he is the hydro dragon, and we also all know that it rains when he cries, even if he does try to hide his tears around others, the rain speaks for him.

It almost seems as if he is inconsolable when he cries, seeing as it takes a while for the rain to let up. That is until you are there with Neuvillette when he cries. You hug him and hold him close to you, running your hand through his hair and let him cry it out. Sometimes you repeat one of the many rhymes Fontaines kids speak whenever it rains since it has the ability to make him smile.

“Rain, Rain Go away. Come again another day. Lonely dragon it will be okay. So rain, rain go away.” It may sound childish but he believes it when you say it will be okay, because he knows that as long as he has you close to him, he can get through anything.

Ever since you are there for Neuvillette, the skies appear to be even brighter after it rains, the people of Fontaine joking that the hydro dragon must have found someone who is able to brighten his mood, even after the stormiest days. Oh if they knew how right they are.

Neuvillette was unsure at first how the Melusines would react to you, he was basically their father so what if they for some reason didn't like you? Would he have to choose between you and them?

Luckily for him (and you) the Melusines love you, and have basically now adopted you as their second parental figure, so congratulations you are now a parent to a bunch of Melusines!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x you #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette headcanons #genshin neuvillette #genshin x you

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vaspider · 10 months

Note

How many of these far-right nut jobs attacking trans people believe the shit they spew and how many of them actually know that trans women, drag queens, HRT and queer education are all safe for kids and just don’t care?

I think there's a fundamental disconnect between the question that you ask and the answer.

They don't think that being gay is "safe," or that being trans is "safe," at all. Let's get that out of the way up front:

To the kind of person who spends their time attacking trans people, regardless of whether they do it for political expediency or out of a truly deeply held belief, being queer is a fail state for a person. If you are queer, these people think that you are failed. Fully. End of story. You might be a pitiable failure that they can pat on the head and feel good about patting on the head, because they're taking pity on you in your state of disgrace and failure and definitely going to hell, but they think you are a failure as a human being. Whatever else you do, you are a failed person. You could cure cancer and solve world hunger -- not that they actually want those things to happen either, because Evangelicals really believe that the world has to be a total shitheap for their messiah to return -- and you'd still be a failed person.

There is no "being trans" that is "safe," because ideologically, to them, the status of being queer in any fashion is unsafe, it is indicative of failure. You cannot have a 'safe' transition to them.

It's such an utterly broken mindset that it's really hard to convey it to anybody who hasn't lived in that culture or really had to wrestle with it. Asking 'how many of them know it is safe' is like asking 'how many fish breathe air.' By default, the answer is zero, because queerness to them is so completely anathema that there can't be a 'safe' in this situation.

How many of them are that kind of ideologue? A pretty high percentage, honestly. It's a very easy bigotry to carry; it requires pretty much no work. Thinking that another person's innate qualities make them a failure in a way that automatically makes you better than them is a very seductive mindset. "This person is trans, that is a failure, therefore, I am better than them," that kind of mindset means that even the most mediocre dude can feel good about himself simply by not being transgender. Like, seriously, think of the most mediocre transphobe you can think of, and then realize that he thinks he's better than you just because he's cis. Why would he ever challenge or question that thought, that maybe he's the failure and you're just living your best life?

So like... when you realize that homophobia and transphobia are an easy key to feeling better about a shitty life, and that queer people make a handy political cudgel, it's pretty clear that the answer is that 'all of them believe it,' it's just a question of whether they believe it because of religion, or because of political expediency, or because it's the only thing that gives a sense of superiority within a life otherwise devoid of achievement.

But yeah, they think that being queer at all is a fail state for a person, rather than one of the myriad manifestations of human diversity and beauty, so.

#trans stuff #answers

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the-hopeless-haze · 1 year

Text

Worried About You

Chapter 4 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed On Me (House x reader)

“I need Vicodin,” Greg says to you, walking into your office. Well. Your office when you were here. You scowl slightly at the day-old coffee in your line of vision and think about how you’ll be scolded by the other people you share the office with the rest of the week when you inevitably forget that it’s there.

“Funny. I’m not your dealer,” you say.

You and Greg had hit it off, so to speak. Much to everyone’s chagrin and surprise, you continued seeing each other inside and outside the hospital. It wasn’t something either of you spoke about. Psychiatrists (or psychiatric doctors of nursing) are the worst patients and the best repressors. You did what you had to to be able to function like a member of society, but you were as fucked up as the rest of them. And you see Greg is similar. USA-renowned, if not world-renowned, diagnostician—but that was all he had besides a bum leg and a healthy dose of chronic depression and reliance on opiates to function.

When you finally had sex -heterosexual sex, dick in pussy sex - it was a frenzy fueled by alcohol and weeks long of teasing, and you saw glimpses of his leg in the midst of it and he saw the scars scattering your arms, but beyond the “oh, so you tried to kill yourself” he said to you when he edged you on the brink of orgasm the umpteenth time (and oh, boy, was that a mood killer) there were no comments about either.

But he kept you around and you weren’t entirely certain of why. It’s only been a month or so, and he’s not calling you his girlfriend or telling you he loves you, but he’ll still wine and dine you before railing you. And you don’t know if it’s out of obligation, if he feels like even though you’re not a hooker he has to pay you for sex, or if he genuinely enjoys your company. You think about how dissimilar you are to Wilson and how that’s the only person he keeps close. You wonder if maybe you remind him of his live-in ex that you’re almost certain he never got over. It’s a good time though, regardless. You make each other laugh. You both love The Rolling Stones. You begrudgingly agreed to be dragged to a monster truck show one night (“Wilson won’t come with me” he whined) and in return you made him go with you to see a local band perform that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in.

It was that sacrificing that made you pretty close to a real couple. Wilson pointed it out to you and he no doubt pointed it out to Greg. You made a snarky comment about his marriage and you wonder if you should compare notes with Greg to make sure you’re both not using the same lines.

You don’t know why you keep him around either, so it’s fair. It’s nice to have a fuck buddy, you suppose, and it’s also nice to almost like them as a human being rather than a sex toy. It’s certainly not because you think you can cure him, because you know you can’t. You wanted sex and you didn’t want a rehash. All things considered, he was a thorough lover and cared about getting you off as much as himself, which somewhat surprised you given how selfish he can be in other settings.

It’s not a bad arrangement. At least not right now.

But you’re fucked and you know it. It’s why you were drawn to work with kids in the first place. At least you’d always have a leg up on them. Someone out there thought you were sane enough to be rent an apartment and be a licensed prescriber.

Oh. Speaking of.

“Come on. You have a license to prescribe. Just once,” he begs.

“Yeah. No. I think you’ve got me confused with Wilson.”

“You’re much hotter,” he offers.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It got you in my bed.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah. Fair. But that’s as far as it’ll get you. You can be lackadaisical with your license, but I’d like to keep mine until I want to retire.”

“How’d I get with such a goody-two-shoes? Even Wilson will play.”

“He’s not now, apparently. What gives?”

“I bet Cuddy clinic hours that I wouldn’t take Vicodin for a week. They’re all convinced I’m an addict.”

You snort. “Okay. I hate to point it out so bluntly, but this is prime behavior for addiction. Searching all channels to get a fix because you can’t go a week without it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. I’m going to do the week. But I need someone on standby. I’m only doing the week, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to get it prescribed afterward.”

“Chronic pain is outside my scope of practice. Best I could do is a suboxone MAT and say I’m detoxing you off Vicodin and keeping your substance use in check, but even that’s pushing it. There’s a conflict of interest.”

“You can’t keep the clinical and the personal separate?”

“Nope. Could you? If I was your patient this week, would you be able to? Bringing your ex-girlfriend into this is what got you into this mess. Don’t bring me in to try to fix it.”

“I’m not asking you to fix it. And you have a medical background. I’m asking you to write the order I’m asking for. I know how to manage my pain.”

“Why don’t you get through this week first? Then maybe you’ll take me up on the suboxone,” you say, crossing your arms.

“You think I’m addicted?”

“Jesus Christ, Greg, you’re smarter than this. You know what happens if you consistently take opiates. I know you need them for pain. I’m not denying that. But to think you’re immune to the side effects? It’s habit-forming. You know this. You’ve been taking it for years. You’re going to have withdrawal symptoms. You should be doing this in a detox facility if anything.”

“I work in a hospital. Opiate withdrawal never killed anyone, anyway,” he says, seeing no point in bluffing to you any longer.

“Maybe not. But you’ll suffer. I’ll meet you halfway, hm?” You say, looking up at him. “I’ll prescribe you comfort meds for the week. Ease you through it. Mirapex, vistaril, zofran, clonidine, bentyl…”

“Most of those aren’t exactly in your scope. If you want to be technical.”

“If I lose my license for any of those the board has far too much time on their hands. But you’re right. I’ll get Chase to sign them off.”

“Chase?”

“He’s the most desperate to get laid out of the three. I bat my eyelashes enough he won’t even question who the scripts are for.”

“Chase? Look at him. If he’s not getting laid none of us should be.”

You scoff. “I guess pretty boys do it for you, but not for me. But no…I can tell. He reeks of desperation.”

“It’s desperation to be liked by authority. Not desperation for pussy. He’s swimming in it.”

“Okay. We’ll see if he folds,” you say, winking.

Greg sighs. “Is this some kind of game?”

“What isn’t, with you? It’s all games, it’s all puzzles.”

“Why Chase?”

“I told you. I know you’d rather me go to Cameron, but unfortunately, I don’t think flirting would get very far with her. Foreman will never fold.”

“You don’t have other doctors you work with you could ask?”

“Greg, it’s just fucking comfort medications that you probably will have too much pride to even touch. Again. Not risking my career for you and letting people that actually respect me think I’m a nutcase because I slept with you.”

“So… you want to fuck Chase. Right?”

“Where in that insecure little man brain did you think of that? It’s your other head, right? I must want the sexy Australian because all the other girls are doing him? Because I want to ask him to prescribe meds? For you?”

He shrugs. “Matter of time. ‘Oh, I had to blow him, that’s the only way I could get him to do this’ or ‘oh, honey, good news, he said if I sleep with him three times a week he’ll prescribe your Vicodin’.”

“Stop with the immature bullshit. If I wanted to fuck him, I’d just leave you, not worry about the meds, and do it. Grow up, Greg,” you mutter, walking away.

“Then why don’t you?” he challenges, hating himself as the words leave his mouth, hating how unattractively juvenile he was coming across. But there were reasons, the need to push you away to see if he would get pulled back, the need to be contrary, the need to know. Know what, exactly, he’s not sure.

He already knows he’s in for one of the worst weeks of his life. Even if the withdrawal symptoms are mild, he’s going to be in terrible, unmanageable pain, and all the Tylenol and Motrin in the world aren’t going to even come close to touching it. And he’s going to be more miserable than usual. No pain relief. No euphoria from the high when he takes just one… or two… or three extra than he needs. He knows he’s addicted. He tries to roll it off his back, saying it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t change perceptions of him, it’s something he needs for pain, and it doesn’t affect his ability to practice medicine.

But sometimes he’s afraid. When James looks at him in concern but doesn’t offer any solutions because there aren’t any real ones, are there? He needs opiates for pain. Nothing else will work. Whether it’s pure heroin or your gold-standard synthetic hippy bullshit medication-assisted treatment… it’s still an opiate. Naloxone embedded in the pill or not. Having to go to a clinic to get dosed and having to have checks and balances on his use or not. It’s still an opiate. There’s still a stigma. It still pinpoints his pupils, lowers his respiratory rate, and hopefully, hopefully, takes the edge off so he can function but he knows. Addiction isn’t his specialty, he never wanted it to be, but he knows. One day it’ll be his last Vicodin, or the Vicodin won’t work anymore, and hey, you know what’s instantaneous? Spinal morphine. Can only use that card once or twice, have to tell Wilson he’s in excruciating pain and guilt him into enabling. He’ll only go so far. And then…well, then it’s IV heroin or fentanyl, whichever is easier to get, whichever is cheaper.

Greg knows that addiction treatment centers are revolving doors. He knows that you saw the same people back and forth and back and forth sign in and sign out, sign in and sign out. Change their medication plans a million times. And some of them still died anyway.

He’s afraid. He’s afraid of dying by his own hand by accident, alone and blue, nodding off forever. Sometimes he wishes for it, an end to the pain, but he also doesn’t want people to find him like that. A predictable end to a predictable story. World-renowned diagnostician died the same way a poor broke junkie did on the streets. Hooked on drugs, overshot it.

And it’s not that he thinks he’s better than those people. He knows he is those people. Even prior to his disability he dabbled in drugs, never enough to create a habit but enough to definitely indicate the potential of a problem. He’d tried almost every illicit substance “just to see how it felt” by your age. It feels good. Drugs feel good. It’s how they work. And your brain wants to feel good. It’s how they keep working and you keep using.

He knows. He’s in a vicious cycle he’ll never claw his way out of.

And you know it, too.

And yet you’re wasting your time fighting with him instead of walking away.

Why?

He doesn’t know that.

“Yeah. Why don’t I fuck him?” you snark back, turning on your heel and walking back toward him, drawing him out of his pity party and back into the misery he created for no reason other than to drag you down with him, make you choke on it with him. “I don’t want to. That’s why. I want to fuck you, although believe me, that thought is getting less and less appealing every time you open that fucking mouth and speak.”

“It does have better uses,” he quips, shrugging, almost visibly relaxing at hearing he was chosen, that he hadn’t scared you off yet.

You roll your eyes. “When does the detox start?”

“Now. It’s been a couple of hours.”

“So you wanted to kick it off and try to put both of us in a shitty mood to start with? Not your brightest idea, huh?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything and you nod, feeling slightly more in control now that you rendered him silent without any arguments. “Go home. You can’t think clearly if you’re going to be actively detoxing.”

“I still have to make them think I can function without it,” he says after pausing. He would’ve lied to you too, put up a façade with you too, but that’s the thing about addiction. It’s easy to hide dependence to people who don’t know what to look for, but you do. And you would smell it on him.

“I thought you didn’t care what people think?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why take the bet at all?”

“I’ll get out of clinic hours.”

“Right. You would never do something like this to prove a point,” you say sarcastically, leading him out of the office. —————- “Why are you with him?” Chase asks. “And you care enough about him to ask me to use my medical license for a script.”

“You’ll see I don’t care enough about him to risk using mine,” you counter. “It’s comfort meds. Just write the scripts and I’ll leave you alone and we can go back to never talking, which is honestly how I prefer it.”

“I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Right,” you mutter. “I’ve heard enough, though.”

“Does he… what does he say about me?” he asks, a look between bewildered and terrified crossing his face.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Forget I said anything. You’re fine, I’m sure, I just don’t want to be entangled in the team. I already work with Wilson. One facet of House’s life needs to be separate from me.”

“Right. So you’re asking me to prescribe him medications.”

“As a doctor. Which is your job,” you point out. You sigh, looking at the pretty blond man sitting in front of you. Maybe Greg was right to be afraid. Most women your age would be begging to spread their legs at the thought of carrying this man's children. He's more stable, at least comes off that way, and he doesn't have an addiction and a crippled leg.

“Why stay with him if you know he’s an addict?”

Why are you staying?

You look at him for a second, reading his face. “You hate people that struggle with addiction, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say I hate them. I just think they don’t realize the pain they cause and it’s unfair to the sober people in their life.”

“Everyone is someone’s burden,” you say.

But why did you take him on?

“So you think he’s going to detox.”

“I know he’s going to detox. Which is why. Once again. I’m asking you to prescribe him comfort medication for the aforementioned detox.”

“You guys really like each other, huh?”

Why did he take you on?

“No. I want my week to not be miserable. This might lessen it a little bit.”

“Oh, and you’re deflecting just like he would.”

“Just prescribe me the damn meds, Chase.”

“You’re going to be miserable anyway,” he says, shrugging as he takes out his script pad. “You owe me one.”

You know he's not wrong.

“Yeah. You’ll get a psych consult on the house,” you agree.

“Why’d you ask me?”

You sigh. “Can’t ask Wilson. Too close. So it had to be one of you three. Foreman just wouldn’t. Cameron would ask me too many questions and she’d tell everybody.”

“And me?”

“Process of elimination, really. Thank you, you know," you say, deciding to leave out the part where he gets off on sucking metaphorical dick for the chance at appealing to authority. Sometimes you wish you were as crass as House. You come up with some good ones if you could only find the guts to just say them.

“He’s not going to take them.”

“Probably not. But I’m doing my part.”

“As what? His girlfriend?”

“His… friend,” you clarify, and you walk out of the office with the scripts in tow to fill at the pharmacy. Later you hand them to him and he takes them without a word. He opens all the bottles, takes one of each pill in his hand and he pops them dry. Terrible for his esophagus, you tell him, and he mutters something about how he’s wrecked his liver and everything else has to catch up. He opens a bottle of wine and you lean against his chest, barely processing the cheap soap opera flashing in front of you on the TV. He's already sweating, you can feel his shirt damp against your cheek. You don’t know why you’re here. You don’t know why he made a show of taking all those pills in front of you. Maybe to show your efforts were appreciated without having to say the words, even if he thought it was stupid. Maybe it was a desperate attempt to make this all suck less. Maybe it was because this was bending the rules a little, a detox with help, however minor, and he always wanted to see how far he could push before the consequences could roll in. Let’s cheat a little. Instead of a slice of pizza on a diet let’s have a hydroxyzine in a cold turkey detox.

He asked you to come over tonight but he hasn’t said much of anything or initiated much either. Why does he want you here? To know he’s not alone this time, that you’re willing to face the brunt of this pain with him when it returns, like Stacy was unwilling to?

You don’t know.

You don’t want to know. It’s best he keeps that information in his own head where it belongs. You don’t want to get too attached, too close, too entangled. This is fine how it is.

But you still wake up drenched in sweat that isn’t yours.

#house md x reader #house x reader #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #greg house x you #house x you #gregory house x you #house md #house md fanfiction

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syrupfog · 22 days

Text

Law thinks he has it figured out.

That scrawny kid who just wandered into the university’s yearly flu vaccine clinic Law was manning and just DECIDED that Law was his new best friend— Luffy, he said his name was. Monkey D. Luffy, as if anyone could take that name seriously.

Law thinks he’s figured it out, though. How Luffy CHOOSES the people he does, and adds them to his group.

(not that Law is IN his group, absolutely not).

Sanji’s the most obvious one. He’s INCREDIBLY useful, no one could deny that. He cooks obscene amounts of food for everyone.

Nami, too, feels like a given. She has CONNECTIONS, knows how to use them, keeps records and receipts and organizes all the parties that Luffy spontaneously seems to decide on. She’s the brains.

Zoro Law struggled with at first, the man seems to just think about swords—

but seeing them out in public, Law realizes he’s like a human guard dog, leering over Luffy’s shoulder at anyone who disagrees. Chopper seems a little young— is the kid even in undergrad?— but he’s first aid trained and Law’s seen him put it to use on numerous occasions already.

Now Nico Robin— how on EARTH Luffy managed to make friends with the youngest tenured professor GLU has ever had is beyond Law, but she has connections in academia the way Nami does on the streets. Law would bet money that Robin’s the only reason Luffy is still enrolled.

Usopp’s an odd one, but he’s… well, funny might not be exactly the right word. Entertaining. And more importantly can fix anyone’s computer or phone within an hour. He adds weird features when he does, but his work is solid.

Franky is a GIVEN, he’s the one with the converted old double decker bus — Law didn’t think they even HAD those here — and auto garage. Luffy says the word and he’ll fix anyone’s car free of charge. It’s ridiculous what Luffy can get people to do.

Brook is also obvious. Most famous musician this side of the East Blue, how on EARTH did Luffy meet him? Regardless, the man’s surely a millionaire slumming it with the rest of them for the chance to play what he wants to play and be appreciated for it

Jinbei was confusing until Law learned how they met — that protest that Luffy (along with half his crew) were arrested at last semester. Professor Emeritus in the law department, he was once famous for organizing protests around campus, and eagerly bailed them all out.

So, Law’s figured it out. As much as Luffy SEEMS like a carefree brainless soul, he’s been strategic from the very first step, surrounding himself with everyone he needs to stay on top. He’s incredibly devious, honestly, Law’s almost intimidated.

He also knows that this means he doesn’t have a place among them.

As much as he’s always planned on being a surgeon, things just don’t work out sometimes. Like when your adopted uncle frames your adopted father for tax fraud and make it look like HE’S a millionaire—

Meaning you suddenly end up with a dad in jail AND getting rejected for FAFSA. No money, no loans, one single scholarship that Law’s about to be dropped from. Sorry Luffy, you’re going to have to find a surgeon somewhere else. Chopper will be good enough, surely.

He tries to separate himself from Luffy, but that’s easier said than done, as Luffy sticks to him like glue when they’re in the same place. The man’s incorrigible, impossible, guileless, brazen…

Law ends up yelling at him in the middle of a party thrown at Jinbei’s house.

Shouts that he’s dropping out, failing, not going to live up to whatever role Luffy’s recruited him to fill. Tells him to find another surgeon, they’re a dime a dozen on med campus anyway. Storms out before he does something dumb like tear up.

Oddly enough it’s Usopp who follows him.

He sits down next to Law, looking stiff and uncomfortable, and declares that he “knows what Law’s going through”, which feels, well, patently untrue.

“I did this like a year ago,” Usopp says. “Tried to tell him to drop me.”

They’re sitting on the curb. Law scrunches grass between his fingers and stares at the road.

“I had a car,” Usopp says. “She was BEAUTIFUL. Best car you’ve ever seen. Two hundred miles to the gallon and ran on French fry grease.”

Ah, this is one of those stories.

Usopp deflates. “Then she died,” he says. “We’d just met Franky and he told me she was beyond repair. Then he offered up that bus he has, replacing her before she was even in the ground yet! And like, I’m not going to say he was replacing ME, but like—“

Law nods.

“It’s not like I had a lot going for me anyway,” Usopp says. “Not compared to Nami or Sanji or Chopper. I thought I was just lucky Luffy found me early, when his standards were lower.” He laughs, but there’s no joy behind it.

“Anyway,” he picks at the laces of his shoes. “That car’s at the bottom of a lake now, may she rest in peace. And after I tried to pull what you just pulled, Luffy really fucking let me have it.” He ducks his head. “Told me I was being fucking stupid, and he was right.”

He glances up at the sky and Law watches, a queasy feeling in the base of his stomach.

“Turns out,” Usopp says after a long pause, “Luffy really does just choose people he likes.” He sighs. “You’re just lucky, actually, because I don’t think he’s liked anyone as much as you.”

Law grimaces. He doesn’t FEEL lucky.

Usopp, taking his queue, stands up. “The sooner you admit what you’re dealing with, though, the more he’s able to help.”

Then he leaves Law alone.

And Law… finds he doesn’t want to BE alone.

He slinks back into the party maybe twenty minutes later. It’s chill. Brook is taking song requests. Sanji is handing out grilled halloumi.

Luffy immediately walks up to him. “Why didn’t you TELL ME,” he asks, indignant.

“What, that my life is a mess?”

“Everyone’s life is a mess, silly,” Luffy says. “But we can HELP, duh.”

“I think even YOU can’t keep me from getting kicked out of GLU,” Law says.

“No,” Luffy agrees. “But HE can.”

He points to Jinbei, sitting at an old yellowed desktop computer in the corner.

“I have friends in the law department who haven’t retired yet,” Jinbei says. He has small spectacles perched on his nose. “They know people. Sending a few emails now.”

Chopper walks up to the two of them, looking shy. “I can help you study,” he says. “N-not that you need it!”

Nico Robin comes over, cocktails in each hand, pushing one of them into his. “Student services is accommodating,” she says. “If you know who to ask.”

“YOW!” Shouts Franky from the couch. “And I just hacked their system and changed your grades!”

Law chokes on his drink.

“SEE?” Luffy huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s FINE. You freaked out for nothing!”

Law squints at him. “And if it’s not fine, Luffy-ya? If none of this helps and I still fail out of school?”

Luffy purses his lips. “Duh, then you can just come live with me.“

He looks incredibly petulant. “It’s not like I like you BECAUSE you’re a surgeon. I like you because I asked for two of every shot and you said I’d have to choose a fake name instead of telling me no!”

Ah. He did do that, didn’t he.

“And anyway, *i* don’t have a degree and I’m fine!”

“You’re GETTING one,” Law points out.

Luffy looks at him like he’s lost it. “I attend classes because they’re fun,” he says. “I don’t even have a high school degree, I don’t care about that stuff.”

…huh.

“Now come on,” Luffy says, wrapping small boney fingers around Law’s wrist. Zoro’s going to play snooker with me and I need you to watch to make sure he doesn’t cheat, because I don’t know the rules.”

And Law follows him.

And follows him.

And when he starts his next semester with his dad out of jail because Jinbei’s connections are honestly a little scary, and when he doesn’t sleep for three days in a row during finals week, and when he gets into the exact fellowship he wants, working under Marco himself—

Law follows Luffy.

Because nothing else makes sense.

Law hasn’t figured Luffy out at all But he’s figured everyone else out. Understands the magnetism they’re all drawn to.

And when he falls into bed with Luffy at the end of long days and weeks, He knows he’s the lucky one.

#lulaw #lawlu #my writing

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gaydiation-poisoning · 5 months

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I can't go into the Kieran tags cus nobody knows how to talk about kid characters, especially child characters who fuck up badly. Like in general.

It's either treating him like he's an innocent angel who did nothing wrong and everyone around him is a monster out to torment him, or treating him like he's Satan Incarnate and deserves no happiness.

Like. I know these are fictional characters but can we think about kids like they're human beings. Please.

I think this is a wider issue with fandom as a whole, folks don't seem to grasp that children are worthy of more forgiveness because they are kids, but that does not include absolving them of all responsibility.

I don't know if y'all remember going to school at all, but kids are absolutely capable of knowingly making harmful choices, but no matter what spurred that on they still made those choices and are responsible for them.

Either that or people expect a teenager to have the maturity of a fully grown 30 year old and are shocked when they don't. Fucking hell.

Also people talk about Kieran like he's 5 years old sometimes I stg, he's a teenager with agency, he knows right from wrong, if you read his own fucking dialogue he is AWARE that what he's doing is wrong. But he decides to do it anyway. And regardless of whatever outside factors may have played a part, he still MADE that choice, it wasn't made for him.

Seeing him come back around and let everything go at the end of the Indigo Disk after nearly getting everyone killed wasn't satisfying because it was some Grand Comeuppance. It was satisfying because he realized he'd fucked up and wanted to be better. Because, just like he chose to do bad, he wants to choose to do GOOD. All of this is BECAUSE he has character agency.

Tldr: When talking about young fictional characters stop expecting full adult maturity BUT ALSO don't act like they have 0 agency in their choices

#pokemon #pokemon kieran #kieran pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv spoilers #pokemon indigo disk spoilers #pokemon dlc spoilers

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bucketsofmonsters · 2 years

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Ghost Stories

cw: oral sex, vaginal penetration, size difference, non-human genetalia, deceased partner mentioned

male specter x afab reader

Word count: 7k

When he heard the door of the house creak open he groaned and went to surveil his newest target. Usually it was teens snooping around, looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or dumb kids, trying to scare each other in the abandoned house in the middle of the woods. Not this time though. It wasn’t even people trying to evaluate the property, see what was worth salvaging, at least he understood why those people were there.

This one was different. You were alone, already an anomaly. People didn’t tend to come here alone, stomping through haunted houses appeared to be a group activity more often than not. You had more stuff than was typical too, with a small machine in your hand and a backpack that looked quite heavy strapped to your back.

Then he heard the noise coming through your little machine. At first he thought it must be a walkie talkie or a phone. So you weren’t here alone, not really, you were talking to someone else. The longer he observed from the shadows the more he realized that that wasn’t the case. Whatever the machine was was more akin to a radio, switching through radio stations nonstop, spitting out mostly static and the occasional word that he’d mistaken for another person.

He’d seen enough of your little shenanigans, he wanted you gone. So, he did what he always did, he prepared himself to scare you off. It was really all he knew, some instinctual urge he never really questioned.

He’d been watching you for a while, but from your perspective he appeared out of nowhere. You might have caught a glimpse of him before, out of the corner of your eye, he never fully disappeared, but now you could most certainly see him. He was vaguely humanoid, in the staticy, abstract shape of a human, though something about it was decidedly not right. Parts of his form would occasionally flicker in and out of view, he wasn’t perfect at staying tangible but his towering form seemed to do the job nonetheless. The easiest part to maintain and the clearest part of him was his mouth, which was good because it was the most frightening part of him. While the rest may be a little flickery his gaping maw and the sharp teeth inside were clear and distinct and decidedly threatening.

Your eyes widened the second you saw him, but not with the same face that most had. There was no fear there. If he didn’t know better he would’ve called it excitement.

You spent a few moments just taking him in, tracing his form with your gaze. He could feel the flickering in and out of reality get worse. He wasn’t used to being stared at like this, usually one glimpse and people went running but you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away.

He tried to stay menacing in the face of this unusual response.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said, clearly figuring out his intent. That taunting, excited smile was still plastered across your face as if wanting to rub salt in the wound. He had half a mind to show you that he wasn’t messing around, that his daunting appearance wasn’t just for show but that was a last resort. He didn’t really want to hurt you, at least not unless absolutely necessary.

He scowled down, unsure with how to proceed. He’d never spoken to one of them before, he wasn’t quite sure how to get you to leave when plan A failed. “You should be,” he hissed.

You squeaked, letting out a little yelp of excitement, your hands flapping a little by your sides as you stood.

Many of the signs here were the same as when people were afraid, the arms movement, the squeaks and yelps and wide eyes, but for entirely opposite reasons. Maybe humans just didn’t have that many reactions for things, cycling through the same few regardless of the emotion.

As your investigation of his form concluded and you seemed content with whatever you’d been looking for, you seemed unable to contain your excitement. “You’re a ghost! A real, live ghost! Well, maybe not live, but still!”

Is that what they called him? Ghost? He didn’t have a name for what they were so he supposed it would have to do.

“Why aren’t you scared?” He supposed if he couldn’t get rid of you, he might as well figure out why. Then maybe if someone else came along with a broken radio he could shoo them away faster.

“I was prepared, I guess, although I was totally wrong about what you’d look like. I came here looking for you.”

For him? Noone had ever come looking for him before. He didn’t really know how to respond. Had one of the people he’d scared off told you about him? “How did you even know I was here?”

“Everyone says this place is haunted, you have quite the reputation.”

Although you not being scared off by him had certainly hurt his pride, that boosted his ego a little. “Do I?”

You gave him a little nod, your eyes still raking over him. “Can I ask you some questions?” you asked, and he couldn’t think of any other way forwards.

“Will that make you leave?”

The little human nodded eagerly and he supposed that sealed his fate for the afternoon. He’d prefer answering a few questions to having to deal with a dead body anyways.

You settled in pretty quickly, pulling out a notebook and clicking a pen as you sat cross legged on the floor.

He faded out of his physical form as you sat. It was more comfortable to set himself adrift anyways, and he could still talk that way. At least then you wouldn’t be able to stare at him endlessly anymore. You could still see glimmers of him, moments of movement out of the corner of your eye, but nothing substantial.

“When did you die?”

He reeled back. “When did I what?” Maybe you were mad, running around, accusing people of being dead. Perhaps that was why you weren’t scared by him.

“When did you die? Do you not remember that, is that insensitive to ask?”

You sounded absolutely genuine and he couldn't make any sense of what you were getting at. “Do you think I’m dead?”

“That’s what ghosts are, right? Dead people.”

Is that what humans thought of them? Of course he wasn’t dead, did he seem dead? He hoped not, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared what you thought.

“No, dead people are dead people, how could one be here?”

“Oh.” Now you looked upset. Why couldn’t he have gotten this reaction before, when he was trying to scare you?

“You seem very personally invested in me being dead,” he prompted, hoping to get more information out of you.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… someone close to me died and… and I’ve been convinced he was still out there somewhere, I’ve been looking for proof all year.” He could see your eyes welling up and some quiet sniffles coming from you. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Well now he felt like an ass. “Hey, I don’t really know what happens to dead people. Maybe he’s still around.”

This did not appear to stop your sniffling. If you started crying he didn’t know what he was going to do, this was so far from what he was good at. He could scare people off, could protect his home and could keep the insufferable creatures away from him, he could not comfort people.

You tried to wipe your eyes before any tears got the chance to fall, although he wasn’t sure why. He could clearly see the state you were in, you weren’t going to hide anything that way.

Still, you tried to push past it, putting on a strained smile for him before pushing on. “So what are you then?”

What was he? Not dead, that much he was certain of, but beyond that he wasn’t sure he had answers for you. “I don’t know, for a long time I wasn’t and then one day I just… was. And I was here and I knew I had to scare people off.”

“What happens when you can’t scare them off?”

“Then they ask me a bunch of silly questions.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke but it spurred some giggling from you anyways. You couldn’t see it but his head cocked to the side, the noise curious to him. That was the noise the kids made when they went running through the halls of his house trying to spook one another or the teens made as they talked about sneaking about and doing things they weren’t supposed to.

Noone had ever made it for him before, he wasn’t certain if he should be pleased or upset.

“My questions aren’t silly!” You defended yourself with a smile, a genuine one this time.

Of course they were silly. “You asked if I was dead,” he reminded you, hoping that would spur your memory on the subject. Humans seemed to have some difficulty grasping rather simple ideas, he noted quietly, although he didn’t say it aloud for fear of upsetting you again.

“How was I supposed to know? Basically everyone thinks that the specters that haunt old houses are dead people.”

He didn’t want to keep pushing the issue, to tell you how silly the idea really was, even if it was held by all of your kind. You were clearly clinging to the idea that dead people were just lost and all you had to do was find them again and he didn’t know how to broach the issue without upsetting you so instead he just let out what he hoped was an ambiguous noise.

You filled the silence he left pretty quickly with more of your endless questions. “So you just stay here, all on your own? Who do you talk to?”

“You.”

“No, I mean who else?” you asked, clearly thinking he didn’t understand the question when it was you who wasn’t getting it.

“There is no one else.”

He watched a look of realization cross your face, your eyes widening and your hand whipping up over your mouth in surprise. “Am I the first person you’ve ever spoken to?”

Of course not, that was ridiculous. “Sometimes I speak when I scare people off and make them leave,” he clarified, something he thought you would have assumed.

“That doesn’t count.”

Well, if you were going to impose a bunch of silly, nonsensical little rules on him then of course he couldn’t meet your standards. “Then yes, you are.”

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern and he could see your eyes shift, trying to locate his currently transparent form, latching onto the little shifts in the air whenever you could find them. “Don’t you get lonely?” you asked, doing your best to look up at him but ending up staring at his chest. Close enough.

Lonely? He understood a lot of things, they seemed almost implanted in him. Not that one though. He logically understood it, it meant a longing for companionship, but he didn’t really understand it. Alone was how things should be, how could one fear it.

“No,” he said, the spite clear in his tone, “I don’t get lonely.”

You didn’t look like you believed him. He wasn’t sure what more he could do to convince you. He supposed it didn’t really matter, you’d leave soon anyways and then he wouldn’t have to worry about what you did or didn’t believe about him.

Speaking of, he was eager to get rid of you. He’d heard enough of your questioning and he clearly did not have the answers you were looking for anyways. “Are we done here?” The spite in his voice seemed to carry over because the question came out sharper than he’d intended it to.

You nodded, looking even more upset at his frustration. “Yeah, I can go. Sorry to bother you.”

You stood up, clearly a little shaky on your feet and for a moment he worried he’d somehow caused it. You turned to look at him but just like before, there was nothing to see. Likewise, you couldn’t see him trail behind you, following you all the way to the door, watching you through the doorway as you entered the woods just outside.

You looked back at the house, clearly uncertain of if he was watching you leave or not, unaware of his transparent form hovering in the doorway. You gave a hesitant little wave and for reasons he didn’t really understand, despite the fact that you absolutely could not see him, he waved back.

After you left, he assumed you’d just be gone. You’d seemed dejected by your conversation, of course you had, he’d destroyed your hope and made you cry despite your initial chipper attitude. But a few days later, you returned, just as bright eyed as the first time.

He made himself tangible immediately, still half convinced you’d go running at his monstrous form, despite all the evidence he’d received on the contrary. “Why are you here?” he hissed out as you jerked back at his sudden appearance.

The jolt back gave him hope that maybe the prior incident had been a fluke but you quickly settled from the start he’d given you. “What do you mean why am I here?

“You’re back. Why?” He wasn’t sure he could make his question any clearer, hoping you’d understood it this time.

“I met a supernatural creature, that’s crazy, you think I’m just going to go home?”

“You were looking for dead people. I’m not dead people.” You really did need things spelled out for you it seemed.

You just shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t what I was looking for but you’re still incredible.”

Was he? He did think he was incredible but he supposed he didn’t have much of a frame of reference.

As he pondered the issue you settled back onto the floor, clearly here to stay for a while once more. Your backpack seemed lighter this time and you reached in and pulled out a bag of orange crackers as you made yourself comfortable.

“So you really don’t know what you are?” You spoke through a mouthful of your little crackers, studying him as you snacked from your spot on the floor.

Once more he found himself humoring you, providing answers to all of your endless questions, unsure what other options he had. “Not really. The universe doesn’t like emptiness, that’s my theory. We fill in the cracks, the places where no one else is. We’re built to be solitary creatures, that’s why we’re, you know, used to scaring people off. And why we’re not usually tangible, just the wind in abandoned spaces.”

“Does it hurt? Being tangible like this? You seem to flicker in and out a lot, if it’s uncomfortable you don’t have to do it.”

He shook his head, solidifying even more firmly for a moment so you could see him. “It just takes focus. I’m getting better at it after last time, normally I don’t do it for more than a second or two so I’m not really used to conversations.”

He was trying to stay tangible so you could see him this time. Whenever he stopped your eyes would drift, searching for signs of him to latch onto, and he wanted to make things a little easier on you.

Your face immediately broke out into a smile at his words. “Glad I could help you learn then!” Your pride at being helpful to him was obvious, sitting up a little straighter as a gleam entered your eyes. “So me and my questions aren’t a complete nuisance, good to know.”

He wasn’t sure he’d say that, you were a little bit of a nuisance, even if you did seem to be inexplicably growing on him. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He didn’t need to worry about his little secret though because you’d already moved on to yet another question.

“So the ghost hunting gear I brought, it doesn’t do jack shit, does it?”

Considering he’d sensed literally nothing that first time he’d seen you, that was probably a no. “Absolutely not. Was that what that radio was?”

You nodded. “Yup. It’s supposed to help ghosts communicate, but I guess you don’t really seem to have a problem with the whole talking thing.”

“I can talk just fine on my own.” The insinuation was insulting, why wouldn’t he be able to talk? Humans really did just assume the worst of them.

“Well I know that now. Wait, do you have a name? Shit, I should have asked earlier, sorry, I got caught up in the whole talking to a ghost thing. I really should start writing down my questions, prioritizing.”

“No. Like I said, we’re solitary creatures, had no one to give me a name and I’ve got no one to call me one so really it would be useless.”

You didn’t seem to like that answer. “I should call you something.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I should. Do you have any names that you like?”

He thought on it for a moment, trying to appease you, but nothing came to mind. “Not really.”

“I can help you come up with one then!” You fished your phone out of your pocket, something he recognized from the many visitors he’d promptly scared off. “God, the service out here is abysmal,” you said as you poked at the scream.

“Apparently it’s better if you hold it up.” Not that he knew from personal experience but that’s what he’d heard as he’d watched from the shadows as people held their phones to the sky and complained about the service.

You stuck your arms straight up from where you were sitting on the ground, your head craning to still see the screen. A small victory cry escaped you and he assumed he’d helped fix the problem. That shouldn’t make him as pleased as it did.

“I could just go through a list of names, how’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

The human names you kept proposing to him were absurd. None of them could capture him at all, not in any way. ‘Ghost’ was already pushing it but Charlie? Peter? Absolutely not, the thought was absurd.

At the hundredth rejection you scrunched up your nose, falling silent for a moment before vocalizing your decision. “Fuck this, it clearly isn’t working, I’m googling ghost names.”

He sneered at the idea. Humans had no idea about his kind, if they thought he was dead he could only imagine how awful their names might be.

His suspicion was proven correct as he heard a giggle escape you. “I could call you Casper.”

He could tell from your tone that it was a bad choice, even if he had no idea why. “Am I being mocked?”

“I’ll take that as a no. There’s things that are less names and more…categories, I guess, maybe that’s more your speed? Like, there’s wraiths…”

“No.”

“What about Salem?” you asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Can I get some direction here?” You were basically pleading with him and he refused to throw you a bone.

“It’s stupid,” he explained, as he’d done several times before.

“They can’t all be stupid.”

He would beg to differ. “Clearly they can.”

You spent a while going through countless lists, proposing idea after idea as he shot each one down until finally you threw your hands in the air. “I give up, nameless it is, you’ve beaten me. For now at least, I’ll keep thinking about it, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little smug about outlasting you. “Eventually? How long do you plan on staying?”

“Well, probably a bit longer but I’ll be back.”

“Again?”

“Yeah! You’re not getting rid of me that easily buddy, we’re friends now.”

That couldn’t be. He didn’t have friends, he was meant to be alone, not to have some little human kicking around his home. “That’s not how things work,” he said, it coming out a little poutier than he’d intended.

“Too bad, we’re friends now, nameless ghost buddy.”

He couldn’t find it within himself to be mad as you gave him a self-satisfied grin from the floor. If you wanted the two of you to be friends, who was he to stop you. However, that was the only reason he didn’t protest, placating you, he was sure of it.

You hadn’t lied that day, you did keep coming back. A few days rarely passed without you poking your head in every now and again. The questions never ended but they did slow, the two of you entering into an odd sort of rhythm.

When you entered the abandoned house once more, settled on the floor, and pulled a snack out of your bag, he was already used to the routine.

As you began to eat, you studied him, as you often did. He tried to stay corporeal for you as often as possible, you liked when you could see him. He could tell your eyes were tracing over his sharp teeth when your eyes suddenly widened and he looked at you, worried something was wrong.

Before he could ask if you were already, you had already begun speaking. “Shit, I should have offered you some food. Wait, can you eat?”

Oh, was that all? He wondered if you knew how badly your reaction had spooked him. He shrugged at your question, trying to move on quickly. “Not really, don’t need to.”

“Okay, you don’t need to, but can you?”

“I guess so.” What odd questions you asked him, how did you even come up with these?

You fished a handful of the crackers out of your bag and looked down at his hand expectantly, waiting until he held it out for you. Your hand was much smaller and softer than his, his hand long and spindly in comparison. You dropped the crackers into his palm and then stared.

He wasn’t used to eating. It was messier than it should have been. His mouth was made for self defense, for attacking nosy little humans if he needed to, not for little crackers shaped like fish. And yet, as soon as the taste hit his tongue he understood why his little human was seemingly so obsessed with these things.

They were incredible. Who knew humans could make something like this.

You gleaned his enjoyment as he took the little bag out of your hand. His reaction pulled little giggles from you as he inspected the food, eating all that you’d let him eat.

The next time you returned, your backpack was stuffed full once more. He watched you curiously as you settled down on the floor and began pulling things from inside and setting them in front of you.

“I brought more food for you to try!” you said, grinning up at him.

He learned a lot of things.

There were more types of food than he could have ever imagined. He had no idea how people came up with all these things. A few were natural, fruits grown on trees, but most were invented by your crafty little species.

Spicy foods overwhelmed him. He flickered in and out of existence for far too long after eating them, the burn almost inescapable. You couldn’t stop laughing at the sight and at the drama he brought to the situation. When you finally managed to cull the fits of laughter you’d given yourself hiccups.

He watched the small sounds escape you, seemingly against your will, as he paused his taste test. “What’s wrong with you?”

You snorted, at what he wasn’t sure. “They’re just hiccups, nothings wrong with me. There’s a bunch of wives tales about how to make them stop. I usually try drinking water upside down but there’s no couches in here to hang off of. You know,” you said between hiccups, “It’s kind of ironic, the most common cure for hiccups is being scared. Anyone else and you could probably fix them.”

In the past, the reminder that he’d been unable to scare you would have soured his mood but those days had long since passed. Not being able to scare you off had led to too many good memories for him to continue to be bitter about it.

He tries to fade out and then suddenly pop out at you, at least hoping to startle the hiccups out of you but that just induced another bout of giggles. He didn’t mind it, from you that was the reaction he’d come to prefer.

Chocolate was his favorite thing he’d tasted by far, he couldn’t get enough of the stuff, eating up all the candy bars you’d brough with you faster than you seemed to think was possible. You promised you’d bring him more next time you came.

As the taste test concluded and all the food had long since been eaten, you just laid on the floor next to him, putting off leaving. This was what your visits had become lately, tests of how long you could stay and putting off heading home until you had no other option than to head out to wherever it was you went when you weren’t with him.

“When you leave, where do you go?” he asked. He knew so little about your life outside of this room, you always managed to shift the subject away or mention shockingly little. For someone so fond of questions, you didn’t seem particularly keen on answering them.

However, lately you were a little more open with him, sharing a bit more each time. “Just the hotel I’m staying at. I was only supposed to be here a few days, just wanted to check this place out, see if I could find any ghosts. I got more than I bargained for, I guess.”

“You don’t have a home?” That seemed sad, even he had a home and he didn’t have much.

“I do, I just don’t go back there often. I can’t bring myself to sell it, keep telling myself some part of him must still be there.”

The sadness in your voice told him all he needed to know. “This person you lost, who were they?”

“My fiance. We’d been together five years and we were going to get married this last spring. And then… and then we weren’t anymore. Funny, how fast a wedding can get called off after you spend so long planning it.”

“I’m sorry.” He had no clue what to say. It was in moments like these that he wished that he had a little more experience with conversations, something he could pull from to actually help you.

“It’s alright, I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. Haven’t been doing a great job of it, actually, both of our families think I’m nuts with the whole ghost thing but hey,” you gestured at him vaguely. “Seems like I wasn’t that far off base after all.”

“Yeah, you had the right idea.” He didn’t really think you did, you had thought he was dead after all, but it seemed to make you feel better and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Every time you showed up from that day forward you brought him chocolate. It was the first thing you did, you both ate as much of it as you could, although admittedly he could eat significantly more than you. You kept telling him that the gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic, that you loved the way he lit up when he ate it and that’s why you kept bringing it for him. He couldn’t help but fawn over you when you came, time and time again, with a bag full of chocolate to just sit there with him in the abandoned house.

Even the faux complaining, the kind he had done just for show, had faded out. You both knew it was pointless, that he wanted you here just as much as you wanted to keep coming.

Chocolates weren’t the only things you’d started bringing. At first it was just a blanket. Something to sit on, you’d said. However, the number of items you’d brought kept growing and soon there was evidence of your visits covering the house, top to bottom.

In your absence, he found himself nestling into some of the blankets you’d left behind,

This time you brought more pillows, some to sit on in the little nest of blankets he’d built up in your absence.

As soon as you got yourself situated you beckoned him over. “Come on, we both should be comfortable, there’s room in here for you too. I know you sleep in here when I’m not around, you don’t need to leave it just because I’m here.”

He didn’t know how to tell you the truth, that his little obsession with all the stuff you’d brought wasn’t for comfort, it was because it reminded him of you.

He settled down next to you, careful to maintain your personal space. As he sat cautiously next to you, you added, “Oh, by the way, I sold my house.”

You said it so casually but he felt like everything had stopped. “What?”

“I just, ghosts aren’t real, at least not my kind, and it was about time for me to move on and stop believing in ghost stories, you know? It’s scary, I have to find a new home now.”

He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wanted you here.

Instead, he learned forwards and kissed you. He wasn’t sure what came over him, just some overwhelming urge and by then he couldn’t stop himself, forcing himself to solidify fully and leaning forwards before he could think.

You tasted like the chocolate you’d both been eating. He didn’t think it was possible to like the taste even more but here you were, just as sweet as he knew you’d be. His kind little human who kept coming back, who was too sweet to leave, of course he had to kiss you, how could he not?

It was messy. He was bigger than you and inexperienced and his form wasn’t exactly built for gentleness, or for kissing, with his big teeth and long tongue getting in the way and making it messier than it probably should have been. He wished he was built like you were, made to be sweet and gentle but he wasn’t, he was made to be frightening. That didn’t stop you from kissing him back, your soft little hands coming up to rest on the sides of his face.

Maybe he was dead because surely this was heaven.

And then, as quickly as you’d embraced him, you pulled back, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I should leave.”

No. Anything but that. That last thing he wanted was to scare you off now. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured him as you picked your bag up off the floor already rushing out. “I just… I just need to leave.”

And then he was alone again. He didn’t know how he’d managed this before, how he’d reveled in the quietness in this god forsaken house. With every hour that passed, he was more and more sure that you were never coming back, that he’d scared you off for good.

You’d asked him if he was lonely. Maybe he had been and he just hadn’t realized it. Maybe that’s what this absence you’d left was, he’d just never felt anything else before.

A full day later, when he’d already begun mourning you, his little human that he was sure he’d never hear from again, the door creaked. He was up in a second, praying it was you. If it was anyone else they were about to get the fright of their life, that was for sure.

But it wasn’t anybody else he came barrelling up to, it was his favorite little human. You came back and he was next to you instantly, apologizing in barely coherent strings of words while you struggled to calm him down. “Hey, you’re okay, I’m sorry I left, it isn’t your fault, I just kind of… panicked.”

Panicked? Had he made you panic? The idea filled him with dread, that was the last thing he ever wanted. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he managed.

You let out a little coo and he gathered that you thought what he’d said was sweet. “You didn’t scare me, I just needed time to think.”

You both seem uncertain how to proceed, a silence falling over the two of you. In the silence, he let his thoughts escape them. “I want you to stay here.”

“What?”

His instinct was to take it back, not to push and risk scaring you off again but couldn’t contain it anymore. “I want you to stay. You could live here with me and I could fix it up for you and that way you’re already here and you don’t have to travel all the way here all the time and you said you needed to find somewhere new to stay…”

“Hey, slow down,” you said with a laugh. “I’ve been looking at places near here so I could still visit so either way you’re not getting rid of me but are you sure you’d be okay with me staying here? If I stay, there’s going to be other people, it can’t just be me and you forever, I do want to have other friends.”

His heart dropped. “Oh. I might scare them off.”

“Please don’t.”

“Not on purpose,” he clarified.

“Oh. Well, if they’re scared of you just for existing then fuck them, as long as you play nice it’s fine.” Had he heard you right? You’d choose him over other humans, side with him in all this? You were still going on, already making plans. “We have to sort this place out, make it livable. And there will probably be people here to sort that all out..”

He nodded eagerly. Anything to keep you here with him. “But you’ll stay?”

You giggled and he felt like he was about to melt. “Yeah, I’ll stay. If I can, who even owns this place?”

“Some people come by sometimes talking about owning it and renovating it.”

“They do? Who?”

“I don’t know, we don’t normally chat.”

“Shit, okay, I just have to find them and buy it then! This place is a mess in the middle of nowhere, shouldn’t be too pricey, then we can fix it up together! God, getting electricity to this place is going to be a nightmare. And there’s no service, Jesus, how are we gonna figure that out…”

“Are you really going to stay?” The reality of the situation was washing over him, you were making plans to stay here, with him, permanently. He hadn’t scared you off, he was going to get to keep you.

His voice was soft and it pulled you right out of your little plans. “Yeah, of course I am.”

“I thought I ruined it, that you’d never come back.”

You got on the tips of your toes, reaching up towards his face and he leaned down to match you. The second he was in arms reach your hands rose to cup his face. “Listen to me, you did nothing wrong. I just needed some time to think, to sort through my emotions. The problem wasn’t that it was wrong, it was that it felt right and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

It felt right? Did that mean… “So you liked it.”

You nodded and leaned forwards to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, I did.”

It took a beat to process it all, for him to make sure he’d absolutely understood what you’d said. The second he was sure, he lurched forwards and crashed your mouth into his once more, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, pulling him tighter towards you.

His kisses drifted away from your mouth, the sloppy desperate kisses moving down to your neck. He kept pulling back, to check if you were okay with this but you repeatedly pulled him back in, not wanting to lose this newfound closeness. His teeth ghosted over your skin and he pulled back once more, terrified of harming you, wanting to prove you weren’t in any danger, not with him. You didn’t seem to need the reassurance, your back arching up towards him.

As he dipped back down towards you he let his teeth brush against you again and a soft moan escaped your lips. That was interesting.

As he observed you, he could see you squeezing your thighs together, searching for any kind of stimulus and he just stared for a moment. He never thought someone’s thighs could be so hypnotizing but he could have stared at them all day, could have stared at any part of you all day. His inaction caused a whine to escape you, pleading for more of him.

He didn’t take much convincing, immediately pulling your pants down. You did your best to help kick them off, doing so as quickly as you could.

He could tell just from looking at your cunt that you were soaking wet for him. You seemed hesitant to be looked at there but all he could feel was awe, he couldn’t understand your apprehension, this was the best sight he’d ever seen.

His tongue lapped experimentally through your folds and your thrusted your hips up into his face. Chocolate was nothing compared to this, you were heaven. He wanted to taste you every day for the rest of his life, he felt like he could get drunk off of this.

His tongue snaked deeper, wanting more. Your pleasure was almost an unintended side effect at first, he just wanted more of you. But as your little whines escaped you, he grew more and more intent on inspiring more of them.

His tongue dove repeatedly into your cunt, desperate to taste more of you, pushing it as deep as it could get. He wanted to taste every inch of you. His gaping maw covered a significant portion of you, his teeth occasionally pushing into your lower stomach as he devoured you, pushing further and further, wanting to be as far inside of you as was possible.

He could feel you clench around him and he humped into the ground, desperate for the friction but refusing to leave you, his mouth glued to your cunt.

Eventually, you were the one to pull him away, although he couldn’t understand why. It had seemed like you were getting close.

“Want more,” you said, pulling him up towards you.

He obliged you almost reluctantly, not wanting to leave the taste of your cunt behind just yet. But there would be more time for that later, right now you needed him.

The size difference worried him a little, his fear of hurting you crossing his mind once more. You did not seem as concerned, pulling him towards you and gawking at his cock which you could finally see, now that he was no longer humping the ground.

“Holy shit.” You seemed taken aback by the size of him.

“Listen, if you don’t want to or think you can’t manage it, that's totally fine, we can…”

You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “There is nothing I want more, I promise I can handle it just… please, I need you.”

He pushed inside you as gently as he could but still, the second his cock entered you, you let out a hiss. He stilled, letting you adjust, wanting to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too far. Eventually you settled and he pushed in further, managing little by little until he was fully seated inside you. You were clinging to him desperately like he was your lifeline.

The second he was inside you he felt like he might come. You were perfect, hugging tight around him. You pressed kisses into his chest as he did, and occasionally, when things got overwhelming, you bit him. You couldn’t hurt him, your small mouth filled with blunt teeth was no threat to the monster, but he loved how possessive it felt. He hoped it would leave a mark on him, that it would be proof he was yours.

He tried a small experimental thrust inside, a cry immediately leaving you as he did. It felt like you were strangling him and he knew you were already close, his hand snaking down to play with your clit as he thrusted inside, harder this time.

It didn’t take long for you to come, already brought to the edge by his tongue, but your orgasm didn’t stop his steadily increasing pace, chasing his own orgasm. You were clenching desperately around him, trying to milk him for all he was worth but he kept pushing.

“Too much,” you whined, grabbing at him.

He pulled you into his chest, one arm coming up to stroke your hair as he rutted into you. “You can take it, I know you can. You feel so good.”

You bit his shoulder hard as his thrusts increased in power, nearing his orgasm. That bite was what pushed him over the edge, pumping into you.

You winced as he pulled out. He imagined the sudden emptiness caused it the same way the lack of you around him made him let out a quiet hiss.

He watched his cum drip out of you and poked at it, pushing some back into you, earning an oversensitive whine from you that probably would have been more effective if it weren’t so cute.

He licked a long stripe up your cunt, tasting both of you together and he was ready to eat you out once more before you pulled him up.

Now it was his turn to whine but you quickly shushed him with a smile. “You gotta give me a little time first, okay? I’m exhausted.”

He understood immediately, pulling you into his side protectively as you relaxed. You curled up next to him in the makeshift nest he’d made in your absence and added, “The first thing we are getting for this place is a bed, okay?”

He nodded along. He would’ve agreed to anything you’d said right about now. Besides, he’d never slept in a bed before, it sounded exciting.

A sharp, toothy grin that he couldn’t suppress covered his face, imagingng it all. It was so different from everything he’d ever experienced but he didn’t mind it.

He’d had his fill of being alone.

#terato #teratophillia #terato writing #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #monster pov #me: makes a bunch of lore for this monster species #also me: makes it so the monster has no clue what he is so the story can't contain any of it lol

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littlemissonewhoisall · 10 months

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I think a lot of people who haven't read Batgirl (2000) and only know Cass from her appearances in other characters' books or online summaries miss something very essential about the root of why she's such a good fighter.

Yes, Cassandra was trained in martial arts from birth, learning from some of the deadliest assassins and mercenaries in the world. But that was not the core of what David Cain was doing with her, nor is it the real root of what makes her so dangerous. People who were raised from childhood by assassins to be dangerous fighters are not particularly uncommon in the DCU. Even in the Bat Family alone, Damian, Jean-Paul, and Helena were all trained to be assassins from childhood. The reason why Cass is still presented as a much better fighter than them isn't inconsistency though, it's because their training lacked something very important.

Cass wasn't an apprentice or an heir to David, nor was she a weapon to accomplish his agenda. She was first and foremost a science experiment. David didn't have a kid and decide "now I'm going to make you into a killer like me". He had a child specifically for the purpose of having a blank slate of a person that he could use to test his theories about the role of human body language in combat.

Yes, she was trained to fight. Yes, he planned on having her go on assassination missions. But these were ways to prove his concept, not an end unto themselves. David was convinced that if someone's entire development was influenced by communicating solely through body language that their brain would develop so that they were more adept at combat than any normal person could actually learn, regardless of their level of training, and he was right*!

Cass has mastered a bunch of combat styles, at least offensively, but she's also able to pick up new styles almost instantly, and react defensively against skilled opponents without needing any technical knowledge of defensive styles. She can coordinate and react far more efficiently than is humanly possible for anyone else, because her brain just works differently due to the unusual circumstances of her development. THAT'S what makes her an unparalleled* fighter, not her level of training.

*Shiva being an aberration which should not be counted

#cassandra cain #batgirl #bat family #david cain #dc comics

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taeloke · 2 months

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Overanalyzing 4KOTA Chapter 142 instead of just waiting for more info (1/2?)

Honestly? I'm writing King's side of this separately, because it's about time I started talking about him here l and I know I can go on forever about him. That field of over-analysis needs its own house. I would go off about him first but then I'd forget his kids entirely and I don't want to do that to them... Speaking of--

So silly. So precious. Berte is so Helbram-coded and I'm sure that's intentional resemblance.

You know...I wonder which of their traits were inherited from Diane's parents. Probably the golden hair on almost half of them at least. Sixtus and Tioreh's pink hair looks more like a genetic mutation...unless their hair color is inherited from the leaf color of the Sacred Tree? That's possible too.

Diane seems less energetic since becoming a mother. She's settled down and has been shown to be gentle more often than bubbly, which was the impression she gave me in the original series. I'm assuming she hasn't fought since entering the Fairy Realm, too. She's put the stress of the Holy War behind her, and I'm happy that she seems content with her lots of babies. I wonder if she'll get to hear about Dolores once the current issues are over. I'm sure hearing she's Nasiens's adoptive big sister will be a shock. Diane deserves to know that.

The way Tioreh says this makes me suspect Puck is the one behind Nasiens and Myrtel's switcheroo. He must really love that "prank" in that case. Regardless of who was behind it, though, that's actually fucked up. A fairy trolled their own king by swapping their first child with a human, probably knowing exactly what issues both kids would be put in. I can't call this just a prank. I love King to death, but his people are their own kind of awful...

For this moment, let's glance back at how she reacted to that news at first.

Tioreh must have been suspecting this the whole time Nasiens was here, but this reveal may be the moment she started to seriously believe it, if not when Nasiens admitted to feeling healthier in the Fairy Realm. After this, she started to open up about her siblings more and telling Nasiens that he's like them--especially like Phao. All of this is stuff that Nasiens didn't know about since he met her two years ago. All of the tension in this family over Nasiens and Myrtel has been building up for so long...and right now we're watching it all cave in. I'm sure King and Diane had good intentions for hiding the truth, but hiding it's not working anymore.

And Diane knows it's not working anymore. I'm stuck on her asking "Is that bad for you?" Why is she asking that of all things? Is that what King and Diane were so worried about when they decided to never come out about this? Did they think their kids would be upset with having a human for an older brother?

Okay, but maybe that's not all that they considered. Maybe they got worried about how their people outside of their family would react to their theories being confirmed. If that happened, as unfortunate as it is, Mertyl would probably get more ostracized than he was. With that in mind, I'm sure his parents made that choice to protect him from some of the problems he'd inevitably go through. It's a nice thought that way, but this was still a bad call. They made too many assumptions of their own kids' feelings.

In other news...Phao was lurking... Now they're all gonna know and clear up this misunderstanding with their parents, right?

Anyway, I feel like I've written too much for one post, so I'll go on about the rest of the chapter tomorrow. Closing this part with this:

myrtel peek

#4kota #mokushiroku no yonkishi #nanatsu no taizai #nnt #nasiens #nnt diane #tioreh

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somanyratsinthewalls · 3 months

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Burning Hearts Part 7

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

**MINORS DNI, SMALL SCENE OF ADULT CONTENT**

Burning Hearts Chapter 7: Repressing (some) Urges

— —

“You aren’t focusing your energy.”

“I can focus enough to kick your ass!”

Daisy chirps back and forth with Law as they sparred across the clearing in the woods.

“You either harness Haki or awaken your Devil Fruit. Without that, you’ll get hosed in the New World, regardless of how much stronger the rest of your crew gets.” Law barks at her.

There was a sharp sound of swords meeting.

“I thought people were born with Haki, I can’t just get it.” Daisy pushes Law back, finally strong enough to defend herself from his blows.

“How are you going to know that you don’t have it if you don’t even try?” Law disappears and she searches the clearing for a flash of blue to signify his reappearance. Daisy spins around and raises her blades in defense.

*CLANG*

“You think I’m not trying? Sorry I’m not a bright little gifted kid like you were- AH!” Law pushes Daisy across the clearing and her back hits hard against a tree.

“A gifted kid? That’s what you think I was?” Law comes at her with renewed force. He uses his power to throw Daisy’s body into the air and back down again. “You think you’re the only one who experienced horrors beyond comprehension?! You don’t know anything about me or my past.”

Daisy struggles, but she rises to her feet. She spits on the ground.

“You’re right. I don’t know a god damn thing about you.” Daisy breaths heavily. “It’s like it would kill you to open up to someone. Be a human.” She approaches Law slowly, like a wounded lion still set on taking down a wildebeest, a small trickle of blood coming from the crown of her head and turning that grey streak red at the base.

Without warning, Daisy launches herself into the air and lunges into Law. They lock in a sparring match that went on for ages before Law finally pinned her to the ground.

Daisy was bested again. She stared up at the man above her with wild eyes. Law looked down and met her gaze, hands on either side of her face… but shortly after looking in her eyes, Law’s own eyes wandered to the rest of her form. Chest heaving violently and droplets of sweat littering her cleavage and sternum, hair splayed out messily against the dirt floor of the clearing…

It reminded him of his dreams…

Daisy was underneath him, laying there at his mercy…

Law’s eyes glazed over…

*THWACK*

Law was broken out of his daze by being catapulted across the clearing and onto a ragged tree stump.

“Fuck…” Law had let his guard down and he left himself open for assault. “What the hell was that…” He picks himself up and sees Daisy standing across the clearing, wings spread. Law spies something else…

Was that a tail?

A long, black, scaled and spiked tail protruded from her backside and slowly flicked back and forth.

“What? Haki, Devil Fruit? Who said I can’t do both?” Daisy chides with a smirk.

Law coughs, still struggling for breath after having the wind knocked out of him. There was a silence as he walks towards her.

“What changed your mind?” Law asks with a raised eyebrow. “And when the hell did you figure that out?” Law gestures at the new appendage.

“You were being a dickhead. I wanted to beat the shit out of you faster, so I did some training. Turns out, it worked! You just got fucking rocked!” Daisy laughs hard and holds her stomach.

Law saw her brilliant smile and couldn’t help but smirk a bit at her new found confidence.

*bdd bdd bdd bdd*

The transponder snail that Law carried in his jacket began to ring. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the snail and answers it.

“Yeah?” He speaks into the snail.

“Hey Captain… it’s Bepo… can you come back to the base? Something came up and we need to talk to you…”

“Is this an emergency, Bepo? You know this training is important.” Law grips the snail tighter in his fist.

“I-I think so, C-Captain…” Bepo sounded concerned.

“Fine.” Law hangs up the snail and puts it back in his pocket.

“Everything okay?” Daisy sheathes her blades.

“We need to head back.”

— —

You and Law enter the base to find it oddly quiet. Usually the compound was buzzing with chatter and the comings and goings of the rowdy Heart Pirates… but now it was eerily silent. Law leads you to the galley and pushes the doors open. He found every single member of his crew packed into the kitchen around the dining table. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi were seated at the table while the rest of the crew stood around them.

Every single pair of eyes shot up at the two of you when you entered the room. No words were said. The air was thick with tension.

You were confused. What had happened in your absence? You then spy a News Coo spread out on the dining table. You read the headline from the doorway. Trafalgar Law Named Newest Warlord of the Sea.

Your eyes bug open wide. You rush towards the table and scoop up the paper. You begin reading.

“With the gift of 100 pirate hearts, Surgeon of Death, former member of the Worst Generation, Trafalgar Law joins the ranks of the Seven Warlords…” You read quietly out loud.

You turn to Law. He stares at you, expressionless. You look back at the crew. The same response.

“Well, it’s obviously a mistake. We just write the paper and say there’s been a misconception and it’s not true, right? It’s fine, right? Law?” You question him as you put the paper back on the table.

The silence continues. You demand an answer.

“Law? This obviously isn’t true, right?” You step towards him.

“It is true.” Law finally responds.

The silence becomes even heavier.

“Captain… r-respectfully… w-what the hell is going on?” Penguin speaks up with a shaky voice.

“You hate the government, Captain… now you work for them-?” Ikkaku chimes in.

“We work for them.” Law butts in.

The room is quiet again.

“I have been appointed one of the Seven Warlords. My bounty has been cancelled along with the rest of the crew.” Law turns from his crew to face you this time. “Everyone’s but Daisy’s, that is.”

“What!?” You reply in shock horror.

“After the incident at Marine Ford, the World Government is out for blood with any of the Straw Hat Pirates. Telling the Marines that I was harboring you would only complicate matters. You’ll stay here and you’ll stay hidden. Now that I’ve allied with them, it’s assured that they’ll leave us be.”

“But Captain-“ Bepo starts.

“I have 60 million berries on my fucking head and you work for the government now?!” You raise your voice. “You bailed out your crew and now I’m stuck here like a stowaway again?!”

“There’s a reason for all of this.” Law responds.

“A reason?! PLEASE kindly explain it to us, then!” You shout.

“Yeah, Captain, we deserve an answer. Why did you hide this from us?” Bepo asks.

“I hid it to protect you all. You are my crew and I care about you. You all know that is something I don’t say often, but I mean it. I can’t explain it now, but I promise it will all make sense later. You need to trust me. This is temporary.” Law snatches the News Coo from the table. “You need to trust me, it’s all part of a larger plan. If you don’t trust me, you may leave, I understand… but if you wish to stay, your loyalty will be rewarded.”

Law looks around at his crew once more before retreating down the hall to his office.

“Fucking bullshit…” You storm down the hall and into your room. You slam the door behind you and begin cleaning your room to keep your mind off the current situation.

— —

Law sits at his desk, again pouring over the text about ancient Zoan Devil Fruits, chin resting in his fist. Law was trying to distract himself from the guilt that thrummed in his chest that appeared from keeping such a huge secret from his crew.

He wished he could tell them… His crew he loved and cared so deeply for… and Daisy, who was upset with him once again…

They knew nothing of his plan to murder Doflamingo… and they probably never would until after the plan succeeded or failed… He would die trying to complete his mission or come back to his crew successful and have to pick up the pieces of their shattered trust…

Either way, he had months to plan and build the rapport back up. He was in no shape to take on Doflamingo now, he had much to prepare. Trillions of thoughts whirled around in Law’s head as he mulled over the text at his desk… he couldn’t focus on the words anymore so he resigned and left his office for the showers.

In his sour mood, Law skulks towards the bathroom quickly, not paying attention to where he was going.

*OOF*

“Hey, watch it.” Daisy remarks with the laundry basket that was now half full under her arm, the rest of the contents spilled all over the floor after the collision.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking-“ Law bends over to help Daisy pick up her clothing that had fallen to the ground and put them back into her bin.

“Uh, thanks.” Daisy awkwardly hikes the laundry bin over her hip again and passes him to head towards the laundry room in the center of the base. Daisy rounds the corner and Law lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

Law looks down at the floor and sees a black, amorphous blob on the ground in front of him. He picks it up. It was a pair of lace panties.

Law gasps, but doesn’t drop them right away, fascinated by how soft they feel between his tattooed fingers.

D, E, A, T, H.

“Hey, Cap?” Ikkaku’s voice comes from the opposite end of the hallway.

In a panic, Law shoves Daisy’s panties into his hoodie pocket.

“Yes?” Law answers, almost too quickly.

“You know we’re not mad at you, right? We just wish you would have told us. We would support you always, I wish you’d have more faith in us is all.” Ikkaku smiled softly.

“I know. It was…” Law sighs. “A selfish decision. I hope you all can understand.”

“We do. I think you should talk to Bepo, though. He seems pretty beat up.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to him.”

Law pushes open the door to the bathroom and starts the shower.

— —

Law returns to his office after his shower and looks at the clock.

1:48 AM

“When the hell did it get that late?” Law asks himself.

Law grabs the text from his desk and brings it with him through the archway of the adjoining room to his bed. He throws the textbook onto his bed and strips himself of his jeans before he climbs in after it.

After flipping through some more pages, he instinctively reaches into his pocket to warm his free hand while reading.

The panties.

He still had Daisy’s worn panties in his hoodie pocket.

Law gingerly pulls them out and unfolds them. He feels his cock twitch at the sight of the skimpy black lace. He knew it was wrong to be aroused but he couldn’t help it…

Law stares at the panties in his hands. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to not listen to his intrusive thoughts but he simply can’t resist anymore, the animalistic urge in him taking over… he pulls the panties to his face and takes a deep inhale.

His eyes roll back in his head. The heady, musky scent of Daisy’s panties fill his senses.

“Fuck…”

Law couldn’t help but imagine the sweet, slightly sour , sweaty taste of her cunt after a hard sparring session in the clearing with him… how she might react if he dipped his tongue in between her sensitive lower lips… would she moan? Would she whimper? Would he know what to do? Would she even like it? He knows what she’s been through, he shouldn’t be thinking of her like this…

“Shit…” Law gasps and unbuckles his belt. He unzips his jeans and frees his suddenly aching cock.

“Room.” Law creates a room around his office and uses it to lock the deadbolt on the door.

With a bit of guilt, Law begins to stroke his cock with the hand the panties were currently being held in. It was so wildly wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He had thought of Daisy writhing on his member so many times that this felt almost natural.

The lacy fabric caused Law to hiss out at the foreign sensation, only having ever felt his hand down there in moments of desperation like this one. Law begin stroking himself slowly with the panties and threw his head back in pleasure. He closed his eyes and thought of her…

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this… but it felt too good to stop…

“Fuck, Daisy…”

He had finally said it out loud. It felt so sinful, slipping off his tongue in a moment of lust, but it also felt so incredibly right. Her name felt so comforting and safe falling from his lips, Law didn’t even notice how close he was coming to his own finale.

“Shit!” Law chokes out as he reaches his climax, ropes of thick cum spurting out all over the filched pair of panties.

As the remnants of his orgasm subside, Law realizes the filth of his actions. He pulls up his underwear and shoves the soiled panties deep inside his laundry basket, thoroughly hoping they will never be discovered in their current state.

Law tosses the book off his bed and climbs into the covers. With a huge sigh, he tries his best to fall asleep.

— —

You smile widely as you pull a fresh apple pie out of the oven, inhaling it’s intoxicating scent as you place it on the counter.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Shachi and Penguin appear in the galley.

“Cake?”

“Pie?”

“For us?” They say in unison.

You laugh.

“Yes, you vultures. Let me cut a slice for your buzzkill captain and then you can have at it. Make sure Clione gets a slice. You know it’s his favorite, okay?” You say as you carve a piece and put it on a plate to bring to the Captain of the Heart Pirates. You grab a fork and bring the plate down the hall to Law’s office.

You knock.

“Yes?”

You enter.

“Hey… brought you some pie.” You smile and walk towards Law’s desk to set down the plate.

“Hmm.. Smells good. Sit. Want to show you something.” Law dismisses your dessert and gestures for you to take a seat in the chair across from him again.

You sigh.

“Law if this is about my Devil Fruit-“

“I found it.” Law interjects.

There was a heavy silence.

“You… what?” You ask

“Come, look at this drawing…” Law stands up from his chair and beckons you to come around and look at the book on his desk.

You roll you eyes and get up to look at the dusty tome. You look down and your stomach drops straight through to the floor.

“That’s… that’s it…” You cover your mouth with one hand. “That’s exactly what it looked like… I remember it…” Your eyes gloss over, being involuntarily brought back to the day you were forced to ingest that Devil Fruit.

“A wyvern.” Law speaks monotonously, as if he were prescribing you an antacids.

“A what?” You whisper, unable to speak louder than that.

“A medieval type dragon. Claws, wings, fire breath, tail… it all makes sense…” Law runs his smooth fingers over the page.

“This is you, Daisy. You have this power.” He turns his head to look at you in the eye.

You stumble backwards and fall on the floor.

“No, I…. I’m not like that.. It’s something else..” You mumble mostly to yourself. “I’m a weird bat or something…”

“Do bats have tails, Daisy?” Law cocks his head and looks at you, sitting on his office floor.

You begin to retort, but Law stops you.

“Do lizards have wings?” You hold eye contact with the doctor.

“I…”

“You showed me that this is the fruit you ate. You can’t argue with this anymore. We will proceed with training using this information. Get some rest. We continue tomorrow.”

You nod and leave Law’s office.

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