hi sorry if I fast reblogged my bad man

31 - F - side blog (too many irls on my main, just lemme collect fics in peace 😩🙏🏽)

[choppalgar-d-lawpper]

Ignore the tags they're for me to re-find things if u found me no u didn't

[grilchgurt]

hot seat (ryland grace x reader)

also posted on ao3 | my masterlist Grace has, apparently, elected not to wear pants today. You decide this warrants a little pop quiz. ~2.8k words; smut; thigh biting (and sucking, etc etc); hand job; vaguely subby Grace; gender neutral reader (no pronouns, no use of y/n, no descriptions other than...having hair, i guess?) a/n: ok ok i know i said it would be a minute before i posted anything again but i was inspired. i also had kind of a shitty time applying for my visa (it's a long thing) so finishing this was kind of like a treat for myself. i wrote a good chunk while on a plane and the guy next to me would not stop looking my screen, so--i hope he enjoyed this lol

“Everything looking good up here, doc?”

Grace doesn’t look away from the cockpit’s screens at your greeting. You lean against the frame of the hatchway and cross your arms, taking in the back of his head, the way his arms reach forward and rest upon the console. “Yep. It’s all still the same as when I checked last week. Well, except for, you know, that we’re one week closer to Erid. Out of,” he pauses to do some quick mental math, “one hundred and ninety-six weeks, give or take a few days.”

You simply hum. He clicks through a few more menus before sighing. It’s been nearly a year—so one hundred and forty-four weeks remain, or something like that—and while the Hail Mary wasn’t necessarily short on entertainment, there was only so much to occupy the time with. He is probably bored out of his mind.

The pilot’s chair swivels, then, so Grace can face you, and you start to ask, “Well, wanna watch a—”

And then the question is cut short, because he is now completely turned toward you, and he is not wearing any pants, only a pair of boxers.

“Grace.”

“What’s up?”

“Where are your pants.”

He looks down as if he had only just noticed he wasn’t wearing any. “Oh, right. None of them are clean.”

You blink, extremely slowly, and try to stop yourself from glancing down at his bare thighs. “There is not a single pair of clean pants that you can wear? None at all?”

Your attempted restraint is not going unnoticed. Grace smirks a little when your eyes flick down again, and you would very much like to wipe the expression off of his face. Your hand twitches against your leg. “Well, technically I have a pair, but there’s a hole in them.”

“A hole.”

“Yep,” and he pops the ‘p’ very deliberately and shifts in the chair. The movement causes the hem of his boxers to hike up, revealing another sliver of his bare thigh. “Haven’t gotten around to patching them yet.”

“Of course. So the natural solution was to just walk around in your underwear.” You push yourself off the frame to stand straight up. He does not say anything when you look at his legs again, but his smile grows.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, just barely, and you know that it’s intentional. “They’re basically like shorts.”

Okay, you think, at least this is something to do. You look at the screens, then, and tilt your head toward them. “Can I take a look?” He blinks at that, because this is not where he was expecting you to take the conversation, but he nods anyway and starts to get up so you can sit. “Oh, no, you don’t need to get up.”

You cross the room, but instead of turning your attention to the screen, you slide your legs underneath the chair to sit on the footrest. His legs widen to accommodate you. It is…not a very comfortable place to sit, all things considered, but now you have a front-row seat to the pale skin of his inner thighs. “Ah. You didn’t want to look at our trajectory.”

“Nope.” He looks down and watches as you place your hands on his knees, smoothing the skin with your thumbs. The sight of him, his legs spread, looking down at you with reddening cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest, is so delicious that you wish you were holding a camera. You settle for taking a few mental pictures before you slide your hands forward, now resting midway up his quads, feeling the hairs on the tops of his thighs. Your fingers have almost reached the hem. “How fast are we going?”

“Uh—what?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, smiling softly. Your finger starts to idly trace random shapes. “How fast are we going? What’s our speed?”

Grace clears his throat and shifts in the seat again. His boxers are already tenting. “You—already know this, but okay. We’re going ninety-two percent the speed of light.”

You nod at his answer and splay your fingers a little wider, so your thumbs reach down to the soft skin of his inner thigh. “And what’s that in miles?”

“Um, that’s—ninety-two percent of, hah,” he gasps, because you’ve just pressed a kiss to the side of his knee, “one hundred and eighty-six thousand, two hundred and eighty-two miles per second, so—about—”

You interrupt him sharply. “I didn’t ask for an estimate.” You look at his thigh, then, just above the crease of his knee, before leaning forward to gently graze your teeth against the spot. His hips shift up, and you glare at him, cheek pressed against his leg. “I didn’t ask you to move, either.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m—okay, alright, mental math, not super easy at the moment—” His hands tighten their hold on the arm rests when you nip gently at his thigh in warning. “One hundred and seventy-one thousand, two hundred and eight-two point forty-four. Miles. Per, per second.” Grace is already panting slightly.

Pressing a kiss against the spot you just bit, you murmur, “Good. Now in meters?” There’s not actually any way for you to check his numbers, but you know he’s good at math. You trust that he’s giving you the right answers. He’s too much of a nerd not to.

His head falls back onto the headrest, but he keeps his legs and arms still. “You—you’re killing me here, you know that?”

You shift your head to his other leg, moving up a little, and you bite this new area of skin, still on his soft inner thigh. Grace keens, low and desperate, and you can imagine his knuckles turning white from gripping the arm rests so hard.

He is, apparently, not done with talking back. “If that’s the punishment,” he breathes, mouth curling up in a slight smile, “I might just, you know, keep giving the wrong answers.”

This is the wrong thing for him to say, and he realizes it as soon as the words leave his mouth, because then you’re leaning back and nodding, removing your hands from his legs. “I see. Then I probably shouldn’t bother, right?”

“No, that’s—please don’t.” His eyes are wide with panic. “I’m sorry, you—do you still want our speed in meters? I can, I have the number.” You say nothing at that, instead slowly returning your hands to his thighs. “Oh, thank god, okay, it’s—it’s—two hundred and seventy-five million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand, three hundred and sixty-seven point one hundred and nineteen meters per second,” he rushes out.

It is very impressive, so you give him an appreciative squeeze and mouth against his skin gently, right on top of a little mole he has on his right leg. “Very good.” You can hear his head rest against the chair again at the praise. “How long is the journey from Tau Ceti to Erid?”

“It’s almost—” Your nails dig into his skin, not hard, just enough to make him whine. Grace is catching onto the game very quickly—he wants the sting that comes from your teeth and your fingernails, but he doesn’t want to push back so far in order to get it that you’ll stop, so he’s probing the boundaries of what you’ll let him do. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for an estimate, I know, it’s—wait. Do you want from our perspective or Earth’s?”

“Hm, good question,” your purr, sucking lightly on the same spot of this thigh. He whimpers, and you think he’s nodding. You wonder if his eyes are open or closed, but you are too busy to look. “Ours first.”

“A little less than four years.”

The edges of your mouth lift up in a smile, and you switch back to his other thigh and bite, farther up, a little harder than the last one, not enough to break skin, but enough for the imprints of your teeth to remain visible when you pull back. Your tongue darts out to soothe the spot as he groans, and you can just barely see his cock twitch underneath the fabric. “Why did I do that?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth; he is trying very, very hard not to buck his hips up. “Because—because—you haven’t asked for an estimate, not once, so I shouldn’t have assumed, because you didn’t explicitly say.”

You gently brush your finger across the teeth marks indented in his skin. “That’s exactly right. So…?”

“Three point nine years from our perspective.” Your hands move up just a little bit more, the tips of your fingers now brushing up against the hem of his boxers. His hips shift, almost imperceptibly, but you decide that you will let him off the hook for that. For now. You toy with the edge of the fabric and look up at him. He’s waiting for you to ask how long the journey is from Earth’s perspective. You simply nod, and he exhales in relief. “Thirteen years. I’m sorry, that is an estimate, but I don’t, relativity is really hard—which, right now, feels very topical, I have to say, but ask me another question, please,” he begs.

Maybe on a different day, you might have been a little meaner, might have pointed out that he’s not the one who gets to decide how all of this happens, but right now you would like to keep biting and sucking on his bare thighs, so you show him a little mercy. “Alright. Would you like me to touch you now, Dr. Grace?”

This makes him moan, loudly, and it’s a good thing that Rocky is asleep (though, of course, he would have heard all of this anyway). “Yes, oh my gosh, yes—assuming you mean, well, where I think you mean,” and then he sees the look you give him and decides to stop talking for a few seconds.

First, you keep sliding one of your hands upward, still kissing and biting at his thighs, until you can feel his muscles quivering underneath your mouth from the strain of keeping still. Your fingers hit the crease of his hip and then stop. He looks so good like this, you think, sitting so nicely and waiting for you to do whatever you want with him.

Instead of moving the hand underneath his boxers where you know he would like it to be, you drag it downward, lightly scratching the top of his thigh. Your other hand moves up, over the top of the fabric, and finally, finally slides over his aching cock, and the groan he lets out shoots straight between your legs. You shift, just slightly, so the metal rod connecting the footrest to the chair presses against your core. Grace is too busy squeezing his eyes shut and gasping at the way you’re slowly palming him through his boxers.

“That’s—hah, so good, not exactly what I was thinking, but—”

You stop moving your hand and wait to speak until he’s looking down at you again. “I didn’t ask you to think,” and then you lower your head to bite at his inner thigh, just below the hem of his underwear.

He throws his head back against the chair again. You are slightly worried he might give himself a concussion at this rate. “You’re right, sorry—thank you, this is really good, amazing even, please—I can, are there more questions?”

“Not at the moment,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss against the bite mark you just left. Your hand resumes in its movements. God, the sounds he is making right now; maybe you could turn the camera on, start recording, and the next time Rocky sleeps again you could play it in the screen room, have two versions of Grace whining and moaning at the same time while you ride him.

It seems like a little too much effort, and you don’t want to pull away to set it all up, so you simply focus on sucking and nipping at his trembling thighs, twisting your hand and listening to the way he gasps when your palm moves over his tip.

You rock your hips forward a little as you consider your options. You could pull his boxers down and take him into your mouth—he really enjoys it when you do that—or, maybe, you could stand up and turn around, placing your hands on the console and let him fuck you. They are all pretty great, but then you wouldn’t get to watch in between bites and kisses as he grips the armrests, alternating between tipping his head back and looking down at you, face entirely flushed.

“I have another question,” you say, and you think he tries to respond, but all that comes out is a choked whimper. “Do you think you could come like this?”

It takes him a few shuddering breaths to gather himself enough for words. “Is that—that’s a rhetorical question, really, yes, yes I can, it won’t even take that long. Which, that might sound a little pathetic, but I have the feeling that you like when I’m—”

You cut him off by sucking another spot on his thigh, your nose brushing against the fabric. Your back is straining a little to lean forward like this, but it is so worth it for the reaction it pulls out of him. You are fairly certain, at this point, that you would probably be able to come like this, too, just from grinding into the footrest.

But that is a side benefit, really, while this is the main event, so you focus on grasping his cock and searching for the movements that make his hips stutter upward, because then you have a reason in this game the two of you have created to nip at his soft skin even more. Grace is right: it won’t take that long, if the way his control starts to deteriorate is anything to go off of.

He swallows hard and manages to whisper, “Can I—would it be alright, would you let me touch you?”

Technically, he’s still not supposed to be asking any questions here, but you nod (and then press your teeth into his thigh for it), and one of his hands lets go of the armrest to gently slide through your hair. He doesn’t grab or pull; he simply cards his fingers through your hair, so softly that it’s almost at odds with the way his cock feels in your hand and the positively obscene noises he’s making.

“So good,” you mumble into his skin, “you’re doing so good. Want you to come like this, whenever you want to, yeah?”

Grace nods feverishly and stops trying to keep his hips pressed against the chair. They jerk and stutter against your hand, and you keep palming him and sucking at his thighs, chasing the thing that you know is coming, the thing that you will watch and hear and tuck away in your mind to replay over and over again.

The sound he lets out when he finally comes is so broken that you might call it a sob. You guide him through it, still moving your hand, tenderly kissing and licking at all of the marks that you’ve left. Finally, you lean back a little to take it all in: the way his glasses have slid down his nose, the flushed tinge of his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest as he pants, the red splotches you’ve sucked into his thighs, the indents from your teeth, the dark spot in his boxers.

You keep staring for a few moments before looking back up and meeting his eyes. A spark travels down your spine and sits in between your thighs at the thought of him watching you look over his body, taking stock of all of the ways that you have marked him. “So,” he finally says, “I hope you know that this means I will be walking around without pants, like, all the time.”

You simply smile at that and extract your legs from underneath the chair to stand, a little shaky, until he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at you. “I think I would probably lose it a little bit if you did that.”

“Is that a promise?” Grace returns your smile and raises his eyebrows a little bit. You grab his face then, softly, gently, only pressing your fingers in enough to see the way his skin dimples underneath them.

“…Yeah. Something like that.”

[surturedberries]

fighting and biting

the sitch ⋆˚꩜｡ holland and healy have really made a name for themselves with their new detective company, the nice guys. things really couldn't be better. apart from the alcoholism, his reliance on his daughter, and the steadily growing number of injuries he gets throughout his life. but things take a turn when he meets you through an incident with his daughter, and he realizes that this single dad is oh so lonely.

dynamic ? holland march x reader

word count : 3.4K / genre : fluff!

includes: holland march talking way too much, holland march being a crybaby, mentions of one (1) house fire and one (1) dead wife, reader is a normal level of funny and nice and that makes holland want to explode, lots of pining and holland being stupid cause he makes me laugh notes: i've watched project hail mary twice and im now revisiting everything ive watched ryan gosling in, so i needed to write holland march stuff because he's my wife. maybe i'll write ryland grace stuff someday.......

there are very few times that holland's life has noticeably improved. the day of his daughter's birth, one hundred percent. creating a detective duo company with healy, for sure. apart from those two specific events, everything he has ever endured was founded on last-minute prayers for survival. something about the weakness of his spirit, his addictive personality, and his tendency to find the hopelessness in everything has often left him doggy paddling to shore. this is objectively a bad thing.

not to holland, though. to holland, that just means that the highs are so high that, on the rare occasion they hit him, it's incredible that he doesn't pass out when they occur. but this third noticeable improvement of his life might actually be the first time he does faint.

holly was reteaching him how to drive a car by spewing unsolicited advice at every street sign. they were cruising by yet another beach. a particularly bad investigation hit him and healy last weekend, and it left him bruised up like a dropped mango. he had a black eye and a trickle of purple dots from the neck to the chest. doctors also suspected his ankle might have been sprained, but so far there had been no clear signs, which was enough for him to pop a few pain pills and call it a day. his hands were good too. at least, his left hand was. the knuckles on his right were wrapped in gauze that would not stop staining. no matter. he kept that hand on his lap as he drove with his left. but the suckiest part was that they didn't even solve the case. a man named mr. watkins was still missing and they had ran out of clues.

"i don't think jess is gonna notice one cookie out of a dozen missing," he was telling holly, ignoring her backseat driving.

"it's called a dozen for a reason, dad. it's a number. and i baked enough cookies specifically for me and her family."

"ah! it's actually 'her family and i,'" he corrected and beckoned his hand again. still, nothing dropped.

"no, it's 'me and her family.' the choice between 'me' or 'i' depends on how the sentence would sound without the additional object."

holland readjusted in his seat. "... you and her family," he muttered.

if his memory served him right, jess' place would be two streets down to the left, then another three streets until they got to a two story house on the slope of mitchell drive. he turned down his music to focus a little more, but suddenly two hands grabbed his shoulders from behind. "w-wait, that's her house!"

holland screamed and his head whipped to check all surroundings, then followed holly's pointed finger to see a different two story house, five streets before the expected destination. his daughter's grip was so tight, he pulled over regardless and turned into a calmer street to park by the sidewalk. "you sure? i could have sworn it was a little farther down."

but holly was adamant. "nope, this is it," and she jumped out of the car like a bat out of hell. holland looked around again.

"but we saw that motorcycle accident by the four-way stop," he said, half to holly and half to himself. weird. normally, he didn't doubt holly on these things, but the motorcycle was a pretty vivid memory. they saw it together two weeks ago, right after healy told him the story of his worst crash. it made holland want to puke.

just like that, holly was gone with the bag of cookies in her hand. he settled into the driver's seat and watched her carefully tread up to the stairs, but still keeping her head high. he thought to say hello to the parents. surprisingly, he hit it off with them last time. maybe he should go after holly, he thought. he rested his arm on the outside of the car and saw the door open after three polite knocks.

jess' parents didn't greet her at the door, though, unless jess' mom got a new haircut, hair color, style, and shoes. from afar, he couldn't see much. the woman was young, maybe his age (jess' parents waited a long while before kids), and dressed casually. she spoke to holly with a calm expression, but guarded in a way. did they get jess a babysitter? no, holly baked for their family. and he wasn't even sure this was the right house. but again, it was hard to doubt holly when she was usually right about everything.

you were the one actually at the door. you were trying to do your own research on your latest case, but someone knocked, not like you were expecting visitors. your new air freshener already got delivered yesterday. still, you opened it and were met with a sweet, blonde teenage girl.

"excuse me," she said politely, and asked if this was the house of a person with the same name as yours. naturally, you said she had the right person, and she nodded, pleased with herself. "my name is holly march and i'm looking to ask you a couple questions about a man named mr. watkins."

you huffed out a laugh, intrigued but incredibly confused. the girl was well spoken, but she couldn't have been older than twelve, and what was her involvement with mr. watkins? "i'm sorry, i'm not too sure i follow," you said politely.

she seemed to grow irritated and covered the reaction poorly with a deep breath. "mr. watkins was an insurance agent on the edge of california that went missing approximately a week ago. i'm trying to find information about his most recent whereabouts and what occurred before his disappearance, and i was told you might have some intel."

you smiled at the bizarre nature of this conversation. she was talking about a real case that you were very well aware of, but she sounded like a spy in a children's television show. "i don't think i have any information you would want," you replied, still trying to figure out how in the world this girl got your address. "barely learned anything about the guy when i was involved with his family."

"miss, if you would cooperate, i promise this will be both quicker and easier for the both of us," she insisted, and you bit back the bigger smile that threatened to appear on your face. this girl was half a foot shorter than you, not to mention with a bag of cookies in her hands.

you pointed at them, unable to resist. "you gonna bribe me with these next?"

she didn’t find it funny. you did, though. and luckily, you didn’t have to answer to whatever scripted lecture she was going to put you through, because holland finally figured, ‘yeah, there’s no way this is where jess lives. i commented on the front yard ‘cause of their dog statue outside and they said it was the shining star of their decor—so where the hell is it?’ and he walked over.

his footsteps grew closer, which caused holly’s shoulders to tense and refuse to turn. something was definitely wrong. he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride. this was why he was a detective. he reached the stoop of the house and invitied himself onto it. he placed his hands upon holly’s shoulders in claiment. “deepest apologies, this is my daughter, i don’t know what she’s—!”

and he froze. quite possibly the most gorgeous woman in the world was standing in the door way, smiling, and looking directly at him. your hair framing your face, your clothes fitting you in all the right ways, the twitch of your nose as you smiled a second longer. you had a way of making casual wear look worthy of a editorial. he didn’t even know if you put on makeup today. maybe it was just your natural glow. was he crazy for already thinking about what to wear for a proposal? holland had a specific type. it wasn’t rare, but he knew what got his attention. and you seemed to had hit the jackpot without even knowing you were on a game show, called “can we kill march with just a look?” he had yet to say anything. but the importance of talking in a conversation hadn’t hit him yet, and instead, he just grasped holly’s shoulders even tighter to ground himself.

your smile never faltered, even as he gaped at you so obviously. instead, you leaned against the door frame and said, “hello.”

“hi,” he squeaked. a beat passed of the two of you just looking at each other, but holly seemed to have other plans that revolved around the logistics of the situation.

she squirmed out of her dad’s touch and announced your name with a tinge of defeat. “she’s another detective in LA looking into mr. watkins' disappearance,” she sighed.

holland was about to cum in his pants. he wiped any possible crumbs that were left on his mustache from breakfast and let out a hiccup of a laugh, nervous and completely out of his depth. “detective! what do you know, a chance to… network, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” you didn’t miss the way he breathed out those last words. he did, though. he was too caught up in how pleasurable it was.

you crossed your arms and nodded. "nice to meet you too, detective...?"

"march! detective march!" he then felt his suit pockets, knowing damn well he had the flyer healy gave him. "uh, i work with my buddy, healy, we're new on the scene. or, not new, we were just—! we both did our own thing, and now we're together, heh! er, not together, i'm not—! not like there's anything wrong with that." he found his saving grace in his inside pocket, pulling out the small yellow sheet and unfolded it. "we're called the nice guys. it's funny, 'cause!" he cleared his throat. "we can do it the nice way or the... you get it. i thought it was cool. when i first heard it, i mean, i didn't make it up. just in case you didn't... think it was cool." and he finally held it out for you to inspect. "in which case, i can be swayed to think the same."

in his peripherals, he could spot holly visibly upset. he just hadn't had a lot of time recently on the playing field, that's all. he watched you carefully as you checked the paper front and back, then looked back up at him. "i like the graphic. you wanna trade?"

"trade? what do you mean, trade?" he stammered.

you pulled out your wallet and, from that, a business card. white, sleek, semi-matte, with your name and contact information. "i don't have a cool picture of myself on it, but since we're meeting," you offered, then held it out.

he took it with both hands and bowed in thanks. "great! contacts!" he then shook his head. get on track, holland, jesus. "um, again, sorry for bothering you. my daughter's very independent, and my partner and i have been struggling with a watkins case for a while now. she could be a detective someday, not like i recommend it," he said.

you held up a hand and replied, "it's no problem, really. i actually had a mrs. watkins reach out to me and i looked into it for a while, but i had to decline further investigation. i'm just too busy."

"ah, me too. everyone's dying in LA," he replied, leaving out the important fact that this was the first case he and healy have had in a while. they accounted it to a dry spell, or so they thought. "but um, how far did you get with your investigation?"

"i was talking to watkins' ex-wife."

holland paused. "he has an ex-wife?"

you smiled. his somewhat pathetic nature was unknown to him, but you still couldn't help it. there was a level of charm that his stammering held. "how about this: come inside for a drink, i'll tell you what i know, and i'll even throw in a little check-up 'cause those bruises aren't looking great."

holly's eyes lit up for her plan, albeit taking a turn or two, worked out. meanwhile, holland touched his eye unconsciously with his gauzed hand and looked down at his unbuttoned collar, the other bruises on full display. how badly did he look standing next to you? "that's... great. that'd be really great. i hope we wouldn't be disturbing your boyfriend or anything."

"i don't have a boyfriend."

a tiny, passable, desperate noise slipped out of his mouth, which he then stuffed with his gauzed knuckles until he bit down too hard and agitated the wounds; he pulled his hand out after. "that's... wow. me neither."

it took him a second for him to realize it, a second you willingly gave him. when he exclaimed, you just opened the door and said, "come in, detective march."

still recovering from his fumble, he walked in and his daughter followed. "you can call me holland, i don't mind." he turned around and began to walk backwards to keep his eyes on you. "but would you like me to keep formalities with you?"

"you can call me by my first name," you assured, and gently nudged him to turn back around. the brush of your hand made him squirm, but hopefully he hid it well (he didn't). "take a seat. make yourself at home."

your house was nice. extremely comfortable and stylish, but personal. he didn't have the time to look closely at any framed photos, but he spotted a few pictures of family and friends, vacations and award ceremonies. blankets were folded neatly across the couch, shoes were in line at the door, and was that an oil diffuser in the corner? "lovely place you got," he called out, tracing the edges of his gauze with his free hand.

you busied yourself going through your bathroom and office, collecting journals, notes, and your first aid kit that was under the sink. you replied, throwing your voice down the hall, "thank you! i paid it off a year ago." you balanced the items on top of each other, then walked back with the stack of items and placed them on the kitchen island. "want a drink?"

"oh—!" he raised his hand but soon pulled it back. did he really want to drink around you? one drink would turn to two, and then he'd be begging for you to drink his third with him. "i'll just have water," he corrected. he adjusted his hips and leaned back, his arm behind him, and zoned out watching you gather your things.

matter of fact, all he did was watch you. when you replaced his bandages, when you reported what you knew on the watkins. more so whenever you brushed your hair away from your face or laughed at a note you couldn't make out in your books. you were probably telling him really important stuff, but he decided quickly that since holly would remember everything, why bother paying attention? they were on a first-name basis now, he didn't have to be overly professional.

in the midst of you rewrapping his gauze and explaining the last conversation watkins had with his ex-wife, holland blurted out, "so no boyfriend." you raised your brow at him.

"no boyfriend. not for a while," you replied. "the last one didn't like my work hours. said i was putting myself in danger. i think he just didn't like that i came back unharmed from the danger all the time. made it look like i had my shit together. how horrible."

"you really do," he breathed out and held back the urge to look you up and down. no biggie, he could just stare into your eyes. "you got a good job, comfortable life, great house."

"where do you live?"

"not too far from here. got a nice place myself. this is kind of my area. which is why i was so confused when my daughter here tried to trick me into thinking this was her friend's house for me to drop her off at. i know all of LA like the back of my head." he tapped his temple, but in doing so, unraveled the gauze yet to be secured. he panicked, little oh, oh no's leaving his lips, but you grabbed them calmly and rewrapped the losses.

"back of your head, huh? here i thought the saying was back of your hand," you teased. the tiny, little gears in holland's head clicked about, but you continued speaking. "well, mr. march, after i wrap this up, you can take my notes with you back to mrs. march and enjoy a lovely early dinner."

he jumped on the opportunity you gave him, spurting out, "oh, there's no mrs. march." you raised your brows again, this time in acknowledgement. "she died. house fire."

after a quick pause, you dutifully focused on the gauze. you really shouldn't have entertained the flirting, now, huh? you replied with a solemn tone you quickly mustered. "that's horrible, i'm so sorry."

but he shook his head. "no, no, no! it's alright! it was a long time ago. and truth be told, i think she would've taken me down with her if i was home when it happened." he looked up in thought. "both of us knew the relationship would only end if one of us died. we would've done anything to keep arguing with each other."

"huh." you took in this information as you finished securing the gauze. when it was done, you gave it a gentle pat and said, "well, at least you both made peace with it?"

"of course. if it was me that went down, i wouldn't have been too bitter, so i'm sure she was alright going down." a beat passed and he turned his head back to you with a sudden, sweetie-pie smile. "thank you for the check up."

he was a real character, wasn't he? "anytime." this reply caused many scenarios to flash through holland's mind: him appearing at your door, bloodied and bruised, saying in a deep, gravelling voice that he had nowhere else to go. you taking care of him in the bathroom. a steamy make out session in the tub. but he blinked and was back in reality.

"so, if i have any questions or if i can't make out a word or two in your notes?"

"you can call me."

"i'd be happy to come over—i mean, call you," he corrected. you stood up and packed the books and printed packets into a box for him, then escorted him to the front door where you said your goodbyes, not like holland wanted to leave. he had the thought of pretending to faint so you had to take care of him more, maybe bring him to a bedroom, but holly was too excited about the new information.

"been great meeting you. uh, parting gift!" he looked to his daughter and whispered, "the cookies, holly."

she clutched them to her chest. "but they were just a decoy. i was gonna bring them to maxine's tomorrow."

"yeah, you should've thought about that before bringing us to this lovely woman who really helped us out, now give her the cookies."

it wasn't like you couldn't hear, but it felt like familial matters that you shouldn't be intruding on. holly sighed and held out the bag, which you took with a sincere thanks and an additional vague apology, to which holland just waved his hand in dismissal. "you did more than enough," he told you.

you took one final look at him. he wasn't all that bad looking. the mustache, the suit, the slicked back hair that had easily fallen down in the past hour you've been together. again, the messy, pathetic nature of it all was a little endearing. he definitely noticed you looking too, because he gave you some eyes of his own, looking you up and down and smiling with a little more flirt. "get home safe," you said.

"you too," he giggled, too lost in his delight to notice his slip up. and not wanting to give the universe a chance to ruin this moment, he urged holly down the stoop and sped to the car. you lingered at the door. he hopped into the driver seat with a beaming smile, then checked himself in the rear view mirror. the smile then faded and he frantically drove his fingers through his hair to fix it, looked at you, realized you were watching, then drove off. you weren't even sure if he was a good detective. all signs pointed to that being unlikely. still, you couldn't help but check the flyer he gave you one more time before hanging it onto your fridge.

[elalalune]

An au where Driver starts stalking his cute older neighbour and even becomes a bus driver so he can see Grace often 🙈

[grickle14]

Good times.

[downsobadforthatoneguy]

Friday I'm in Love

Ryland Grace x Reader

warnings : dangerous amounts of awkward, nerdy ryland? terrible writing, not edited summary : ryland has a crush on the kindergarten teacher that his class visits once a month w/c : 4.3k a/n : the chokehold this man has on me is INSANE

It was the last Friday of the month, Ryland’s favorite day. Once a month, he got to walk his homeroom class ten minutes down the street to the local elementary school. Once a month, his students got to hang out with their kindergarten buddies. Once a month, he got paid to sit around and be with her. 

Y/n was the kindergarten teacher he was partnered up with. Last year he had been stuck with Mrs. Wilson. Her classroom always smelled of microwaved fish and sweaty fourth graders. She also had a bad habit of leaving the classroom without telling him, leaving him alone with nearly sixty children. Y/n was very different. Her classroom always smelled of lavender and citrus, and the only time he had ever been alone in her classroom was when she dropped the students off at lunch and went to the restroom. 

Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm. 

However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face. 

This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were. 

They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students. 

“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner. 

“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed. 

Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot. 

The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it. 

He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners? 

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only. 

The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note. 

“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him. 

Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing. 

The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand. 

“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly. 

“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her. 

“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked. 

A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question. 

“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.” 

Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.” 

The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!” 

He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.” 

The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips. 

He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same. 

“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him. 

His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!

“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot. 

But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work. 

The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling. 

This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot. 

“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?” 

Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly. 

“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot. 

The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’. 

“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students. 

Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he  would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?

Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle. 

The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.

His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath. 

“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s. 

Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world. 

He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him. 

“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!” 

Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him. 

He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already. 

He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid. 

Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating. 

The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids. 

Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats. 

“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air. 

He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air. 

“I know! I know!” 

“Tell me, Amaya!” 

“The sun!” 

“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.” 

Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher. 

“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to. 

“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?” 

There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’. 

“What is it, Jack?” 

“Mercury!” 

“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles. 

“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?” 

“Uh, Venus?” 

“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again. 

He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin. 

He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand. 

They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it. 

“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working. 

Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name. 

“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface. 

“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl. 

“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly. 

“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little. 

“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand. 

“What?” 

“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.” 

Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?” 

Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.” 

Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer. 

It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain. 

“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. 

Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again. 

“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers. 

They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work. 

Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp. 

Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together. 

“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags. 

“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door. 

He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway. 

He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”

Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain. 

“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out. 

Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.” 

He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers. 

He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring. 

“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain. 

He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause. 

“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!” 

“Finally did it!”

“You wanted her so bad!” 

“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”

He rolled his eyes but smiled as soon as he sat down. Now he just had to survive the date. 

[zosin-ya]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 15 - ꜰʟᴇᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ

Summary: It was long overdue for you to properly meet his parents. Nerves were gnawing at you — the last time you’d seen them hadn’t ended well. Now was the time to make amends and finally get to know Law’s hometown. Tags: Law x Reader, Modern AU, dinner with his parents, father son convo, talks about your future, sfw

a.n: I really need to stop apologizing for showing up randomly and late — it’s become a habit. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter; there’s some sweet fluff waiting for you at the end.

[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

"Crazy how the weather can change so much..." you muttered quietly, gazing out the window of the sea train as it sped toward the icy North Blue. The once-clear skies had darkened, and the air inside the cabin felt colder with every passing mile.

"Have you even seen snow before?"

You turned to Law, unimpressed, only to be met with his signature smug grin.

"Of course I have. Have you ever seen the sun?"

Law rolled his eyes, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he shifted in his seat, settling in more comfortably. The trip back to his hometown never really bothered him—if anything, he found it strangely soothing. The vast, open sea stretching out on either side of the train and the steady rhythm of the waves as they sliced through the water helped quiet the usual noise in his mind.

"...Are you nervous?"

You knew exactly what he meant. With a slow exhale, your gaze drifted back to the window. “The first meeting with your parents wasn’t exactly… ideal.”

“Would it help if I told you they’re probably just as nervous?”

“You sure?”

“Mom? Definitely. Dad? ...Less so. But yeah, he’s probably overthinking it too.”

His tone was easy, but there was something grounding in it—reassuring in a way only he could be. You weren’t doing this alone. Not this time. He was here, beside you.

You hummed softly, mostly to yourself, leaning back in your seat. Eyes half-lidded, you tried to let the steady rhythm of the train, the gentle sway and the muted hum of the tracks, lull you into something resembling calm. If nothing else, you could at least enjoy the ride.

After hours of swaying train cars, muffled conversations, and the steady clatter of wheels over rails, the sea train finally rolled into Flevance station with a sigh of brakes and a hiss of steam.

You stepped onto the platform, the weight of the long journey still clinging to your limbs. Law followed close behind, hauling both your bags like it was nothing. And then the cold hit—sharp and immediate, slicing through every layer you wore. Your breath caught. Goosebumps flared across your skin. No matter how many coats or scarves you packed, the North had a way of reaching right through them.

From the corner of your eye, you could feel Law watching you.

You turned just in time to catch his expression—one part amusement, one part smugness. Of course he was fine. Dressed like it was fall instead of the dead of winter: jeans, a hoodie, a beanie slouched over his hair. No coat. No gloves. Not even a flinch.

“Cold?” he asked, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he stepped ahead with an easy, practiced stride—like he’d never left this place.

You tugged your scarf up higher, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “What? No. I’m great, actually.”

He threw a glance over his shoulder that said he didn’t believe a word of it.

“Good,” he drawled, shifting the bags with practiced ease. “Because if you’re not cold, we could just walk. My parents’ place isn’t far. Thirty minutes on foot. Max. You’ll love it—especially dodging the black ice. Wouldn’t want you cracking that pretty head open.”

You laughed, breath puffing out in white wisps. The snark was ready on your tongue—but then you saw it, just as you exited the train station and stepped on the pavement together.

Flevance.

The city stretched out before you, blanketed in pristine snow. Under the pale winter sunlight, the buildings gleamed like they’d been dusted with powdered sugar. The air was sharp and clean, and everything seemed… quiet. Not empty, just still. Like the snow had softened the edges of the world.

You stood there for a moment, letting your gaze wander. You could almost picture it: a much smaller Law, trudging through these streets with hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, collar turned up against the wind.

Your eyes shifted away from the city slowly. Off to the side, a neat row of taxis waited along the curb, each one idling quietly, their drivers leaned back in their seats with practiced patience. The thought of sliding into a warm car, letting the heater blast against your frozen hands—it was dangerously tempting.

But Law wasn’t about to make this easy.

“Or,” he said, tipping his head toward the line of cabs as he continued his tease from before, “you wanna admit defeat and grab a taxi, Miss ‘I’m not cold at all’?” The grin on his face was downright evil.

You rolled your eyes, teeth chattering just a little.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “It’s cold. Taxi it is.”

He chuckled as if he’d won a battle, and helped you load your things into the trunk. Law took the front seat, chatting casually with the driver, while you sank gratefully into the back. The heater kicked in almost immediately, thawing your fingers as the city began to slip past the window.

The bustling heart of Flevance faded as the car wound its way into quieter, more refined neighborhoods. The streets grew wider. The homes, grander. Space became a luxury—and here, it was everywhere. Snow clung to wrought-iron gates and lined stone walkways like frosting on a cake.

You pressed your cheek lightly against the cold glass, watching it all pass by.

It was a different world for you.

And for the first time since arriving, you felt like you were stepping into Law’s story—not just hearing about it, but walking the same streets, breathing the same air.

Even if it was way too cold.

The car eased to a stop in front of an estate that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread, letting you two exist and grab your luggage. The house stretched wide and elegant across the snowy landscape, its grand façade framed by tall iron gates and carefully sculpted hedges now dusted with snow. As the driver pulled away, the cold crept back in, and you stood there for a moment beside Law, your breath fogging in the icy air.

You tilted your head, arms folded tight against the chill. “You know,” you said, eyeing the long driveway leading up to the house, “you can always tell how rich someone is by how far the front door is from the gate.”

Law arched a brow, already pressing the doorbell. “Never understood the appeal of a long-ass driveway anyway.”

You gave him a sidelong look, grinning. “To show off how rich you are, obviously.”

He glanced at you, deadpan. “You can sleep outside in the snow if you keep that shit going.”

The gate buzzed and clicked open, and you let out a quiet chuckle as you both stepped through.

The walk to the front door was slow and cautious, the stone path slick with ice in places. You shuffled forward, trying to maintain dignity while not landing flat on your cheeks. Law, naturally, walked like the ice didn’t even exist.

At the door, warm light spilled out as it opened to reveal two smiling figures: Lea and Matheo, bundled in sweaters and radiating that familiar warmth of parents who’d been waiting by the window. As soon as you stepped inside, a wave of heat wrapped around you, so comforting it was almost overwhelming.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lea said, pulling Law into a hug so tight he had to shift your bags to one arm. “It’s so lovely to see you again. You really should visit more often.”

Law looked vaguely cornered, but you caught the faintest tug of a smile on his lips.

Matheo turned to you with a kind expression. “It’s nice to see you too, Y/N.” His voice was soft, like he was trying to bridge something left unspoken since the ceremony. You appreciated it more than you let on.

“Thank you for having me,” you said, still thawing out. “I’m definitely not used to this kind of cold.”

“Oh right, winters aren’t like this in the East, are they? I nearly forgot,” Lea said, finally letting go of her son and turning her full attention to you. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

She ushered you through the entryway, where your boots and jacket were quickly replaced with cozy slippers. As you followed her into the house, your eyes roamed curiously, taking in the space. This was Law’s childhood home. You’d imagined it before, but seeing it was something else entirely.

It was elegant, no doubt—high ceilings, tasteful décor, furniture that looked like it belonged in an art gallery. But there were touches of real life scattered everywhere: slightly crooked photo frames, kids’ drawings still taped to the walls, worn out books messily scattered on every possible surface.

It wasn't just a house, but a home...

The living room gave way to a sprawling kitchen, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered like a warm blanket. You took a deep breath, already starting to feel your fingers again. Through the wide glass door leading into the garden, you spotted something that made you blink: a barbecue grill, smoke rising into the frozen air.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait… are we actually grilling?”

Law smirked. “Forgot to mention that?”

Lea handed you a mug, her laughter warm. “This is the North—we adapt.”

You cradled the coffee gratefully, inhaling the steam. “We’ll have to do it in the East one day. I’ll show you how to grill without frostbite.”

“We'd love that,” Lea chuckled and looked at her husband, who nodded in agreement with a smile. He was already shrugging into his jacket, which had been draped over a kitchen chair. He moved with an easy calm, but there was something deliberate in the way he glanced at his son.

“Law, give me a hand out there?”

“Sure dad.”

He gave you a quick look, like he was checking in before heading off. “Wanna come outside or stay warm with Mom?”

You laughed, hugging your coffee to your chest. “I’ve made enough bad life choices. I’ll stay inside, thanks.”

Law disappeared to grab his shoes, and you watched as the two of them stepped out into the snow. Just before the glass door slid shut behind them, Law reached for a bottle on the counter—something clear that looked oodly familiar—and two small glasses.

Vodka. Not just for the taste. More like armor against the cold.

You watched them through the window for a moment, two silhouettes in the white haze, father and son side by side in the swirling snow.

Inside, you stayed with Lea, setting the table and falling into a surprisingly easy rhythm. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the kind that starts light but somehow ends up deeper than you expect—full of little laughs and unexpected warmth. You hadn’t anticipated it, not after everything, but something about her made it easy to let your guard down.

Outside, Law stood beside his father, boots crunching softly on the snow-packed stone as they hovered near the grill. Smoke curled upward into the winter sky while the fire popped and hissed beneath the lid.

“It’s good to have you back,” Matheo said, placing skewers across the grill before lowering the lid. “How’s the hospital now that you’ve got that first diploma under your belt?”

Law wiped a bit of coal dust from his fingers and slipped his hands into his pockets. He hesitated—part of him tempted to offer the usual half-answer. But after everything, especially after how things had nearly fallen apart with you, he’d made a quiet promise to stop pretending everything was fine.

He glanced at the smoke curling in the air, then at his father.

“Honestly? It’s been shit.”

Matheo didn’t react with surprise at first—just gave a slow nod as he reached for the bottle sitting nearby. And Law was quite grateful for it. He uncapped it and poured two shots of clear liquor. They clinked them together without a word and drank, the silence between them as heavy and meaningful as the conversation.

“Professors giving you hell?”

Law gave a slight shrug. “Some of them, yeah. But… that’s not the main thing.” His breath came out in a visible cloud as he stared into the steam rising from the grill. “Things didn’t go well with Y/N after the ceremony.”

Matheo glanced over, curiosity—and something else, too. Hope, maybe, that his son might finally open up. “We talked about it, your mom and I,” he said. “Rosinante told us some of what happened. We’re sorry, Law. We didn’t realize how much damage we’d done.”

Law gave a small nod. “Thanks, Dad. But… I messed up too.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the liquid in his glass. “Y/N was disappointed. Rightfully so. I let her walk into that whole situation blind. You guys didn’t even know I was bringing someone, let alone someone with history tied to Yuki.”

That name settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Matheo didn’t speak at first, just took another sip. His gaze was steady, his voice low. “There’s more to that, isn’t there?”

Law nodded again, slower this time. “I told Y/N everything. About Lamy. About Yuki. She deserves the truth.” He sighed again, deeper this time. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to drop everything on his father, but it had been a long time coming. This secret had sat too long between them, and he knew it would change how Matheo saw Yuki. But it had to.

“She does,” Matheo said softly. He turned toward Law fully now, the quiet weight of fatherhood sitting in his posture. “Especially if she matters to you.”

“More than anything...,” Law replied without hesitation. “And I almost lost her dad... Because I thought I had to handle everything on my own.”

The words hung in the air for a beat. Then he sighed, downed the rest of his glass in one go, and poured another. His hand shook just slightly as he set the bottle down.

“I told her the full story,” he continued. “And I need you to hear it too.”

Matheo said nothing, just stood quietly and listened as Law told him everything—how it started with Yuki, the history that bound them, the manipulation, the things she did to you… and what she nearly cost him.

By the time Law finished, Matheo’s brows had drawn together, his jaw tight. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t question. He simply reached for his glass, emptied it, and poured a fresh one for them both.

“That…” he began, shaking his head slowly, “sounds like a damn fever dream.”

Law laughed once—dry and flat. “Feels like one too.”

“And she did all that?” Matheo asked, brows furrowing deeper. “To you? To Y/N? Out of what—spite? Jealousy?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Law muttered, rubbing his hands together more out of habit than cold. “Control, maybe. She was good at it. Scarily good.”

Matheo cursed under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. His expression hovered between fury and disbelief, but beneath it all was a flash of something deeper—helplessness. He wished he’d known sooner. Wished he could’ve seen the signs, stepped in, shielded his son before it ever got this far. Law was his only child. And the thought that he’d suffered in silence, carrying all of this alone… it cut deeper than words could reach.

But beneath it all was something else—relief, maybe, or a quiet kind of pride. Law had finally told him the truth. No walls, no half-truths, no pretending. Just honesty. And Matheo clung to that. He told himself to focus on what mattered now, not drown in guilt over what he couldn’t change.

He hadn’t been there for Law then. But he could be here now. Present. Listening. Showing up in the ways that counted.

“Thanks for telling me,” Matheo said at last, his voice low but steady. A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips as he reached out, resting a firm hand on Law’s shoulder and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “If you ever need to talk more—about any of it—you can call me. Anytime, alright? Even if I’m working, I’ll make time. Always.”

Law offered a crooked grin. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it… and—sorry for dropping a bomb on you in the middle of a barbecue.”

Matheo chuckled, the sound weary but genuine. “Not the first time you’ve shaken up dinner.”

They might’ve said more, but the kitchen door creaked open, and Lea poked her head out with a grin, your figure right behind her with a warm smile.

“Well? Are we eating tonight or waiting for the next solstice?” she called, her breath puffing into the cold.

“We’re coming!” Matheo replied, already moving to lift the lid and start plating the food. The meat was perfectly grilled, the smell rich and savory as they transferred everything into a large pot, sealing it up tight against the cold.

Law glanced at you through the glass door. You were smiling, eyes bright—and he felt something shift. A quiet peace.

Together, they headed back inside, the rush of warmth greeting them immediately. The dining table was already beautifully set, covered with an array of colorful, mouthwatering side dishes. It looked like a feast—comforting, hearty, and made with care.

Law glanced at you as he set the pot down, something lighter in his eyes now. Maybe things weren’t fixed yet—but this, all of it, felt like a start.

Dinner passed with a surprising lightness. Whatever conversation had taken place between Law and Matheo outside seemed to have lifted much of the tension that had hovered over the afternoon. The atmosphere now felt warmer—easier. You found yourself growing more comfortable, especially as you and Lea fell into friendly conversation, getting to know each other better over bites of perfectly grilled food and rich side dishes.

“Heard Law told you a bit about our little sunshine, Lamy?” Matheo said, his tone light as he sliced into a piece of tender, marinated meat, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

You looked up from your plate, a little caught off guard. The name had weight, even in its gentlest form. You hadn’t expected them to bring up their daughter—especially not in the middle of dinner. But both of Law’s parents wore expressions filled with warmth, not sorrow.

“A bit, yes…” you said softly, unsure however. “Though... not in much detail.”

Lea gave a quiet, wistful laugh. “You two would’ve gotten along. We hadn’t planned on having two kids, but she was the best surprise life ever gave us.”

Law let out a mock-offended scoff, raising an eyebrow. “And what does that make the firstborn?”

"You were our trial run sweetheart,” Lea teased, grinning.

Law shook his head, but his grin said he didn’t mind the teasing. You couldn’t help but laugh with them, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. This wasn’t just a family meal—it felt like being let into something sacred. A quiet kind of intimacy .

“If you two want to dig through some old memories later, the photo albums are all in the office,” Lea offered with a smile as she stood to refill the water and wine.

“Maybe after dinner,” Law murmured, glancing down at his plate. “And a hot shower.”

He stretched slightly, then yawned mid-motion—clearly not as awake as he wanted to be.

“Tired as always, huh?” Matheo asked, casual and knowing.

“Yeah. Long week. Same as always.”

“When is it not a long week?” Matheo chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve got to slow down before your body makes the choice for you.”

“He’s picked up kendo again,” you chimed in, looking over at Law. “That’s been eating up what little free time he had.”

At that, both parents paused, brows rising in near-unison.

Law leaned back, his plate cleared, and took the fresh glass of wine his mom handed him with a quiet nod of thanks.

“Seriously?” Matheo asked in disbeliefe.

Law took a sip, slow and thoughtful, then glanced your way—his silent cue for you to tell the story. It had started with you, after all.

“We went a tournament—friend of mine was competing. It stirred up some old instincts, I guess. Same friend’s been helping him train again,” you explained, setting your fork down. “Little by little. It’s been good for him.”

Law chuckled softly, rubbing at his eyes. “He’s ruthless. Doesn’t care if I’m exhausted. Says I need to ‘remember how to move like I mean it.’”

Lea’s eyes softened as a smile crept across her face. “Wow… Honestly, sweetheart, I never thought you’d pick up Kikoku again. Not after everything.”

Law didn’t reply right away, just looked down into his wine. Then, with a quiet shrug, he murmured, “Guess I missed it more than I realized.”

The table fell into a peaceful silence for a moment—not heavy, but reflective. Like everyone was letting that bit of truth settle before moving on.

Lea smiled as if recalling something distant but dear. It was clear the news meant a lot to her—she knew how much that practice used to help him unwind, especially after long days at school. After Lamy’s death, he’d slowly let go of so many things he once loved. To see him pick something back up again—it felt like a step forward.

It felt like your influence had something to do with it.

His parents could sense it—that subtle shift. Like the version of Law they remembered was slowly resurfacing. The one who used to light up over things he cared about, who smiled more easily, who carried a spark of life that had been missing for a long time.

Eventually, plates were scraped clean, glasses half-full of the last sips of wine, and the cozy lull of satisfaction settled over the table. Lea began gathering dishes, brushing off your offer to help with a gentle smile.

"You’re our guest tonight. Go on, relax," she said, stacking plates with practiced ease.

Matheo stretched in his chair and stood up with a low groan. “I’ll help her. You two head upstairs and get settled. It’s been a long day.”

Law gave a quiet nod of thanks and stood, waiting for you to follow. After a final round of smiles and goodnights, you walked with him through the hallway and up the stairs, his hand casually carrying your bags.

He led you into his old bedroom—its walls a deep navy, lined with band posters, certificates, and faded childhood photos. Bits of the past lingered here and there: crayon drawings, dusty toys, a few forgotten books. It felt like the room had been frozen in time since he left for university.

“That’s the bathroom,” he said, pointing to the door on your right. “And before you say anything—yes, I had my own. Spare me the commentary.” He shot you a playful grin as he set your bags down.

You smirked and rolled your eyes. “Sure, privileged northern boy. Not a word.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him settle in beside you.

“…Feeling any better about my parents? “

“Sort of,” you admitted, exhaling as you let yourself fall back onto the mattress, eyes on the ceiling. “Had a nice chat with your mum. But it was all surface-level stuff—uni, weather, food…”

Law didn’t respond right away. He just watched you for a moment, then gave a small, thoughtful nod.

“What about you?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. “Seemed like you had a good talk with your pa.”

Law let out a short chuckle, dropping his gaze as his fingers absently traced the ink on his knuckles. “Sort of… He asked how things went after the ceremony.”

You sat up a little straighter, curiosity sparking. “And?”

“I was honest. Told him it was a mess.” He exhaled heavily, still not meeting your eyes. “Told him about the fight, the whole Yuki situation… everything.”

“Wait—seriously? You told him all of it?”

He nodded. “Everything.”

You went quiet, letting that sink in. You always knew Law was blunt, that wasn’t the surprise. It was the fact that he’d opened to his father so quickly—that he didn’t hold anything back—that caught you off guard.

“And what did your old man say?” you asked, sitting up straighter and inching a little closer.

“He apologized for his part,” Law said, glancing at you briefly before his gaze drifted away again. “And he was shocked—about Yuki.”

“Wait... you actually told him everything she did?”

“Not every detail,” he said with a shrug. “Just the broad strokes.”

“Damn,” you murmured, letting yourself sink slowly back into the mattress. “And your mom?”

“Dad said he’d talk to her. He probably already is, knowing him.” Law let out a quiet sigh as he stood and crouched by his bag, digging through it for fresh clothes. Judging by his movements, he was gearing up for a shower—and just like that, the conversation was over for him.

But not for you. You couldn’t help it—you wanted more. Every little piece. Even if the questions spinning in your head didn’t have solid answers yet, curiosity had a tight grip on you. You had to talk about it.

“What do you think your mom’s reaction will be?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Law folded his clothes with his usual precision, placed them on the bed and walked past the it toward the bathroom. “No idea. Probably shocked.” His voice was so nonchalant it was hard to tell if he really didn’t care—or was just good at pretending. He disappeared behind the bathroom door but didn’t bother closing it.

As he expected, you shifted, following him with a mind full of tangled questions.

“You think she’ll react differently than your dad?”

Law peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the water on. Normally, you’d be watching him, soaking in every inch of him—but right now, your brain was too loud to focus on anything else.

“Definitely,” he said with a soft sigh, stepping under the stream. He visibly relaxed beneath the warm water—warm by his standards, way too cold by yours. “She’s more emotional.”

“Oh, because she’s a woman?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Through the glass, Law shot you an incredulous look, his wet black hair plastered to his face as he rolled his eyes.

“No, dumbass. Cause after Lamy passed, she needed someone to mother. And Yuki fit that role,” he replied, voice calm and matter-of-fact.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You hadn’t thought of it that way. To you, Yuki had always been this villain—but this was something else.

“Do you think she’ll believe what you told your dad?” you asked, softer now.

“She will,” Law said without hesitation, closing his eyes as he lathered shampoo into his hair. “They both know I don’t make things up. And I don’t open up easily. They’ll take it seriously. Don’t stress about it.”

You went quiet for a moment, then nodded to yourself, knowing full well he couldn’t see it. “...A few more allies wouldn’t hurt.”

“Especially my parents.” He paused. “Not that I’m suggesting anything…”

You looked up, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“But they’ve got connections. Ones Yuki depends on. If things blow up again… they could cut her off.” Law opened his eyes and pushed his wet hair back, letting the water stream down his back. He wiped the fog off the shower glass and looked at you, his expression serious. "Honestly? She deserves everything coming to her after all the crap she pulled. If my son ever came to me with a story like that, I’d end her career without a second thought."

Something about the way he said it made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just the fierce protectiveness—it was the fact that he mentioned his son. The idea that he even thought about having kids. That was new. Maybe you were reading too much into it, but you'd never heard him say anything like that before.

You stared at him, caught off guard, your mind scrambling to catch up.

"What?" Law asked, chuckling as he turned away from the glass and rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair. "Too harsh? Bad parenting?"

You blinked, finally managing to answer. “Nah. Honestly, I’d probably beat her up personally.”

Law laughed, shaking his head with a grin. You watched him for a moment before adding, more curious now, “I’ve just... never heard you talk about kids before.”

“I haven’t?” he asked, surprised. The water shut off with a final hiss.

“Nope.” You handed him a towel, which he took and ran over his skin in brisk motions before tying it around his waist—low enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment.

You leaned against the sink while Law grabbed a smaller towel and started drying his hair.

“Isn’t that the kind of topic you’re supposed to cover at the beginning of a relationship?” he asked, voice muffled slightly by the towel.

“Usually,” you said with a soft chuckle, watching him. “Could be a deal breaker if one person wants kids and the other doesn’t. But we kind of jumped into this whole thing without much planning.”

Law let out a low hum, pausing to glance at you. “Yeah... as the whole ceremony disaster proved, I’m not exactly great at handling emotions or recognizing when something’s serious.”

He wasn’t wrong. He had loved you long before he’d been ready to admit it—even to himself. He’d introduced you to his friends, to Rosinante, someone more important than his parents almost. You were already woven into his life, even if he hadn’t acknowledged what that really meant back then. So talking about the future hadn’t exactly been on the table—unless it involved career goals.

You tilted your head, playful but a little hesitant. “Wanna have the deal-breaker talk now?”

“Why not?”

Surprisingly, Law felt just as unsure about the conversation as you did—only he was better at hiding it behind that familiar stoic mask. He tossed the towel over his shoulder and looked straight at you.

“So,” he said, voice even, “you wanna have kids?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yup. Two at least. Only children tend to be brats.”

You raised an eyebrow with a grin. “That a scientific observation, Dr. Law?”

“Very.”

Without thinking much of it, you reached out and shook hands like you'd just signed a contract.

“Alright,” you said. “Deal.”

“Deal."

Just like that—like it was nothing—you’d agreed to build a future together. And somehow, that made it feel even more real.

"Fine," Law exhaled—then, without giving you a second to react, he suddenly hoisted you over his shoulder. “Hey—!” you gasped, flailing a little as you instinctively reached for the towel around his hips, desperately trying not to yank it off. He strolled casually back toward the bedroom, completely unfazed.

“Let’s make some kids, then.”

“What?!” you laughed in disbelief, smacking his shoulder. “You’re insane!”

He just chuckled and dropped you onto the bed like it was nothing. You bounced slightly, still grinning in shock as he reached for the clothes he had folded neatly earlier.

“Relax. I’m kidding,” he said, slipping into his underwear and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “No sex in my old bedroom. That’s just... weird.”

“Why? Because teenage Law thought kissing girls was gross?”

He gave you a look, amused. “Nah. But having all those figurines watching? That’s nightmare fuel. Always hated it.” He pointed to the shelves across the room—lined with neatly arranged figures, still standing guard like tiny plastic sentinels.

“Used to turn them around if I had a girl over.”

You burst out laughing. “That is... incredibly nerdy.”

“And also incredibly thoughtful,” he said with mock pride.

You rolled your eyes playfully and scooted to the edge of the bed to grab your sleeping clothes. “Nerdy and cute. Somehow, that combo works on you.”

A small smile tugged at Law’s lips as he settled beneath the sheets, watching you quietly change. He’d never really pictured himself with a family of his own—not in the traditional sense. To him, family had always been his parents, Rosinante, and the friends he’d grown to trust. That was enough. Or at least, it had been.

But now, with you in his life… the thought didn’t feel so far-fetched. It felt real. Possible. Maybe after university was behind you both, after a few years of carving out your careers—he could actually see it.

A future that wasn’t just ambition and survival, but warmth.

A home.

He stayed quiet as you switched off the light and slid under the covers, curling instinctively into his side like always. Your presence was grounding, familiar. Right.

"...Love you.“

"Love you too, Law.“

>> next chapter in progress

taglist: @mars-mizuko , @tadomikiku , @hopelesslover06 , @loraleiii@mwhahahalasagna , @ttalgi , @metonimia-de-bellota , @parkquimin , @ephemeress , @not-a-glad-gladiator , @littleleelee , @chillerkiller , @lechefian , @kitsunechan707 , @forest-haven , @kaz-0e , @baby5555 , @fashionably-a-hippie , @stuckinmymind22 , @whore-of-many-hot-men , @little-rivers , @spookydragonsong , @riftmage27 , @oneslowsnail , @thekatisspooky , @min-core , @ruthlesscore

(Let me know in the comments and I’ll add you)

[karikarasuno]

The Surgeon Next Door

Neighbor!Law Au Masterlist

(1) the break-up

(2) the dresser incident

(3) but doctors don't smoke?

(4) caught in the act... well almost

(5) the obligatory shoujo sick episode

(6) tv replacement and a favor returned

(7) the cure to a hangover? mortification

(8) after a long day law can only think of one thing. you.

(9) never say no to phone sex

(10) happy birthday, cora!

(11) law's childhood dresser is... impressively sturdy

(12) law does NOT have baby fever. he thinks.

(13) law hates glitter, unless it’s on you apparently

(14) cereal boxes and proposals

(15) law needs a break. good thing you're here to help.

[h0tdog-water]

i don’t give a shit that he’s 6’2 i want him MOANING and WHIMPERING

[thebunnednun]

Whine me up! Rosinante Corazon x Bartender! Reader (Modern AU)

Originally from my "Tempted to touch" series but I think it deserves a spot of its own. Happy Cora Week to everyone!! I love this clumsy man.

Use these songs:

Tempted to Touch by Rupee

Aventura - La Novelita

On with the show!!~

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

Rosinante joined the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates at a bustling club to celebrate their latest victory. The atmosphere was alive with pulsing music and laughter, drinks flowing freely as everyone reveled in the night's festivities. Amidst the animated crowd, Cora sat quietly at the bar, nursing a glass of water, his serene expression belying the chaos around him.

You, working behind the bar as a bartender, couldn't help but notice the lone figure amidst the revelry. Curiosity sparked, you approached Rosinante with a friendly smile, unaware that he couldn't speak. 

“Hey stranger, you enjoying yourself?” 

He looked a little startled by you. He hadn’t expected anyone to strike up a conversation with him tonight. Holding up a polite finger, he dug into his pocket for a moment, pulling out a notepad. He scribbled a cheerful greeting and slid it over to you, hoping to communicate with you. 

‘Hi! Thanks for asking. I’m doing fine.’

Unfortunately for him, his pencil broke. Cora let out a silent groan before reaching into his pockets to find another writing tool. Quiet giggles filled his ears before he looked up to see you pull a pencil from behind your ear and you scribble a cheerful greeting and before sliding it over to him.

‘No problem at all.’

Rosinante, caught off guard by your gesture, glanced at the note with surprise before returning your smile. You picked up a pen and offered it to him and he began to respond in kind, a playful doodle sketched on its surface. It depicted a tiny heart wearing a straw hat, accompanied by a speech bubble saying, "Quiet night?"

You looked up, surprised, then smiled warmly. He reached for the note and wrote underneath, "Not much for the noise. Enjoy watching them have fun."

You chuckled softly, replying with another doodle, this time of a heart holding a pen, writing, "I get that. Sometimes it's nice just to watch."

Rosinante grinned at your doodle, appreciating the whimsy in your communication. Before he could respond, a commotion broke out nearby.

Your coworker, a spirited woman named Maya, known for her contagious enthusiasm (and for getting so hammered with the clients she would dance on the bar), had spotted you at your station. With a mischievous wink, Maya grabbed your hand, urging you to join her on the dance floor.

At first, you resisted, shaking your head with a playful protest. But Maya wasn't easily deterred. She pulled you gently but persistently, whispering, "Come on, just this once! It's your song!"

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

The DJ, sensing the moment, began to cue up your favorite track, its familiar beats filling the air. Initially hesitant, you laughed and shook your head, trying to resist her playful insistence. But Maya wasn't one to take no for an answer. With a playful pout and a persuasive sway, she coaxed you onto the dance floor amidst cheers and encouragement from those nearby. 

“Fine! Just for one song!” You finally relented, stepping onto the dance floor. Caught up in the moment, you began to move, your body responding naturally to the music. Your dance was a display of precise waist control and confident grace, drawing all eyes towards you.

The music enveloped you, with you effortlessly weaving through the crowd with dance moves that showcased your skillful waist control and playful charisma. The club erupted in cheers, friends and strangers alike clapping along to the rhythm, captivated by your impromptu performance.

Meanwhile, Rosinante watched in awe seated at the bar. He couldn't help but watch with rapt attention. His cheeks flushed as he observed your skillful movements and the joyous energy you exuded. He hadn’t expected this tonight, he hadn’t expected you tonight—so vibrant and alive, captivating everyone around you.

The club erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating your impromptu performance. Maya danced alongside you, matching your energy with her own infectious spirit, creating a scene of pure revelry and joy.

Rosinante, mesmerized by your dance, felt a warmth spread through him. He couldn't look away, feeling admiration and perhaps a hint of a crush stirring within him as he watched you shine in the spotlight of the dance floor. His heart pounding in his ears along with the music's beat. 

Meanwhile, Luffy and Zoro noticed Rosinante's fixed gaze on you. With mischievous grins, they nudged Law, who was quietly sipping his drink nearby. Law, ever the strategist, decided to intervene in his own unique way.

"Cora-san seems to need a little nudge," Law remarked casually to Luffy and Zoro.

"I'll help him find it."

Before Rosinante could react, Law had already grasped his hand, feigning concern as he led Rosinante away from the bar. "Let's checkout the DJ booth," Law suggested, his tone masking his true intentions.

Confused but compliant, Rosinante allowed himself to be led towards where you were dancing. Suddenly, Law released his hand, leaving Rosinante standing awkwardly behind you. Flustered, Rosinante attempted to move out of the way, his taller frame proving a challenge in the crowded club.

“Looks like we got a challenger folks!” The DJ boomed over the music leading you to turn around and crank your neck up, up, up at the now standing silent customer.

“Oh it’s you!”

Cora, unsure of what was happening, allowed himself to be led, his mind racing with thoughts of how to gracefully excuse himself from the situation. Just as he was about to attempt to leave, you noticed him and gently grabbed the back of his shirt, preventing his escape.

The music pounded around you as you shouted over the noise, "Hey! Dance with me!"

Startled, Rosinante fumbled for his notepad to write a response, but you took it gently from his hand and pocketed it with a knowing smile. Sensing his hesitation, you hopped up onto a nearby table, waving him forward. Your eyes met his, and he could see the playful challenge in your expression.

“This should be okay, right?”

With a shy nod and a blush coloring his cheeks, Rosinante tentatively joined you at the table. It had been years since he last danced, but with your encouragement and the pulsing beat of the music, he quickly found his rhythm again. His movements were graceful yet tentative at first, but as the song progressed, confidence surged through him.

The dance became a playful exchange of steps and spins, laughter ringing out between you. Rosinante surprised himself with how easily he moved, his tall frame gracefully accommodating your playful gestures. As the music reached a crescendo, he swept you into his arms, one hand securely under your thighs and the other clasping yours. You held onto his waist with your legs and together, you spun in sync, the joy evident on both your faces.

The club erupted into thunderous cheers and applause, celebrating your spontaneous and captivating dance. Even Law, watching from the sidelines with a rare smile, couldn't help but be impressed by Rosinante's unexpected grace and the dorky cuteness between you both.

For Rosinante, this unexpected dance had not only brought him closer to you but also rediscovered a part of himself he thought he had long forgotten. And as the club around him faded, amidst the laughter and celebration, he found himself very grateful for the playful twist of fate that had brought him to your side.

As the song ended, you both took a bow, and the crowd clapped enthusiastically. However, in his attempt to stand tall and bow gracefully, Rosinante rolled his ankle and stumbled, causing a collective gasp from the onlookers.

“Ah shit.”

“There Cora-san goes again!”

“Have you tried drinking some milk?”

Quick to react, Law stepped forward, helping you guide Corazon to a nearby chair. He swiftly retrieved some ice from the bar and placed it gently in a bag on Rosinante's ankle, muttering about the clumsiness under his breath.

Rosinante winced slightly but managed a sheepish smile as he gestured for you to come closer. With a touch of embarrassment, he handed you a note. You gasped in surprise, feeling your pockets and realizing that Rosinante had discreetly taken back his notepad without your notice.

The note was a simple yet heartfelt message, thanking you for the best time he'd had in years with a smiley face that had hearts on both cheeks. You beamed warmly at him, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle-hearted man who had ventured out of his comfort zone for you.

"Can I give you a hug?" you asked softly, seeking permission.

Rosinante's shy eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly, opening his arms. Without hesitation, you dove into his embrace, feeling the warmth and sincerity in his gesture. He felt so fucking good to hug.Even the scent of his cologne, mixed with the subtle aroma of the club and the faint trace of sweat from dancing wasn’t bad at all. 

He was so tall you actually could almost climb into his lap if you wanted. But that would be going pretty far for a first meeting. Instead, you tucked your head into his neck and closed your eyes. His heart was pounding against yours, the rhythm syncing with the lingering excitement of the dance.

‘He’s so fucking cute!~’

In that moment, amidst the music and the crowd, you realized that you weren't the only one feeling a "little" flustered. 

Suddenly, the DJ's voice blasted over the speakers, giving you both a shoutout. "Let's hear it for the cutest couple out here tonight!"

You and Rosinante's cheeks flushed crimson as you snapped your necks to the DJ before shyly looking back at each other. As he sat back in the chair, trying to process the unexpected attention. In his flustered state, he tipped backwards, taking you with him in a gentle fall. Before you could react, his strong arms instinctively wrapped around you, protecting you from the fall. 

You cringed at the echo of the chair slapping against the concrete floor as you ended up in the handsome stranger's lap and pressed up into his chest and neck. 

"Sorry!" he whispered in your ear softly, his voice so warm and soothing that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was then that you realized—he could talk, and his voice was incredibly nice.

The crew members of both the Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates, along with your coworkers and even your manager, let out collective "awes" at the sight of you both, wrapped up in each other's arms. The moment, filled with laughter and warmth, seemed to freeze in time, a perfect tableau of the unexpected

As your coworkers and Law helped you both back up from the chair, the warmth of the moment lingered between you and Rosinante. Despite the stumble, you found yourselves chatting easily, laughter punctuating the conversation as you exchanged stories and shared moments from the night.

Eventually, the festivities began to wind down, and one by one, your friends and colleagues bid their farewells, heading home for the night. Rosinante lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours with a soft smile.

Before he left, he waved goodbye and then gestured towards his pocket. Confused, you looked down and discovered a note tucked neatly into your pocket. With a flutter of anticipation, you unfolded it and read the words written in his neat handwriting.

–

My tiny dancer,

Thank you for the most wonderful evening I've had in years. Your smile lit up the room, and dancing with you was a joy I'll cherish. I hope we can do it again soon! (But hopefully without the ‘accidents’.)

Take care, 

Rosinante

Phone number: XXX- (555) -4567

–

Heart racing with excitement, you looked up to find Corazon already halfway out the door, his shy smile lighting up his face. With a rush of gratitude and newfound connection, you tucked the note safely away, 

You nodded at him, conveying your appreciation and eagerness to see him again, and then playfully blew him a kiss.

Corazon's cheeks flushed crimson once more as he, in a moment of playful realization, pretended to catch the blown kiss, but his attention was momentarily diverted. With a soft thud, he accidentally banged his head against the metal door frame, a mix of embarrassment and amusement crossing his features. You cringed a little bit from the impact and gestured to his forehead. He gave you a thumbs up and your heart relaxed a bit. 

Meanwhile, the other characters in the club had been watching the scene unfold with amused affection. Maya clapped her hands together with a gleeful laugh, thoroughly enjoying the romantic interlude she had inadvertently helped create. Law, who stood nearby, nudged Corazon along, “Come on, you’ll see her again soon,” a rare smile playing on his lips as he observed Corazon's departure.

Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing as Corazon walked away from the club, a smile lingering on his lips. He couldn't shake the butterflies of excitement and anticipation, grateful for the unexpected turn of events that had brought him to you.

Back inside, the club gradually quieted down as patrons began to disperse, each carrying with them memories of a lively celebration and the heartwarming sight of two unlikely dancers. Maya and your other coworkers exchanged knowing glances, silently agreeing to tease you about this later and hound you for updates once you’d texted the clumsy cutie. 

You were a little more smiley as you closed up your section. Standing amidst the remnants of the evening's joy, you felt a sense of possibility and newfound happiness knowing that this night had brought something special into your life—a gentle-hearted man named Corazon, who had danced and rolled his way into your heart. 

You reached for your phone to take a picture of the note. Just in case you lost it. Tucking Corazon's note safely into your pocket, you knew that this was just the beginning of a romance with a gentle-hearted giant named Corazon.

Later that night, as you settled in at home, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Corazon's note once more. With a smile, you carefully unfolded it and read the words again, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. You decided to send him a text, wanting to talk to him again.

----

Unknown: Hi Corazon! It's [Name] from the club. I made it home safely. Thank you for the lovely note. 😊

----

Meanwhile, across town, Corazon lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged and his ankle elevated, the result of an unexpected mishap on his way home. While walking back to his car with his friends, Cora was lost in thoughts of you and the evening's enchantment. So he had stumbled into an uncovered manhole, resulting in a tumble that miraculously left him only bruised and slightly battered.

----

Rosinante: Hi [Name]! I'm glad you made it home safely. Sorry for the delay—I had a little accident on my way back. Nothing serious, just a reminder to pay more attention. 😅 How are you?

----

You settle back into your cozy spot on the couch, phone in hand, waiting for his response. The moments stretch out as you imagine the possible scenarios, your mind filled with concern for the endearing, clumsy man who had captured your heart so unexpectedly.

Your phone dings again, and you quickly read his reply.

––––

Oh no! What happened? Are you okay? :You

Rosinante: I was daydreaming about you and didn't notice an uncovered manhole. I fell in and sprained my ankle and bumped my head. I'm in the hospital now, but it's nothing serious. Just a bit embarrassed. 😳

–––––

“Oh Dearest Pie, he falls down a freaking manhole and still asks me how I’m doing.”

Your heart melts at his candid confession, a mixture of concern and affection welling up within you. You can't help but laugh softly, picturing the tall, awkward sweetheart stumbling into a manhole because he was thinking of you.

–––––

Tiny Dancer: Oh no, Rosinante! I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you're not in too much pain. If it helps, I'm flattered that I was on your mind. 😊

–––––

A shy smile tugs at his lips as he lies in his hospital bed. His reply comes quickly, the playful tone lifting your spirits.

–––––

Rosinante: It does help, actually! Your smile is a pretty nice distraction. 😊

–––––

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you continue the conversation, sharing stories and laughter, bridging the distance between you with every message. The night grows late, but neither of you seems to notice, too engrossed in the blossoming feelings between you.

––––

I wish I could be there to keep you company. :You

Rosinante: Just knowing you're thinking of me is enough. But maybe we can meet up again soon please? I promise to avoid any manholes this time! 😅

––––

“Fuck he’s too cute.”

––––

I'd like that very much. Rest up, okay? :You

And thank you for making tonight so special. :You 

Rosinante: Thank you, too. Goodnight, Tiny Dancer.

Goodnight, Gentle Giant. :You

––––

Despite the mishap, Rosinante couldn't help but smile as he typed out the message. The memory of your smile and the warmth of your presence lingered with him, easing the discomfort of his minor injuries. He eagerly began to look up other dance clubs he could take you to, his heart thankful for the continuation of this unexpected and delightful chance of meeting you.

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I own none of the images or art!!

I wanna add more characters later, Lemme know what characters you want! DM's are always open.

Posted on the ao3 account soon.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ And thank you guys again for 100 followers!!

[thebunnednun]

Tempted to touch! Men of One piece x Fm! Reader (Multi Character fic) Part 2

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Buggy x Reader, Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Kidd x Reader, Corazon x Reader

Synopsis: Can someone write like a lil thing for Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Crocodile and/or Smoker or any One Piece character (secretly) seeing their S/O being able to whine (dance) and having crazy waist control (being able to bounce their ass without movin anything else)? 🧍🏻‍♀️

A little something for @mororona who gave me the prompt.

Use these songs:

Tempted to Touch by Rupee Zoro, Buggy, Rosinante

Nina Sky - Move Ya Body Kidd, Sabo,

Aventura - La Novelita Sanji, Law, Sanji

Or use any song you want *Shrugs*

I'ma also tag @fanaticsnail I added two special someones for you!!~

In honor of me reaching 100 followers I have prepared many stories for you all. Thank you to everyone who supported me through my hiatus. <33 ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

On with the show!!~

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Zoro

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Thousand Sunny. The crew was scattered around the deck, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

Luffy and Usopp were engaged in a loud, animated conversation, while Nami and Robin sipped on drinks, sharing a quieter exchange. Sanji was in the kitchen, preparing a late-night snack for everyone, and Franky was tinkering with one of his inventions. Brook’s gentle strumming on his guitar added a serene backdrop to the scene.

Zoro, ever the loner, had retreated to a quiet corner of the deck. He leaned against the railing, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, the other holding a half-empty bottle of sake. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be resting, but in truth, he was always alert, always ready.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

As the night grew darker, a soft, rhythmic beat began to echo across the deck. Zoro opened one eye, scanning the area for the source of the sound. His gaze landed on you and Chopper, standing near the center of the deck, your eyes closed, lost in your own world. Brooks music seemed to flow through you, guiding your movements.

Zoro's interest piqued as he watched you start to move. You swayed your hips with a grace and fluidity that was mesmerizing. The rest of your body remained still, save for your waist, which moved with a hypnotic rhythm. It was a skillful dance, one that required incredible control and strength. You were whining,and you were doing it flawlessly.

You were completely unaware of your audience. The other crew members continued their activities, oblivious to your impromptu performance. Zoro, however, couldn’t take his eyes off you. There was something captivating about the way you moved, something almost primal. He felt a strange mix of emotions—pride, admiration, and an unfamiliar heat that stirred deep within him.

Zoro’s grip on his bottle tightened as you shifted your movements, your hips now bouncing in a way that defied logic. It was as if the rest of your body had frozen in time, leaving only your waist to express the rhythm of the music. He had seen many things in his travels, but this was new, this was different.

As the song reached its crescendo, you finished with a graceful spin, finally opening your eyes. Your gaze met Zoro’s, and you froze, realizing you had an audience.

"[Name]-chan, why did you stop?" The little reindeer whined, wanting to be spun in your arms again. However, he stopped seeing the flustered swordsman and you locked in a staring match.

A blush spread across your cheeks, but Zoro’s expression was unreadable. He took a swig from his bottle, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Didn’t know you could dance like that,” he said, his voice low and appreciative.

You laughed nervously, running a hand through your hair. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Moss-head.”

He smirked, pushing off the railing and walking towards you. “Guess I’ll have to stick around and find out, then.”

"Are you guys flirting?"

"NO!"

Chopper let out some little giggles as he tugged your hand into his smaller one and almost dragged you to Zoro. Shockingly, the moss-head put down his bottle and picked up Chopper, placing him on his shoulders before offering a hand to you.

"Would you dance with me?"

You looked quickly between him and his outstretched palm before nodding and grabbing on.

As Zoro closed the distance between you, you could see the intensity in his eyes. The night was far from over, and you had a feeling it would be one to remember.

Buggy

It was a late night in the Big Top, and Buggy found himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. His mind swirled with the day’s frustrations and petty annoyances. Costumes not right, Alvida roasting him, Richie almost eating some of the audience members. He grumbled to himself, contemplating another sleepless night when the faint sound of music reached his ears. It was a soft, rhythmic melody, entirely out of place at this hour.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

Annoyed, Buggy sat up and stomped towards the source of the disturbance. "Who the hell is playing music at this time?" he muttered under his breath, ready to bellow at whoever it was to, "Shut that damn music off!"

As he approached the main performance area, he stopped short. There, under the dim spotlight of the Big Top, he saw you, his shyest performer. Your back was to him, and you seemed completely absorbed in your dance, unaware of his presence. 

The Big Top, usually bustling with noise and activity, was eerily silent save for the music. The moonlight filtered through the tent’s small windows, casting a gentle glow on your figure. You moved with an ethereal grace, your body swaying to the rhythm. Buggy’s eyes widened as he watched you, mesmerized.

You had always been reserved, avoiding the spotlight and keeping to yourself. But here, in the privacy of the night, you had shed your inhibitions, revealing a side of yourself that was both captivating and unexpected. Your eyes were closed, and a serene smile played on your lips as you moved to the rhythm of the music.

Your hips moved with a hypnotic precision, swaying and bouncing in a way that seemed almost impossible. The rest of your body remained still, a testament to your incredible control. It was a captivating sight, one Buggy couldn’t look away from. 

You, the performer who always shied away from the spotlight, the one who would cry if pressed to the stage, were now the embodiment of confidence and skill. The music wrapped around you, each note guiding your movements. Your moments were so sure, rippling like water while you were completely lost in the flow of your craft. 

Buggy watched you dance, each movement more enthralling than the last. The world outside the Big Top faded away, leaving only the music, your dance, and the spellbinding atmosphere

He leaned against the stands, his initial annoyance long forgotten. There was something enchanting about watching you like this, seeing you so free and unrestrained. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, shy person he knew you to be during the day. Buggy felt a strange warmth in his chest, a mix of admiration and a newfound affection.

As you continued, Buggy found himself captivated not just by your skill, but by the raw emotion you poured into each step. Your usually reserved demeanor was gone, replaced by a vibrant, enchanting presence. It was as if you had shed all your inhibitions, revealing a side of yourself that was hidden beneath layers of shyness and restraint.

The music continued, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace, guiding your every step. Buggy marveled at your skill and the way you seemed to place your heart into each movement. It was as if you were sharing a part of yourself that no one else had seen, a secret side that only the night and the music could coax out.

‘Beautiful,’

Buggy’s heart pounded as he observed you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He took a step back, careful not to make a sound. Buggy didn’t want to disturb this private moment, this secret display of your talent. The last thing he wanted was to break the spell you had unknowingly cast.

As the music slowly came to an end, you finished your dance with a final, graceful flourish. You stood there for a moment, breathing heavily but with a peaceful smile on your face, eyes closed. 

Buggy took another step back, he didn’t want you to know he had been watching, not yet.

With one last lingering glance at you, Buggy turned and walked away, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew he would never look at you the same way again. The shy little  performer he had thought he knew was gone, replaced by a captivating dancer with an irresistible charm.

That morning, Buggy carried the memory of your dance with him, a secret treasure he was happy to keep all to himself. It was a reminder that beneath the surface, there was always more to discover, and sometimes, the most beautiful things were found in the most unexpected places.

Law

It was late at night on the Polar Tang, and Law found himself unable to sleep. The day's events replayed in his mind, a mix of battles, research, and the endless responsibilities that came with being a captain. Frustrated, he rose from his bed, deciding to take a walk through the quiet corridors of his submarine.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪ ~

As he wandered, he heard a faint sound of a melody drifting through the halls. It was an unusual sound at this hour, and Law's first instinct was to put a stop to it. His crew needed rest, and so did he. With a sigh, he followed the melody, preparing to tell whoever it was to shut it off.

As he neared the source, Law's sharp eyes caught sight of a figure moving gracefully in the dimly lit common room. He stopped in his tracks, his irritation melting away as he realized who it was. You, the bubbly and ever-optimistic member of his crew, were dancing, completely lost in the flow of your movements.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a few scattered lights, casting long shadows that danced along with you. The gentle sway of the submarine did little to disturb your rhythm. Your body moved with a fluidity that left Law momentarily speechless. Your hips swayed and bounced with an effortless control, your waist moving independently from the rest of your body. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that Law couldn't look away from.

You had always been the opposite of him—confident, lively, and full of an infectious energy that endeared you to everyone. You brought light to the crew, a stark contrast to Law's often serious demeanor. But here, in the privacy of the night, you had shed your usual exuberance, revealing a side of yourself that was just as captivating and unexpected.

Your eyes were closed, a serene smile playing on your lips as you moved to the rhythm of the music. Law found himself drawn in, watching the way you danced with a mix of grace and passion. Each movement was precise, yet filled with an emotional depth that spoke of a deep connection to the music. You seemed completely unaware of his presence, lost in a world of your own creation.

He leaned against the doorway, his initial annoyance long forgotten. There was something enchanting about watching you like this, seeing you so free and unrestrained. Law felt a strange warmth crawling up his neck into his face and ears.

Just then, the music paused as the record player needed to be restarted. You opened your eyes and saw Law just standing there, causing you to jump and scream out, 

"AHHH!"

Startled, Law quickly looked behind him and then back to you, his eyes wide. "[Name]-ya! What's wrong?!" 

Realizing that he had scared you, Law quickly crossed the floor to you, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured into your hair, holding you close. "M’Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you buried your face in his shoulder, trying to calm down. "It’s okay, you just startled me, Law-san," you mumbled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent, a mixture of antiseptic and something uniquely him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear was soothing, gradually easing your surprise.

Law chuckled softly, his breath warm against your hair. He gently ran a hand down your back in a comforting gesture, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentle. "But I have to say, I really like your dancing. You should dance more often."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your cheeks still flushed. His usual stern expression had softened, and there was a genuine warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter. "You really think so?" you asked, a shy smile tugging at your lips despite your usual confidence.

Law nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. I do."

Feeling a surge of affection for him, you grinned. "Well then, let's start now," you whispered with your own smile to match.

A warm smile spread across Law's face as he nodded. Without another word, he pulled you closer, and the two of you began to slow dance to the quiet hum of the Polar Tang. The world outside faded away, leaving only the gentle sway of your bodies and the comforting embrace you shared.

As you danced together in the dim light, a soft, contented silence settled over you both. The bubbly, sunshine-filled crew member and the stoic, grumpy captain, finding comfort and warmth in each other's arms, dancing to the silent music of the night.

SANJIIII

Late at night on the Thousand Sunny, Sanji found himself restless. Unable to sleep, he decided to check the kitchen, suspecting that the usual culprits—Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper—might be raiding the fridge again. With a lit cigarette in his mouth and a broom in hand, he made his way towards the kitchen, ready to shoo away the mischievous trio.

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

As he approached, he heard faint noises and peeked through the kitchen window. To his surprise, it wasn't the usual suspects. Instead, it was you, wearing his chef's apron, making a little snack for yourself.

The apron hugged your figure in a way that made his heart flutter. You were preparing a simple sandwich and a glass of water, moving gracefully around the kitchen.

Sanji's eyes softened as he watched you dance while you put everything together, a little hip wiggle accompanying your movements. He adored that wiggle, especially when you ate something delicious. It was the very reason he always tried to create dishes that would make you dance with joy.

You were somewhat of a picky eater, often opting for something like soup or a sandwich while the rest of the crew ate their hearty meals. It broke his heart a bit, thinking he couldn't satisfy your appetite despite his efforts. Yet, he continued to create new dishes, hoping to find something that would suit your palate.

Quietly, Sanji slipped into the kitchen, watching as you finished cleaning and putting away the dishes—another thing he loved about you. Your consideration for his meticulously clean kitchen warmed his heart. You took a bite of your sandwich and did that delightful hip wiggle again, bringing a soft chuckle from Sanji as he admired you.

Suddenly, you accidentally dropped your water glass, and it shattered on the floor. You squatted down to pick up the pieces, but before you could touch any, you felt a warm presence behind you. 

"Hold on now, love. You could hurt yourself," a gentle voice murmured.

You gasped as the smell of nicotine found its way to your nose and turned to find Sanji’s strong arms lifting you up and seating you on the kitchen counter. Now faced towards Sanji, he smiled up at you with such fondness as he crouched down that it made you blush. He carefully swept up the glass pieces, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sanji, how long have you been here?" you asked, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth.

"Long enough to see that wonderful dance of yours," he answered honestly, a teasing smile on his lips. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. It was quite the beautiful sight to behold."

You nibbled on your sandwich, your cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, Sanji. I didn't mean to wake you."

He sighed, his expression softening. "Don’t be ridiculous, I was already awake. I'm sorry I can't make dishes that agree with your tummy." He threw out the broken glass and set the broom back down before returning to you and adjusting the rolled up cuffs of his shirt before resting his hands on the counter. 

‘Yummy,’

You shook your head, blushing. "It's not your fault! I actually include different parts of the dinner you make for us in my soup and sandwiches." You opened your sandwich to show him the seasoned meat he had made for dinner that night.

Sanji's heart soared at the sight. "Really? That makes me so happy, [Name]."

You bit your lip, looking down and playing with your fingers. "There's another reason why I don't eat in front of you, Sanji."

He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "Why?"

You looked up, swinging your feet nervously. "I know acts of service are your love language, and I noticed you often just drink wine and eat a little bit while the crew has dinner.” You began to fidget with your fingers. “I would like it if you would sit with me during dinner and eat with me."

Sanji's cigarette slipped from his teeth, dropping to the floor. Quickly, he stomped it out, his mind raced before a smile spread across his face. He took your hands and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I'd love that, [Name]."

You smiled brightly and tugged him into a hug, catching him by surprise. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you held each other for a while, basking in the warmth of the moment.

Sanji gently picked you up off the counter and set you down on the now clean, glass-free floor. "May I ask you a favor?"

You hummed in curiosity, looking up at him. "Of course, Sanji."

He took your hand and led you to the center of the kitchen. "Dance with me?"

Your face lit up with joy as you beamed at him. "I'd love to."

You placed your hand in his, and the two of you began to dance softly. One of his hands rested on your waist while your other hand rested on his shoulder. Slowly, you got closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. Both of his arms encircled your middle, and your arms wrapped around his neck. You gazed into each other's eyes, foreheads touching as you closed your eyes, enjoying the bliss of being together.

In the quiet of the kitchen, with the soft hum of the ship in the background, you danced together, finding solace and happiness in each other's embrace.

SABO

Sabo had managed to slip away from the Straw Hats during the festival, deftly navigating through the colorful crowds and festive stalls. The air was alive with the aroma of exotic foods and the joyous sounds of laughter and music. He had one mission in mind—to find you, the shyest Straw Hat, the half sea creature who usually kept away from the lively festivities. 

Following the winding paths that led away from the main celebration, Sabo made his way to your usual meeting spot, a secluded cove hidden away from the bustling energy of the festival. The trees and berry bushes provide security from prying eyes. 

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

As he approached, the distant strains of music reached his ears, carried on the gentle sea breeze. The soft glow of festival lights flickered in the distance, casting playful shadows along the path and adding to the enchanting atmosphere of the night.

Upon reaching the cove, Sabo paused, taking in the sight before him. There you were, bathed in the ethereal light of the moon, your scales catching the shimmering reflections from the sea. The soft, iridescent glow of your skin mesmerized him, each scale reflecting the hues of the festival lights like tiny jewels. They glimmered softly against your body, creating an otherworldly aura around you.

You stood at the edge of the cove, your movements fluid and graceful as you danced to the music only you could hear. The band playing nearby provided a rhythmic backdrop, guiding your movements with its upbeat tempo. Sabo watched, captivated by the way your body moved with such effortless grace, every sway of your hips and twist of your body a testament to your innate connection to the sea.

‘Motion in the Ocean~’

Unable to resist, Sabo stepped forward as you spun gracefully under the moonlight. With a boldness born of longing, he reached out and gently caught you in his arms. You gasped in surprise, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of astonishment and something deeper—a silent energy between you.

Without a word, Sabo began to move with you, his hands finding a natural place on your waist as he guided you in a dance that transcended words. The music enveloped you both, its melody weaving around your intertwined bodies like a delicate thread, binding you together in a shared moment of intimacy.

Your scales brushed against his hands, their texture smooth and cool to the touch, yet somehow soft and inviting. Sabo marveled at the contrast between your delicate scales and the warmth of your skin beneath, a sensation that sent a thrill through him with each fleeting touch.

As you danced, the distance between you melted away, leaving only the raw emotion and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. Sabo's touch was tender yet firm, his gaze never leaving yours as he communicated his feelings through the language of movement and touch.

The song continued, each beat a heartbeat that echoed the rhythm of your shared dance. The festival lights twinkled in the background, casting a magical glow over your intertwined forms. The moonlight bathed you both in its soft, silvery light, highlighting the contours of your faces and the sparkle in your eyes.

As the final notes of the song drifted away, you both stood still, your hands clasped together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. The intensity of the moment hung between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that had brought you together under the moonlit sky.

"Again?"

"Again!"

With that, you both moved together once more, the world around you fading into the background as you lost yourselves in the dance of passion and longing. The only language needed was your moving bodies and the shimmering magic of the night.

Kidd

Amidst the vibrant festival lights and the lively atmosphere, Eustass Kid found himself observing the festivities with a skeptical eye. The air was thick with the scent of food and excitement, and the sound of music echoed through the streets.

As he navigated through the crowd, his attention was unexpectedly drawn to a figure that stood out from the revelry—a figure he didn't immediately recognize.

There she was, the crewmate he knew as somewhat reserved and always covered, now dressed in a flowing blouse and a short ruffled skirt that was raised higher with every step she took. Her mask was absent, allowing her hair to cascade freely around her shoulders. This new sight of her, smiling, laughing, and dancing without a care in the world, captivated him instantly.

She had become the center of attention in a dance circle, her movements graceful and fluid, drawing the eyes of everyone around her. Her laughter mingled with the music, a melody of joy that echoed through the night. 

Kidd couldn't tear his eyes away from her—the way her eyes sparkled with mirth, her smile lighting up her face in a way he had never seen before.

Kidd was enraptured by this new side of her, so full of life and energy. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved persona she usually displayed aboard the ship. He found himself drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to get closer without disrupting her dance.

Meanwhile, Killer, ever observant of his captain's moods and inclinations, noticed Kidd's fixed gaze and sharp interest. With a mischievous grin, he assumed Kidd wanted to join in on the fun and playfully slapped his back in encouragement, pushing him forward towards the dance circle with a hearty, "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

Startled by Killer's unexpected shove, Kidd stumbled forward and inadvertently bumped into the edge of the dance circle, drawing the attention of everyone, including you. At first, you looked surprised, momentarily pausing in your dance as you tried to place the interruption.

However, any annoyance quickly melted into amusement when you realized it was your captain who had stumbled into the midst of the dance. You giggled at the sight of him, his usual stern expression slightly awkward as he tried to move in sync with the music and the others around him.

Without missing a beat, you took matters into your own hands, quite literally. Grabbing Kidd's hands with a playful grin, you pulled him flush against you, guiding him through the steps of the dance with an infectious confidence. The music seemed to intensify around them, matching the fiery spirit of their impromptu dance.

Kidd, though initially caught off guard, soon found himself swept up in the rhythm of the dance and the energy radiating from you. Your touch was surprisingly gentle yet firm, leading him through the intricate steps with a natural grace that belied your usual reserved demeanor. He couldn't help but be drawn to your infectious enthusiasm and the way your laughter filled the air around them.

Each step and sway seemed to draw you closer, the rhythm syncing your movements in a sensual duet. The festival lights cast shifting patterns around you, accentuating the curve of your neck as you leaned into his touch, and the warmth of his hand on your waist, guiding you in the dance. Kidd's gaze held an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, his fingertips grazing lightly against your skin as you moved together. The air crackled with a palpable tension, charged with the electricity of desire. 

Your breath mingled in the space between you, the heat of the night matching the heat rising between your entwined forms. The world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the sensation of his strong frame pressed against yours, and the undeniable attraction that had ignited between you.

The festival lights cast a kaleidoscope of colors around them, accentuating their dance with a vibrant backdrop of swirling hues. The night seemed to bend around them, the music guiding their every twist and turn, until they were lost in their own world of rhythm and passion.

With each beat of the music, you surrendered to the allure of the dance, allowing yourselves to be carried away by the intoxicating rhythm and the lingering touches of his hand on your hips and waist sending a rush of warmth through you. 

At the end of the song, they stood together in the center of the circle, their hands still clasped, breaths mingling in the cool night air. Kidd couldn't suppress the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. The festival lights flickered around them, casting playful shadows over their faces as they caught their breath.

"Well, well," Kidd started, his voice low and teasing, "Who knew the prude one had such moves?" Kidd couldn't help but admire you in this liberated state, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the warmth of your smile.

Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of interest and amusement. "Surprised, Captain? I guess there's more to me than meets the eye," you replied, your tone playful yet tinged with challenge.

Kidd chuckled, a deep rumble that resonated in the night air. "Clearly," he remarked, his gaze locking with yours. "I never took you for someone who could command a dance floor."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You never asked~," you quipped, stepping closer to him until your bodies were almost touching.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "Maybe I should ask more often," he countered, his voice lowering to a husky murmur.

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his gaze, your breath catching slightly. "Maybe you should," you shot back, a bratty challenge in your tone as you leaned closer to him, your faces mere inches apart.

For a moment, you stood there in the electric tension between you, the music and laughter of the festival fading into the background. It was just the two of you, caught in a dance of words and desires.

"Care to show me more of your hidden talents, then?" Kidd murmured, his voice a low, enticing growl.

A smirk played on your lips as you tilted your head, meeting his gaze head-on. "Depends," you teased, "Are ya up for the challenge?"

Kidd's eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his hand tightening around yours. "Try me," he dared, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

With that, you pulled him back into the dance, your bodies moving together with a newfound power and intimacy. The festival continued around you, but in that moment, all that mattered was the fiery connection between you in the midst of the night's celebration.

As you danced, your banter continued, each teasing remark and playful touch fueling the chemistry that simmered between you. The festival lights illuminated your dance, casting a halo of warmth and desire around your figures as you moved in sync, drawn together by a magnetic pull that neither of you could resist.

At the end of the song, you paused once more, breathless and exhilarated from your dance. Your eyes locked, the air thick with unspoken promises and newfound understanding.

"Can you handle me?" you whispered, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Kidd smirked, his gaze never leaving yours. "I’ll fuck around and find out," he agreed, pulling you closer as you both prepared to lose yourselves once more in the intoxicating rhythm of the night.

Corazon Rosinante <3

Rosinante joined the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates at a bustling club to celebrate their latest victory. The atmosphere was alive with pulsing music and laughter, drinks flowing freely as everyone reveled in the night's festivities. Amidst the animated crowd, Cora sat quietly at the bar, nursing a glass of water, his serene expression belying the chaos around him.

You, working behind the bar as a bartender, couldn't help but notice the lone figure amidst the revelry. Curiosity sparked, you approached Rosinante with a friendly smile, unaware that he couldn't speak. 

“Hey stranger, you enjoying yourself?” 

He looked a little startled by you. He hadn’t expected anyone to strike up a conversation with him tonight. Holding up a polite finger, he dug into his pocket for a moment, pulling out a notepad. He scribbled a cheerful greeting and slid it over to you, hoping to communicate with you. 

‘Hi! Thanks for asking. I’m doing fine.’

Unfortunately for him, his pencil broke. Cora let out a silent groan before reaching into his pockets to find another writing tool. Quiet giggles filled his ears before he looked up to see you pull a pencil from behind your ear and you scribble a cheerful greeting and before sliding it over to him.

‘No problem at all.’

Rosinante, caught off guard by your gesture, glanced at the note with surprise before returning your smile. You picked up a pen and offered it to him and he began to respond in kind, a playful doodle sketched on its surface. It depicted a tiny heart wearing a straw hat, accompanied by a speech bubble saying, "Quiet night?"

You looked up, surprised, then smiled warmly. He reached for the note and wrote underneath, "Not much for the noise. Enjoy watching them have fun."

You chuckled softly, replying with another doodle, this time of a heart holding a pen, writing, "I get that. Sometimes it's nice just to watch."

Rosinante grinned at your doodle, appreciating the whimsy in your communication. Before he could respond, a commotion broke out nearby.

Your coworker, a spirited woman named Maya, known for her contagious enthusiasm (and for getting so hammered with the clients she would dance on the bar), had spotted you at your station. With a mischievous wink, Maya grabbed your hand, urging you to join her on the dance floor.

At first, you resisted, shaking your head with a playful protest. But Maya wasn't easily deterred. She pulled you gently but persistently, whispering, "Come on, just this once! It's your song!"

~ ♩♪♩♬   ♬♩♪♩~

The DJ, sensing the moment, began to cue up your favorite track, its familiar beats filling the air. Initially hesitant, you laughed and shook your head, trying to resist her playful insistence. But Maya wasn't one to take no for an answer. With a playful pout and a persuasive sway, she coaxed you onto the dance floor amidst cheers and encouragement from those nearby. 

“Fine! Just for one song!” You finally relented, stepping onto the dance floor. Caught up in the moment, you began to move, your body responding naturally to the music. Your dance was a display of precise waist control and confident grace, drawing all eyes towards you.

The music enveloped you, with you effortlessly weaving through the crowd with dance moves that showcased your skillful waist control and playful charisma. The club erupted in cheers, friends and strangers alike clapping along to the rhythm, captivated by your impromptu performance.

Meanwhile, Rosinante watched in awe seated at the bar. He couldn't help but watch with rapt attention. His cheeks flushed as he observed your skillful movements and the joyous energy you exuded. He hadn’t expected this tonight, he hadn’t expected you tonight—so vibrant and alive, captivating everyone around you.

The club erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating your impromptu performance. Maya danced alongside you, matching your energy with her own infectious spirit, creating a scene of pure revelry and joy.

Rosinante, mesmerized by your dance, felt a warmth spread through him. He couldn't look away, feeling admiration and perhaps a hint of a crush stirring within him as he watched you shine in the spotlight of the dance floor. His heart pounding in his ears along with the music's beat. 

Meanwhile, Luffy and Zoro noticed Rosinante's fixed gaze on you. With mischievous grins, they nudged Law, who was quietly sipping his drink nearby. Law, ever the strategist, decided to intervene in his own unique way.

"Cora-san seems to need a little nudge," Law remarked casually to Luffy and Zoro.

"I'll help him find it."

Before Rosinante could react, Law had already grasped his hand, feigning concern as he led Rosinante away from the bar. "Let's checkout the DJ booth," Law suggested, his tone masking his true intentions.

Confused but compliant, Rosinante allowed himself to be led towards where you were dancing. Suddenly, Law released his hand, leaving Rosinante standing awkwardly behind you. Flustered, Rosinante attempted to move out of the way, his taller frame proving a challenge in the crowded club.

“Looks like we got a challenger folks!” The DJ boomed over the music leading you to turn around and crank your neck up, up, up at the now standing silent customer.

“Oh it’s you!”

Cora, unsure of what was happening, allowed himself to be led, his mind racing with thoughts of how to gracefully excuse himself from the situation. Just as he was about to attempt to leave, you noticed him and gently grabbed the back of his shirt, preventing his escape.

The music pounded around you as you shouted over the noise, "Hey! Dance with me!"

Startled, Rosinante fumbled for his notepad to write a response, but you took it gently from his hand and pocketed it with a knowing smile. Sensing his hesitation, you hopped up onto a nearby table, waving him forward. Your eyes met his, and he could see the playful challenge in your expression.

“This should be okay, right?”

With a shy nod and a blush coloring his cheeks, Rosinante tentatively joined you at the table. It had been years since he last danced, but with your encouragement and the pulsing beat of the music, he quickly found his rhythm again. His movements were graceful yet tentative at first, but as the song progressed, confidence surged through him.

The dance became a playful exchange of steps and spins, laughter ringing out between you. Rosinante surprised himself with how easily he moved, his tall frame gracefully accommodating your playful gestures. As the music reached a crescendo, he swept you into his arms, one hand securely under your thighs and the other clasping yours. You held onto his waist with your legs and together, you spun in sync, the joy evident on both your faces.

The club erupted into thunderous cheers and applause, celebrating your spontaneous and captivating dance. Even Law, watching from the sidelines with a rare smile, couldn't help but be impressed by Rosinante's unexpected grace and the dorky cuteness between you both.

For Rosinante, this unexpected dance had not only brought him closer to you but also rediscovered a part of himself he thought he had long forgotten. And as the club around him faded, amidst the laughter and celebration, he found himself very grateful for the playful twist of fate that had brought him to your side.

As the song ended, you both took a bow, and the crowd clapped enthusiastically. However, in his attempt to stand tall and bow gracefully, Rosinante rolled his ankle and stumbled, causing a collective gasp from the onlookers.

“Ah shit.”

“There Cora-san goes again!”

“Have you tried drinking some milk?”

Quick to react, Law stepped forward, helping you guide Corazon to a nearby chair. He swiftly retrieved some ice from the bar and placed it gently in a bag on Rosinante's ankle, muttering about the clumsiness under his breath.

Rosinante winced slightly but managed a sheepish smile as he gestured for you to come closer. With a touch of embarrassment, he handed you a note. You gasped in surprise, feeling your pockets and realizing that Rosinante had discreetly taken back his notepad without your notice.

The note was a simple yet heartfelt message, thanking you for the best time he'd had in years with a smiley face that had hearts on both cheeks. You beamed warmly at him, feeling a rush of affection for this gentle-hearted man who had ventured out of his comfort zone for you.

"Can I give you a hug?" you asked softly, seeking permission.

Rosinante's shy eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly, opening his arms. Without hesitation, you dove into his embrace, feeling the warmth and sincerity in his gesture. He felt so fucking good to hug.Even the scent of his cologne, mixed with the subtle aroma of the club and the faint trace of sweat from dancing wasn’t bad at all. 

He was so tall you actually could almost climb into his lap if you wanted. But that would be going pretty far for a first meeting. Instead, you tucked your head into his neck and closed your eyes. His heart was pounding against yours, the rhythm syncing with the lingering excitement of the dance.

‘He’s so fucking cute!~’

In that moment, amidst the music and the crowd, you realized that you weren't the only one feeling a "little" flustered. 

Suddenly, the DJ's voice blasted over the speakers, giving you both a shoutout. "Let's hear it for the cutest couple out here tonight!"

You and Rosinante's cheeks flushed crimson as you snapped your necks to the DJ before shyly looking back at each other. As he sat back in the chair, trying to process the unexpected attention. In his flustered state, he tipped backwards, taking you with him in a gentle fall. Before you could react, his strong arms instinctively wrapped around you, protecting you from the fall. 

You cringed at the echo of the chair slapping against the concrete floor as you ended up in the handsome stranger's lap and pressed up into his chest and neck. 

"Sorry!" he whispered in your ear softly, his voice so warm and soothing that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was then that you realized—he could talk, and his voice was incredibly nice.

The crew members of both the Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates, along with your coworkers and even your manager, let out collective "awes" at the sight of you both, wrapped up in each other's arms. The moment, filled with laughter and warmth, seemed to freeze in time, a perfect tableau of the unexpected

As your coworkers and Law helped you both back up from the chair, the warmth of the moment lingered between you and Rosinante. Despite the stumble, you found yourselves chatting easily, laughter punctuating the conversation as you exchanged stories and shared moments from the night.

Eventually, the festivities began to wind down, and one by one, your friends and colleagues bid their farewells, heading home for the night. Rosinante lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours with a soft smile.

Before he left, he waved goodbye and then gestured towards his pocket. Confused, you looked down and discovered a note tucked neatly into your pocket. With a flutter of anticipation, you unfolded it and read the words written in his neat handwriting.

–

My tiny dancer,

Thank you for the most wonderful evening I've had in years. Your smile lit up the room, and dancing with you was a joy I'll cherish. I hope we can do it again soon! (But hopefully without the ‘accidents’.)

Take care, 

Rosinante

Phone number: XXX- (555) -4567

–

Heart racing with excitement, you looked up to find Corazon already halfway out the door, his shy smile lighting up his face. With a rush of gratitude and newfound connection, you tucked the note safely away, 

You nodded at him, conveying your appreciation and eagerness to see him again, and then playfully blew him a kiss.

Corazon's cheeks flushed crimson once more as he, in a moment of playful realization, pretended to catch the blown kiss, but his attention was momentarily diverted. With a soft thud, he accidentally banged his head against the metal door frame, a mix of embarrassment and amusement crossing his features. You cringed a little bit from the impact and gestured to his forehead. He gave you a thumbs up and your heart relaxed a bit. 

Meanwhile, the other characters in the club had been watching the scene unfold with amused affection. Maya clapped her hands together with a gleeful laugh, thoroughly enjoying the romantic interlude she had inadvertently helped create. Law, who stood nearby, nudged Corazon along, “Come on, you’ll see her again soon,” a rare smile playing on his lips as he observed Corazon's departure.

Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing as Corazon walked away from the club, a smile lingering on his lips. He couldn't shake the butterflies of excitement and anticipation, grateful for the unexpected turn of events that had brought him to you.

Back inside, the club gradually quieted down as patrons began to disperse, each carrying with them memories of a lively celebration and the heartwarming sight of two unlikely dancers. Maya and your other coworkers exchanged knowing glances, silently agreeing to tease you about this later and hound you for updates once you’d texted the clumsy cutie. 

You were a little more smiley as you closed up your section. Standing amidst the remnants of the evening's joy, you felt a sense of possibility and newfound happiness knowing that this night had brought something special into your life—a gentle-hearted man named Corazon, who had danced and rolled his way into your heart. 

You reached for your phone to take a picture of the note. Just in case you lost it. Tucking Corazon's note safely into your pocket, you knew that this was just the beginning of a romance with a gentle-hearted giant named Corazon.

Bonus:

Later that night, as you settled in at home, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Corazon's note once more. With a smile, you carefully unfolded it and read the words again, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. You decided to send him a text, wanting to talk to him again.

----

Unknown: Hi Corazon! It's [Name] from the club. I made it home safely. Thank you for the lovely note. 😊

----

Meanwhile, across town, Corazon lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged and his ankle elevated, the result of an unexpected mishap on his way home. While walking back to his car with his friends, Cora was lost in thoughts of you and the evening's enchantment. So he had stumbled into an uncovered manhole, resulting in a tumble that miraculously left him only bruised and slightly battered.

----

Rosinante: Hi [Name]! I'm glad you made it home safely. Sorry for the delay—I had a little accident on my way back. Nothing serious, just a reminder to pay more attention. 😅 How are you?

----

You settle back into your cozy spot on the couch, phone in hand, waiting for his response. The moments stretch out as you imagine the possible scenarios, your mind filled with concern for the endearing, clumsy man who had captured your heart so unexpectedly.

Your phone dings again, and you quickly read his reply.

––––

Oh no! What happened? Are you okay? :You

Rosinante: I was daydreaming about you and didn't notice an uncovered manhole. I fell in and sprained my ankle and bumped my head. I'm in the hospital now, but it's nothing serious. Just a bit embarrassed. 😳

–––––

“Oh Dearest Pie, he falls down a freaking manhole and still asks me how I’m doing.”

Your heart melts at his candid confession, a mixture of concern and affection welling up within you. You can't help but laugh softly, picturing the tall, awkward sweetheart stumbling into a manhole because he was thinking of you.

–––––

Tiny Dancer: Oh no, Rosinante! I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you're not in too much pain. If it helps, I'm flattered that I was on your mind. 😊

–––––

A shy smile tugs at his lips as he lies in his hospital bed. His reply comes quickly, the playful tone lifting your spirits.

–––––

Rosinante: It does help, actually! Your smile is a pretty nice distraction. 😊

–––––

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you continue the conversation, sharing stories and laughter, bridging the distance between you with every message. The night grows late, but neither of you seems to notice, too engrossed in the blossoming feelings between you.

––––

I wish I could be there to keep you company. :You

Rosinante: Just knowing you're thinking of me is enough. But maybe we can meet up again soon please? I promise to avoid any manholes this time! 😅

––––

“Fuck he’s too cute.”

––––

I'd like that very much. Rest up, okay? :You

And thank you for making tonight so special. :You 

Rosinante: Thank you, too. Goodnight, Tiny Dancer.

Goodnight, Gentle Giant. :You

––––

Despite the mishap, Rosinante couldn't help but smile as he typed out the message. The memory of your smile and the warmth of your presence lingered with him, easing the discomfort of his minor injuries. He eagerly began to look up other dance clubs he could take you to, his heart thankful for the continuation of this unexpected and delightful chance of meeting you.

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

Link to part 1.

Let this serve as the official kick off to the summer!

Taglist: @orange-milky @xxsliverwolfxx @mochiclouds

I own none of the images or art!!

I wanna add more characters later, Lemme know what characters you want! DM's are always open.

Posted on the ao3 account soon.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ And thank you guys again for 100 followers!!

[sunshinescribes]

Greedy

Pairing: Donquixote "Corazón" Rosinante x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+), MDNI!

Summary: Rosinante never knew he could be so greedy until he met you.

Warnings: SMUT! Established Relationship, Pining, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation

Rosinante once thought greed was not in his nature.

He had grown up on scraps, shoving half-bitten fruit and moldering meat into his mouth faster than he could draw breath, uncertain of when his next meal would be. He had lived in the dark alleyways and decrepit homes of strangers lost to history, thankful that the day had not been his last. Even as he lay shivering and sick, he found solace in the fact that a bullet had not found him, nor the punishing hands of those who wished to spill his celestial blood. 

His desires had always been reasonable. Food to sustain him. A temporary place to lay his head. A way to escape his callous brother. Rosinante only ever wished for what he needed, never what he wanted…until he met you.

It’s strange. If Rosinante tries to think back on it, he can’t quite pinpoint when you become so precious to him.Your paths had crossed serendipitously one day, when he had slipped away from Doflamingo and his insufferable company to draft reports for Sengoku. Rosinante found shelter in your humble tavern, a simple little thing at the edge of town—far enough from the Don Quixote family’s current headquarters to allow him a moment of respite.

You had been cautious in the beginning, aware of how dangerous members of the Don Quixote family were, especially when provoked, but with each visit, you began to shift before Rosinante’s eyes. Your clipped words had turned into full sentences, soft inquiries. Your quick retreat to the kitchen whenever he appeared had stopped. Gradually, you both began to thaw, finding comfort in the other’s presence and soon Rosinante was escaping to your homely tavern regardless of if he had reports to draft or not. 

There was a softness in your gaze that captivated him—a pretty lilt to your laughter that was so different from the cruel humor of his brother’s underlyings. 

Maybe that was when his heart first stirred, the moment you laughed while helping put out the flames that slowly spread across his feathered coat. There was no deprecation, none of the censuring he had come to expect. You had been kind, and Rosinante had not realized how long he had been denied such a simple act—how much his heart secretly craved it.

And in turn, he began to crave you.

“Rosi—”

The breathless call of his name rips Rosinante from his recollections. 

He blinks, forcing the fog in his mind away until the image of you beneath him becomes clear again, and he wonders how he had allowed himself to get distracted in the first place. 

“Hm?” he hums softly, tilting his head to the side as his eyes sweep over your face.

You’re a lovely mess beneath him. Beautiful. The thought finds him every time he sees you, and yet it still feels like a revelation. Your long lashes flutter as you meet his gaze, your bottom lip trembles, looking so inviting. It takes everything in Rosinante not to dip down and kiss you senseless. 

He could…but then he wouldn’t be able to see the lovely expressions you make as he continues to work you with his slender fingers. The pinch of your brows, the way your lips part when you let out a sultry sound that strokes the flames of his desire.

Rosinante wants to kiss you, but he thumbs your clit instead, earning another sweet moan that makes his dick strain painfully against his slacks. 

“I-I’m gonna come—” you whine as you buck your hips, making his deft fingers plunge deeper into your needy cunt, and oh god he feels it again, the way your walls hug whatever they can get a hold of just before you tip over the edge. 

Rosinante has already coaxed one orgasm out of you tonight, but he wants another—wants to watch your pretty eyes roll in the back of your head and that brilliant mind of yours go dumb with pleasure. There isn’t a prettier sight in the world, and it’s enough to get him off, watching you come undone. 

“Come baby, please fucking come…” he rasps, his voice almost unrecognizable to himself. 

Rosinante quickens his pace, fucking you with his fingers while your walls clench around them, trying to keep his long digits where you need him most. His thumb rubs torturous circles against your swollen clit—faster and faster while sweet supplication spills from his lips.

This is worship after all, isn’t it? 

The wrecked whimper you let out is like music to his ears, and Rosinante fucking groans when he feels you coat his fingers with your sweet release. He watches as if caught in a spell at the way you shake through your second orgasm. The sight alone makes Rosinante’s resolve shatter. He leans down, slanting his lips over yours, swallowing those pretty cries as you shake through the pleasure that washes through you.

Rosinante wastes time he doesn’t have kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and stealing the air from your lungs. Doflamingo will wonder where his little brother has run off to, but Rosinante can’t will himself to part from you. Not when you’re a lovely, boneless wreck below him. 

Not when he still wants more. 

Rosinante reluctantly withdraws his fingers from your slippery hole just as he pulls away from your lips with a sigh. He blinks, his heavy gaze finding yours once again. You look a little dazed, like you're still coming down from your high. Rosinante can’t help the way his lips curve into a soft smile, or the way he whispers soft praise against your skin with each tender kiss. 

“One more…just one more sweetheart,” he murmurs, slowly trailing his lips down your body. The taste of salt and something sweet linger on his tongue, making him tremble with anticipation as he steadily reaches his destination.

Rosinante makes an appreciative noise at the sight of the mess he’s made of your pretty pussy—the slow drip of your slick like honey, the way it smears your thighs and stains your sheets. He can practically feel his mouth watering, his mind going dizzy with lust.

Rosinante doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until he feels your trembling fingers thread through his hair, gently yanking at his blond curls. He stills, before glancing up at you with an inquisitive look.

“What…about you?” your question is a tired mumble, barely audible. 

Oh, you’re so sweet, even when you’re worked to your limit, hardly tethered to the waking world. It makes the warmth in Rosinante’s chest spread like a wildfire.

His eyes never leave yours, not even as he slowly lowers back down to your needy cunt.

“This is for me.”

You let out a broken cry the moment his tongue slips between your folds. Rosinante knows it’s too much, that you’re still reeling from your last release, but he’s too far gone—craves you like a drowning man craves air. 

This is the greed you inspire in him—this unshakable desire to take everything he wants. It would terrify him if you weren’t so eager and willing. 

Rosinante laps at your sweetness like a man starved. He fucks his tongue into you, licking away the evidence of your last release to prepare for the one you’ll soon give him. He knows it won’t be long now. You’re already a sobbing mess, so needy and sensitive. 

“Ohgod—Rosi I can’t—” your words die out, replaced by a pathetic moan.

“You can…” Rosinante gasps, reluctantly pulling away from your pussy to give you a moment of relief. “Sweet girl, I know you can.”

And he knows just how to prove it. 

Rosinante leans back down, fixing your sopping pussy with an appraising glance before he wraps his mouth around your sensitive clit. He lets his talented tongue glide over the nub, teasing it until your nails dig painfully into his scalp.

You’re close, so so close. Rosinante knows you’re teetering over the edge, nearly on the brink of ecstasy. The idea alone makes his dick twitch in his trousers, ready to burst along with you.  

Rosinante grinds against the bed, chasing a sliver of friction against his throbbing cock. He’s right there with you, hanging on by a thread. 

Let go, he hears a voice in his head whisper. 

Let go. Let go. Let go.

Rosinante sucks on your clit hard and you’re gone, thrashing and bucking your hips—chasing your release with his mouth as a jumbled mix of his name and a curse spill from your lips.

Rosinante chases his own release, grinding his clothed cock against the mattress until he’s spilling into his slacks with a broken sob. You both gasp and quiver, feeling the delicious traces of your climax as you slowly settle from your high.

Rosinante sighs contentedly, gently nuzzling your thigh. It would be so easy for him to just stay here with you, to make a home in your too-small bed and leave his brother and his mission behind. It would be nice, not having to live in fear of Doffy uncovering the truth behind his sudden return—to think there’s a life left for him at the end of all this, even if Rosinante can’t picture it. 

He wants that. God, he wants it so bad it hurts. Rosinante allows himself to dream, lets his mind conjure possibilities and perfect endings…but he still lifts from your mattress, cleans away the evidence of your shared desire, and begrudgingly staggers out of your tavern.

The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and Rosinante finds solace in it as he slowly trudges through town.

Maybe one day this will all be over and he’ll get to stay by your side.

It’s a pretty thought, even if it is only a dream.

divider credit: cafekitsune

[sakura-rose12]

Big man on small chair

Cora my beloved ❤️

[sakura-rose12]

Think of this as a sort of prequel before Rosi got Law to take a nap

[sakura-rose12]

Gotta cover all those sharp edges.

[sakura-rose12]

[sakura-rose12]

They share their secret cute photos of Law.