Is the shanks fic still in works? Do you have any idea when you might start posting the chapters?I've been a fan with just that blurb👉👈
PSSSSTTTT.....See the end for another sneak peak into Shanks x Brothel Manager! Reader Ch.3
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Yes! Shanks x Brothel Manager! Reader is still in the works! It's going to be one of my longest fics to date. I'm also very excited for it! Hearing that others are also eager helps keep me motivated so I can't tell you how much I appreciate your ask!
Currently I have 7/20 chapters written (totaling about 47,000 words as of now and there are still some scenes to existing chapters I need to go back and add) but with my schedule slowing down and having more time on the weekends I'm hoping to get more writing done. Rest assured that it's being worked on every day and I try to do at least one page in the google doc or an hour a day, but I'm also balancing it with my weekly post/writing.
I can't promise when chapters are going to start coming out but I'm hoping sometime around the end of September (this is also entirely dependent on if I can find a Beta reader in a timely manner and their comments).
I prefer to complete all the general rough chapters for my longer fics before I start posting them and this is for a few reasons:
It allows me to make changes to plots without having to worry about working it into already existing chapters, giving me more room to change things as I see fit no matter how far in the story I am.
It keeps me from being motivated on a project, running out of steam, and never finishing it which leaves anyone reading and waiting for the next chapter disappointed.
It allows me to post on a more regular schedule, which makes me feel better and keeps me writing. Editing takes me a lot less time (only a day or two per chapter), and while I'm posting those it also gives me time to work through my list of other fic ideas to then be able to stockpile those while I'm working on other longer fics.
Hope this answers your question! And thank you for the support!
Sneak Peak Starts Here
“Were you unable to find any of the places I recommended on your last visit?”
“No, I just find myself preferring your touch.”
Looking closer, you can see the faint traces of shadows under his eyes. Despite his normal cheery demeanor his shoulders seemed to hang a bit more heavily, an unseen force dragging him down.
“If that’s what you request.” You answer, not allowing yourself to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had surprised you. It could be he just didn’t feel like paying, but if that were the case he could go and stiff them the money just as easily as he could you.
You lead him down the hall once more, leaving him to bathe and setting up your supplies as before. You’re only grateful that he doesn’t protest, the scent of rum on him stronger than before, and without the protection of incense outside you may have truly been unable to hide your distaste.
The lanterns in the garden are already lit giving a warm glow to the area, lighting the decently sized space and the flora that grows within. It’s mostly for the girls themselves to take a break away from customers but the place is devoid of any others. All occupied with the start of busy hours. Even if they had been there you would have shooed them out.
Once again you’re left with time to ruminate on the presence of the redhaired man. To question what he was doing here. Maybe he was like Beckman and got enjoyment out of annoying you. You wondered if he really needed the massages when there were others more qualified. And what had he done before with his aches and pains? It seemed he was only insistent on taking up as much of your time as possible, and you could only hope the length between his visits remained as long as possible.
All too soon the door cracks open and you’re once again treated to the sight of Shanks in a towel, looking refreshed with a tinge of color to his face from the warm water. The cooling air allows you to see heat rising from his skin in waves of steam but it doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact he seems almost giddy, crossing the courtyard and hopping up onto the cushioned table like he’s done it a hundred times, having no trouble making himself at home.
“The same as last time? Or are there any places you want me to focus on?”
Rubbing the rose oil between your hands to warm it, a prickle of humor tickles your stomach as at the thought of the weathered man smelling of something so floral and delicate as you place your palms on his lower back, feeling the muscle give under the heel of your palm.
Shanks groans and gives a small jolt. No doubt he could feel it all the way up his spine to his shoulder where he thought the pain was coming from. Sore muscles had a way of doing that, tricking the body into thinking it was coming from one place when really it was from another.
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I do have an ask including Shanks, Mihawk, and Marco coming out at the end of the week, so there is going to be more Shanks content on my blog (I can’t escape him it seems).
I take request for asks, but I don’t make people pay for my writing. It’s just something fun I like to do, and request help keep my creative juices flowing while also helping to prevent from burnout. I might post a KoFi link if I ever become successful enough if people ever do want to tip me, but I think I’m far from that lol.
A/N: Something to tide me over while I work on the outline of the longer fic I'm writing for him. I think about this man frequently and he was the first character I can remember having a crush on. He has nearly no fics and that's a crime. This series is going to be more so a collection of his interactions with reader revolving around their romance but nothing strictly chronological. Just for whenever an idea pops up into my head.
Warnings: Mentions of injury (nothing major), idiots in love, proofread to the best of my abilities but probably some mistake
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"Shit!" You jump, barely managing to keep the boxes stacked high on the carriage from falling over
Konahana was simulataiously nothing and verything you had expected it to be. Getting approvals and moving into the city had been dificult yet you appreciated the securtiy that came along with it. A large reason you were even moving in the first place, packing up your little herbalist shop after being ransacked for the dozenth time and making for someplace safer.
And what was safer than a viallage full of ninja?
Besides, you were sure to attract even more customers now than you ever did on your out of the way road. Less likely to use your services and then rob you as well.
You'd spent the past week getting everything in your new home settled. Your neighbors were closer than you were used to but there was still enough space for you to plant a sizable garden for your herbs. The entire roof of your little place had been converted into a garden, already starting to overflow and prompting you to get a move on with your opening date. Conversations were brief but friendly, not much time to talk as you remained busy.
And now here you were, setting up your herbalist shop to provide all sorts of remedies and services that could be given through your harvest.
The crate was stacked high with boxes that held supplies to be used as well as some plants themselves that would live in the shop for easy access and to take advantage of all the space you had. Much less than what you were used to in your previous home, rolling hills long gone, but enough that you didn't have to worry. You'd spotted enough of the wild sorts growing around the village in on your morning walks, so in any case you could still source them from there.
It was only today that you had managed to get around to setting things up, retrieving your items from where they had been stored for inspection when you first moved. Not much, just a cart full, but it had felt as if it weighed a million pounds as you transported it across the village, hoping to accomplish the task before there were too many people out and about.
You were just going through your supplies list when you tripped on the handle of the wagon itself. The contents shook, no longer held down by the same straps as before and threatening to tip over as you jumped to hold the stack straight. The equipment inside was heavy yet you somehow managed, panting as your arms complained against the strain as you managed to stop it just before it tipped too far to recover.
Sighing in relief, the victory was short lived as you heard the grit of wood sliding against wood, looking up just in time to see the very top crate tipping over the edge and falling towards you. You had placed your postal and mortar in there hoping the weight would keep the rest of the boxes weighed down. A smart idea at the time but decreasingly so as you flinched, unable to duck out of the way without dropping the others that had glassware gently tucked within them, and brought one arm over your head in hopes of lessening the impact. You only hoped nobody was up yet to see the embarrassment of you being knocked to the ground.
“Are you alright ma’am?”
You jump at the voice, suddenly so close as your head whips around only to be met with the sight of green nearly brushing nose. Tilting your gaze up your greeted to the sight of a man smiling down at you. His arms are extended over you holding the box that had fallen, keeping it a safe distance away from giving you a concussion.
You can only nod, stunned, to which concern quickly morphs into a bright smile. His gaze shifts to where your shoulder is still braced against the tower of boxes and, seeing you still struggling to keep them up, shifts the one he holds into one hand while the other easily rightens the stack. He does it as if it were nothing. Not even an ounce of strain on his features.
He looks back at you and with embarrassment you realize you have yet to say anything.
“Thank you.”You managed to get out, stepping back to give more space to breath, out of breath from the incident.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a bother Mr.-“ you pause, trying to decide on how to address him.
“Gai. Might Gai.” He heartily answers, smiling brightly . “It’s no trouble at all! I was just out on my morning jog and happened to see you. I was already on my way over to see if you needed any help when I saw the crate fall.”
Gai hums, looking about the empty street. “I’m glad I was here. Not many others are up this time in the morning.”
“I actually was hoping to get this done before anyone was up to avoid any accidents.” You sigh, looking towards the rest of the cart which now carries a daunting air. There were plenty more heavy boxes and where you had once felt energized embarrassment had taken the wind from your sails, now wishing to close yourself up in the house for the day.
“I take it you’ve just moved here?” He looks past you to your shop, the door propped open with a stone and a number of items stacked just inside the doorway.
“Ah, yes. I’m actually opening an apothecary shop. I had one along the base of the mountain not far off but there was a bit too much trouble going on for me to keep running it.”
“Well, no need to worry about that here!” Gai jerks a thumb at himself. “This place is protected by yours truly.”
You laugh, the man’s enthusiasm quickly catching and making you feel a bit more at ease.
Looking him over you saw that he wore nearly all green, only broken by the shock of orange on his legs. The best he wore was vaguely familiar, the guards at the gate having worn the same thing leaving you to assume it was apart of their uniform along with the belt fixed around his waist.
He must be quite muscles underneath, you surmise, stopping your thoughts from lingering on that before they can run wild. You would have to be settled in for a while before you began to even think about having a relationship.
When you go to take the crate from him he hefts the to further above his head and grabbing a few others to boot, quickly stepping around you and walking into the shop. Once inside he sets it down with the others, eyes scanning the area and you feel embarrassed about the mess that the place is still in with tools and jars scattered everywhere as you organize everything.
The signature scent of earth and plants hung in the air mixed with a light spice. Some found it to be overpowering yet Gai only looked about with excitement. His very presence only seems to fill the room further, warming it just as much as the sunlight creeping through the window.
“Do you provide vitamin supplements?” He turns towards you, hands on his hips. He’s tall, you note. No doubt he wouldn’t need to use the stool that was a requirement for you to reach the top shelves in the front.
“Yes!” You smile, excited at the prospect of starting to build a clientele already. “Along with ointments and specialty tea blends if you prefer your medicine that way.”
You had spent years honing your craft, passed down through your family and with a wide knowledge of everything that grew. Even though you felt a bit dwarfed by the abilities of medical nin in the larger populations you were still confident in your products and abilities. Not everyone had the money or ability to go every time they were hit with a minor sickness.
Access to health was a basic requirement of humanity. Taking care of the sick and injured instead of leaving them is what spectated humans from animals. That is what your parents had told you.
“What a relief! My place isn’t too far from here so it’ll be much easier to get them.”
“I open in three days. Feel free to stop by. I’m sure I could provide a good price for the man who kept me from being crushed.”
“No problem at all. If you ever plan on needing can post a help request on the board. My own students and I often take request from there.” It’s his turn to appear a bit flustered, a light hue to his cheeks as he runs the back of his neck. “Or if you see me don’t hesitate to ask. I walk this way a lot in the mornings and nights.”
“Well, if the young shinobi here have teachers like you then I’m sure I can expect nothing but the best from them.”
The words come out sounding more flirty than you intended, faltering as you unpack your midterms and pestle, settling at your workstation with a light huff. It really was heavy.
You’re saved by the sound of a rooster, drawing Gail’s attention outside as he jumps.
“Speaking of, I promised to meet them at the training grounds soon.” He’s out the door with a brief goodbye called over his shoulder, leaving you surrounded by boxes. All for the best you suppose, unsure of how you would have continued the conversation in any way that wouldn’t embarrass you further.
You get to work unpacking and cleaning, eager to get everything in order as soon as possible in preparation to open. You had at least one person to look forward to after all.
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True to his word Gai was there three days later bright and early. Too early almost, as you had only opened at such a time in remembering the hour you had last seen him.
He came in with a wide smile and entirely too much energy for the time of day. You yourself were sipping on a brew intended to wake draw the sleep from your bones and while you didn’t think he needed it you offered him a cup as well.
You would soon learn that his optimism was hardly ever dampened and it was rare for you to catch him in anything other than an upbeat mood. It made you a bit jealous that he could always have such a positive outlook on things. Life just seemed so much better when seen through his eyes.
It turns out he knew a decent amount about what you carried and what he was looking for, just as eager to hear your opinion as well as voice his own thoughts and even taking your advice on some things to swap out with others. The energy was infectious, hardly a lull in conversation.
It seemed all too soon that he had to leave. It felt wrong to try and get him to stay longer, his job important not only to him but to the village as a whole. There were better things for him to be doing rather than standing around talking to you.
Quickly it became a pattern where he would stop by once a week to grab what he needed, announcing himself with a booming greeting that had startled you more than once, talking your ear off the entire time. It was a drastic shift from the quiet you often found yourself in when you had lived in the mountains, not that you minded much. In fact you even found yourself looking forward to the chats as they morphed from quick stop-ins, stretching for something a bit longer as you set tea on to brew.
Business had picked up after a slow start your first week and your clientele had quickly grown. While never packed your shop always had a steady stream of people coming in and out, some curious while others became regulars. You even found a few friendship forming, invited to dinner and other events.
It was nice to keep busy, especially when Gai was gone for longer stretches of time out of the village. His absence was noted and the weeks he didn’t drop by seemed to feel just a bit longer. And it also seemed that he always found himself lingering at your shop for longer afterwards.
The bell above the door chimes, drawing you from the back room as you brush away the lingering dust of dried roses you had been crushing.
"Hello, how can I-"
You stop short, rubbing your eyes to make sure you were seeing things right. But there he stood. What looked like a mintuer version of Gai. Or rather a younger version. Maybe a family member? Or his son? He had never mentioned anything about having a spouse but the fact that he could have this entire time, all while your crush on the energetic man steadily grew, was embarrassing.
"I hope I'm in the right place!" The boy gave a polite bow. "My sensei sent me to pick up these things from you to help improve my training!"
Gai sent him?
A lightbulb goes off in your head, connecting the dots of the boy who currently stood in front of you with the stories Gai loved to tell you of his students.
"Oh! You must be Lee! Gai's told me so much about you."
Lee seems a bit stunned, though you assure him it was all good things, but that seems to only make his blush worse.
He hands you a list and you scan the items, collecting them from the various drawers and weighing them out as you make small talk.
Apparently Gai had a mission taking him outside the village for a while and while he was gone, he had left his students with a very carefully planned training schedule.
What concerned you the most was the amount of anti-inflammatory and healing balms that were there. It was clear that they were expected to be a bit sore, and so you tossed in a few things to help with pain despite Lee's insistence that it was fine.
"Just to be on the safe side. Anyone who is a friend of Gai is a friend of mine."
Besides, Gai sent enough business your way. It wasn't he first person who had heard about you through him, and there had been a few other shinobi who had stopped by and become semi-regular customers.
"You're just as kind as he said! I'll make sure to put everything to use to get stronger!"
Wait, Gai told his students about you? Ir was it just when he was telling them where they could get everything off the list?
Before you could ask, Lee was already out the door. A whirlwind of energy just like his teacher.
You take stock of your remining supplies. Many of the things you were able to grow yourself, but others needed much more space than you had and did best in their natural environment. They were easy enough to gather but it also meant a trip outside the village. Not far, but some merchants had mentioned a few shady characters lingering outside the walls and with your green cargo weighing you down you would make an easy target.
Gai had mentioned something about a task board before where you could post things to get help from the ranks of ninjas of the village. Mostly the younger ones to help them get experience. But was this too silly of an ask?
You could always post it and if nobody responded within a few weeks you could venture out yourself.
The thought of asking Gai if he could accompany you briefly crossed you mind but was quickly dismissed. He probably had more important things to do.
You went through the process of submitting a request, putting a generous reward. Whoever it was that helped, you would be grateful.
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A week later Gai strides towards the assignment board, ready to look for something for his students to do for the day. It was a beautiful morning, and he was hoping to get something that would allow them to take full advantage of the weather. Though he was hoping to get something that would allow him time to stop by and visit you before you closed for the day.
He couldn't help the way his mind drifted. Were you enjoying the weather as well? With the nice breeze he could already picture the propped windows of your shop, allowing all who wandered by a view in to where you worked.
It had been far too long since he was last able to stop by and visit, busy with his students and assignments. He had been more than pleased to learn that Lee's visit had gone well, the boy also seeming to share his sentiment for you and making Neji and Tenten all the more curious.
"Kakashi!" He waves excited as he rushes up to his friend. The silver haired ninja is just leaving the same board, an assignment clenched in hand.
"I'm surprised to see you here so early! Trying to get something good?"
Kakashi only sighs, looking at the paper in his hands.
"Something having to do with gathering some herbs just outside the village." He shrugs, allowing Gai to read over his shoulder, tracing his hand down the paper to find the adress. "Seems like a bit of overkill to me but it could be a good learning experience for-"
Before Kakashi can finish the paper is out of his hands and Gai is hustling away, leaving his friend to only stare after him in confusion.
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"I never knew all of this was right outside the village!" Tenten exclaimed as she held the innocuous leaf in front of her. It looked almost identical to all the other ones of the trees around you. The only difference was the light patchwork of curling veins that worked along the bottom. Something you could easily miss if you weren't looking, and you had made sure to give all your companions a sample of all the herbs you were looking for to compare to what they found. Of course you would look everything over before you put it into anything you sold but they seemed eager to help.
When Gai had come bursting into your shop earlier that morning with his students in tow you had been surprised but no less pleased to learn that he had seen your request and taken it. It was almost a relief to have someone you knew be the one to accompany you and be able to avoid the awkward silence as you worked.
Your expectations had been that they would accompany you and keep a lookout for danger, but Gai insisted they could help gather what you needed, emphasizing that it would be a good teaching lesson.
"A true shinobi needs to know how to do more than just fight. Injuries in the field occur all the time and having a bit of medical knowledge about plants is good for everyone."
You had agreed, his earnestly endearing, but only under the condition that they wouldn't try and use anything they weren't one hundred percent sure of. It was easy to poison yourself when you thought you were eating something else. Fortunately, none of the things you were looking to gather today had any similar cousins that could cause adverse reactions.
Now here you were gathering leaves for a headache medicine while Lee and Neji dug through the dirt for ginger root in the dappled light of the trees nearby.
Even further out was Gai who was at the edge of the lake, gathering mint that would act as a flavoring for teas and some remedies with less desirable taste. His pants were rolled up along with his sleeves, allowing a view of the tones muscle of his forearms.
You did your best not to stare but had been caught once by Tenten.
"He works quite fast, doesn't he?" You laughed nervously, trying to keep your cool. It wasn't a lie, as he had quite a pile that would last you a good while, but it was clear she didn't completely buy it. Instead, you busied yourself with gathering the last of what you needed.
“I think that should be enough.” You said as you brush the dirt from your hands. There was only one last thing to get and you could check on how Lee and Neji were doing. If they’d found enough ginger then you could head back a bit early then planned and get to work preparing everything.
You only needed a two satchels of the berries located at the tops of the trees, and so you gave one to Tenten and saved the other for for yourself. You were almost jealous with the practices ease that she kept to the lowest branch with.
It was a bit disheartening to realize that a bunch of teens could probably beat you in a fight. Thankfully those same teens were the ones that would protecting the village one day.
You made it up your own tree the same way you had when on your own, tossing a rope over the lowest branch and after making sure it was secure climbing up.
Now a good twenty off the ground, you kept your legs wrapped around the branch as you scored closer to the end where the berries laid clustered together. Winter wasn’t as far off as some liked to think and these were important for cold remedies. They certainly tasted better than the alternative.
It was slow going work but you kept the time by humming to yourself. Occasionally you would see one of the two boy walk by underneath, still looking for more roots that turned out to be harder to find then either of them expected.
Once your bag was nearly full you allowed yourself to take a small break. The hidden leaf was truly beautiful when you have yourself the time to admire it. Especially as the sun began its descent in the distance and the shot grew darker. You’d have to pack up now for the day if you wanted to make it back to the gates in time.
You turn to see how Gai is doing, only to startle as you find him already looking at you. Or at least you think he is. From this distance it’s somewhat hard to tell. Looking a hand you wave and he reciprocated the action.
As you go to scoot back to get to your rope you freeze as a light crack escapes the branch.
‘Okay. Don’t panic.’ You tell yourself. Just move very slowly. If you can make it back to a thicker part of the branch you should be fine. Unfortunately the wind chooses that moment to kick up, aggressively bending the limb you sit on and between the motion and your weight you hear another crack and jolt before the whole thing falls from under you. Or rather you fall with it.
Your hand flings out and by some miricle you manage to grab the rope you had climbed up with. Even though it saves you from the fall it still doesn’t feel great as it tears into your palm, skidding down a few feet before you catch yourself.
Down below you hear you name being called, looking to see the three teens all gathered with wide eyes. Their hands are all halfway up, as if ready to catch you.
“I’m alright.” You yell. “Though it’s going to take me a second to get down.”
With one hand injured you weren’t entirely sure how you would do it but there wasn’t really any other option.
“Please allow me to help.” You jolt, nearly loosing your grip as you turn to see Gai facing you upside down. His feet are stuck to the branch somehow in something you can only assume is a ninja technique.
He holds a hand out to you and, with a burning face, you accept. He’s careful not to touch the injury on your palm and you can only hope he doesn’t feel the way your pulse races under his touch.
There’s a dropping feeling in your stomach and before you can blink your back on the ground. Well, close enough, held by Gai as his students crowd around.
“You could have told one of us to get those.” Neji scoffs, even as his brows pinch together as he looks at the wound.
“Ah, I’ve done it plenty of times before. I’m more than capable.” It stings more than you care to admit but it could be a lot worse. You could have broken something if you’d fallen all the way and that would have been far more embarrassing. “I have some bandages to wrap it until we get back.”
“Please allow me.” Gai says. He must have some experience with it. Temporary bandages in the field and whatnot, and it would be difficult to do by yourself.
“Oh, sure.” You expect him to let you go so you can grab them but he doesn’t, only continuing to stare at you. Long gone is his normal smile, and the just like his students he seemed concerned.
“Um, Gai?” He snaps out of whatever he was thinking about, attention in turning back to you. “I think you need to put me down to wrap my hand.”
“Right! Of course!!” He smiles, back to his normal self.
He carefully wraps the wound, showing his students the proper technique as he does so and you’re a bit surprised by his knowledge.
‘Of course he would know.’ You scold yourself as he applies just the right amount of pressure to the bandage, making sure it’ll stay in place but not cut off circulation. He must get hurt in the field on a non infrequent basis, so it only makes sense he would at least know the basics.
When he’s done you decide to call it a day, heading back to the vial he with your sizable haul. Much more than you had expected. And of course none of them let you carrying anything more than a single bag, though even that was a fight.
“Thanks for all your help.” You shift from foot to foot, hoping he couldn’t pick up your nervousness. You were just thankful you hadn’t hurt your leg or you were sure he wouldn’t have let you walk back. That would have been mortifying.
“Think nothing of it!” Gai assures you. He’d dismissed the others after you gotten back, but not before you gave them each a small jar of paste that they could dissolve in water or rub right on a wound to help cleanse it.
“Jut let me know the next time you need help. No need to put a request up on the board.”
“I want to make sure you’re being properly compensated for your time though. And I’m sure you do’t want to spend you free time routing around in the dirt. Lee tells me you like to train every second you can. It’s no wonder you’re so strong.” You laugh, missing the way his face turns a shade darker. “Plus, you don’t seem the type to take money if i don’t put it through the board, and I’m afraid the only other way I would be able to pay you is through medicine and dinner.”
“Well,” he stutters, rubbing at his head. “I wouldn’t say no to either. even if it was off hours.”
Your omvements falter as you reach for the closest bag, intent on getting a start on dryingg out everything you needed to. It sounded suspiciously like an invitation to a date but you knew better. You knew Gai better.
He was a well respected Shinoi who had done more thank you could even imagine. Respected if not liked by everyone. There was no way he’d have interest in you off all people, even if you had become quite close ever since settling here. Sure you had a crush on him, but there were plenty of other people who likely did as well.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” You say, doing your best to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach. “Well, I’ll let you get going. I’m afraid drying these is even less exciting than gathering them.”
“Don’t work yourself too hard. That hand of your still needs to heal.” He gestures to the wrappings.
“My work will be slowed a bit but it shouldn’t be a problem.“ You hesitate before adding, “I’ll see you tommorow?”
Gai miles back, the same brilliant smile you had come to recognize him by, as he gives you a thumbs up.
“Of course! I look forward to it!”
With that he runs off, jumping across rooftops and only grateful he hadn’t made a fool of himself even as he was silently pleased by the idea that you were already looking forward to seeing him again.
Meanwhile you can only stare after him, watching as he quickly disappears before turning back to your haul from the day.
Maybe you could find something else to put on the mission board after all.
Thank you so much for making my req (abo mha). I really loved it<3333 it's okay if i ask more things with mha characters and abo?
Of course, and I’m so glad you liked it! ABO is super fun for me to write for as well as MHA (I’m hoping to do more Hizashi stuff in the future as he’s my favorite character and there’s not much for him). All asks are always welcome, and I like having some shorter things to write while I work on larger projects, and it’s always interesting to see what people come up with!
Warnings: Depiction of injuries/death, Blood, Yandere tendencies, Kidnapping, Sleep Deprivation, Anxiety, proofread to the best of my abilities, gn reader
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Exhaustion was one of the cruelest forms of torture a person could experience. A mental punishment within the physical in a one-two punch as they worked in tandem, all without the need to even touch someone.
The body moved because it remembered how, not because it possessed the strength, driven largely by sheer willpower. Muscles ached with the effort of existing. Thoughts dragged themselves across the mind like wounded animals. The real irony was that it was a self-imposed condition, gradually built without realization until it took complete hold of its host.
Chrollo was no stranger to it. Many times in his youth he had been too scared to sleep, taking shifts with the others in fear that someone would kill them if they all slept at once. Even then he was accosted by nightmares, and the sleep that he did get was fitful. When he was training to become stronger, working himself to the bone, there wasn’t a single day that went by when it didn’t cling to him like a second skin, a testament to his efforts.
But those days were long gone, and while he still occasionally found himself more tired than he preferred it was rare that he was faced with the bone-deep exhaustion. It made it all the more jarring when he suddenly found himself dragged back down by its claws while talking to Pakunoda, stumbling over his own feet as the sound of shattering glass hit him, quickly followed by a stinging in his palms.
His head swam, brain feeling as if it were fighting against his skull with a hammer to get out. It wasn’t helped by the shouting and movement around him, setting him on edge as shapes blurred at the corner of his vision.
Was it some kind of nen attack? Where was Pakunoda?
He bristled but could hardly find it within himself to move, jolting as he felt a hand grab his shoulder. His own latched on before they could touch him again but his grip lacked any true strength. Not due to the exhaustion as he first thought- even tired he should have been able to easily snap the bones of any average person- but because the hand wasn’t his. The fingers weren't long enough and lacked the distinct scar that normally ran over the back of his hand, gained from an accident when he was younger and still living in Meteor City.
As his vision cleared he saw a woman staring down at him in concern even as he gripped her arm with this body’s feeble strength. Her eyes were instead focused on his hands, which he now noticed were bleeding. A result of landing on the shattered glass around him. The pain was numbed in a strange way, still burning and there but as if the nerves themselves could hardly muster the strength to alert the rest of the body.
The woman spoke, saying what was clearly a name but not one he recognized.
The realization hit him, slowed only by the way his mind struggled to comprehend everything through the fog that seemed to have settled over every inch LIke putting together a puzzle while blind, only able to go off the feel. Annoying, but not impossible.
His soulmate.
There was no distinguishable factor that decided when people switched bodies with their soulmates, only that it happened, lasting for only a few minutes before returning to your rightful bodies, and then around once.a month it would happen again. At least until you found your soulmate.
Chrollo had always held a distant concern for it in the back of his mind, Machi’s soulmate having nearly gotten him killed when doing so in the middle of the fight. Luckily they had been able to manage dodging well enough with only a few minor injuries before switching back. They were found swiftly after that, only a few hours away.
Once they were brought together she got the expected boost in her nen, but she seemed to enjoy the presence of her soulmate more than the increase in strength. Despite the rough start it seemed his own relationship was going much better than others. Happy, even if they didn’t enjoy the details of his job.
This was a much better scenario considering the situations the troupe leader often found himself in, but it was difficult to feel so with the awful way your body felt. Like he had been kept awake for days while being dragged behind a train, both his mind and body tired and aching, nearly trembling with the effort to keep himself up.
It felt disgusting being this weak, his brows drawn down further. The woman-Jane, her nametag read- called out to him again, thought his time more concerned. A group of others had gathered, all wearing the same black slacks and white button ups. An embroidered logo displaying the name Bella Vista lay on each of them.
“I told you not to agree to stay late.” Despite her harsh words Jane helped him to his feet. Keeping a steady arm around him, she ordered one of the others to clean up the broken plates before leading him through a set of double doors and into a kitchen. There were a few sideways glances from the chefs running about but they were too busy to do so for long.
Sitting you down on a stool, she pulled the first aid kit off the wall and got to work cleaning the wound, mumbling something about a man named Drew not being happy as well as a few unsavory names.
The kitchen was filled with too many things, all the sights, smells, and sounds all mixing together in one cacophony that made his head spin, unable to rub at the building pressure without smearing blood all over his face.
Countless thoughts ran through his head, all of which only served to make him groan as he attempted to sort through them. Jane gave him a comforting pat on his arm, passing a dose of painkillers for him to swallow dry.
“No more late nights for you. I know you’re trying to get the hours but you can’t be working yourself like this. It’s a wonder you keep on top of all your assignments.”
So you were a student. He wondered what kind, but couldn’t find the energy to ask.
As she bandaged his wounds a sense of vertigo hit him. Closing his eyes, when he opened them again, he found himself sitting on the couch opposite Pakunoda. A cup of tea rested in his hands, posture hunched in on himself. The shift was like being slapped in the face, feeling as if he’d been hit with a shot of adrenaline. The physical exhaustion had left but still lingered in his mind.
“How were they?” He asked, straight to the point. Above almost anyone else in the troupe, Chrollo trusted Pakunoda’s ability to read and judge people.
“Confused at first, but overall rather enjoyable.” Her lips quirked. “They seemed rather concerned about you though.”
No wonder. To go from where you had been to his body must have been just as shocking as it was for him, well rested and at ease. Comfortable even with the plush couch underneath him.
According to Pakunoda you had been a great conversationalist, even before you discovered that she wasn’t his lover- of which you had been embarrassed about until she explained in clear terms that wasn’t the case- but only a friend. Of course she hadn’t divulged too much information about him and kept the conversation steered towards you. She managed to pry out a few more details but you still seemed hesitant, of which he couldn’t blame you.
“They were quite well spoken, and I could only get a few basic things without being run in a polite circle. Could even give you a run for your money.”
Chrollo smiled, finding himself all the more interested in the puzzle you were.
“Contact Shalnark. I have a job for him.”
Despite only being in your body for a few minutes, Chrollo had gathered a wealth of information to find you with. He had a name, your place of work, and the fact that you were a student. Plenty of records that could all be coordinated to pinpoint your location. A part of him felt bad about the condition he had left you in, his hands flexing as he thought about the cuts left along your palms and fingers, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
He would be able to apologize properly soon enough.
______________________________
The second time Chrollo finds himself in your body it’s less than ideal.
He had all of the intention of making sure you were in a safe place and had in fact actively been working to do so, keeping himself out of trouble around the time your shift would occur. It could hardly be considered his fault that some Hunter had attacked him. While the man had been in far over his head, dispatched with a single blow before he could even touch Chrollo, it hadn’t been a bloodless affair. In fact, he was positively coated in the splattered result. Not the most ideal impression.
Chrollo had been in the middle of washing up, stripped down to his underwear and about to get in the shower, when he once again was subjected to the pitch of vertigo. One moment he was in a quickly steaming bathroom and the next a rather chilly apartment. So cold the tips of his fingers and toes had begun to numb, the only reprieve being a cup of scalding coffee sitting next to him. The blend of caffeine and sugar sat heavy on his tongue, buzzing through his nerves like a live wire and combating the weight behind his eyes.
He was in an apartment. Yours he assumed, based on the casual position he found himself. Books were scattered all across the table in front of him with so many sticky notes and notes scribbled in the margins it was almost comical. A white noise of rain played from the television while the sharp scent of mint emitted from a nearby defuser. Glasses balanced on the end of your nose, allowing him to see the highlighted text in front of him with the same color marking your hands in places.
The sounds from last time had healed nicely with not even a faint line to show they were there. It was a good thing they hadn’t scarred, he thought to himself as he flexed them. A few new cuts had been added. Small hairline things indicative of paper cuts, your pointer finger wrapped in a bandage and still slightly aching when it moved.
Chrollo wasted no time in standing, head spinning as a reward for his impatience. Shalnark had located you easily with all the information, not even taking a full two days. You were rather far away but that wasn’t an issue for Chrollo. He knew where you were and all the basic information of your life. Who were your close friends and family, most of whom seemed to live a good distance away. Where you worked-two separate jobs it turned out- and how often you did based on your tax forms. You majored in Classical literature and the study of ancient languages and their translations, currently in your final year of getting a Masters degree.
It gave him a decent idea of who you were, and why you seemed to be so perpetually exhausted, but it was only information. He wanted to know who you really were. What made you tick. And what better way to do that then to go through someone’s personal things?
The apartment was a studio, giving him a full view of the intimate aspects of your life you indulged in when no one was around. He wasn’t the type to go snooping through your underwear drawer, but the lack of a proper closet gave him full view to your wardrobe which was rather sparse and well worn apart from a free nicer outfits. It seemed the couch he had been settled on was a futon, pillows and blanket tossed across haphazardly. They looked warm and cozy, making him question why you neglected to use them. His only assumption was it was in another effort to stay awake, the open window letting in the freezing night air that bit into your skin.
An entire wall was covered in printed pictures and notes, a whiteboard tacked to the wall where the writing spilled out over onto the window, the dry erase marker interrupting his view of the alley beyond like an abstract stained glass work.
A coffee pot sat on the counter, the warming light blinking at him from above the nearly empty pot. A still opened bag of grounds sat next to it with a number of coffee filters in the trash. Some clearly old but a concerning amount that looked fresh.
Your fridge and cupboards were in a rather sorry state. If you weren’t going to sleep the least you could do was give yourself proper nutrition but all he found was a decent collection of condiments, a bag of rice, dented cans of beans and other vegetables, and an industrial sized bag of off-brand suckers that was half gone. It made the odd sensation of his stomach make more sense, the telltale feeling of being filled with liquid and nothing else. He didn’t like how it reminded him of the times he’d had nothing to eat but water, filling himself full to stave off the gnawing hunger until he felt sick.
Approaching the bookshelf, it’s littered with endless issues and copies all jammed together in a tight but neat order. It seems your collection had grown too large, spilling out onto the floor in stacks. There were the obvious classic titles he recognized as well as others in languages he didn’t know. A satisfied weight settled on his shoulders as he spotted a few of his own favorites, small tabs of notes sticking out of them. It was tempting to pull them down to see what was written but he didn’t know how long the switch would last, and he would have plenty of time later to pick your brain about it.
What really interested him were the non academic ones, which told him of your true interest. Most were mysteries, all of which had your own notes and predictions he discovered after pulling it from the shelf. You were surprisingly accurate but that was only to be expected. Not only were you smart but the genre could get rather stale and predictable as any other, though he noted the ones you enjoyed more had so many tabs it seemed you had written an entire book yourself.
What truly entertained him was the romance books he found tucked away in the bottom corner almost as if they were a secret to hide. He took note of the titles, storing the information away to look into later.
Did you stay awake late reading these, sacrificing your health for a few precious moments of escape? He preferred if you took bettter care of yourself, though with what his intuition and the information Shalnark had been able to procure he assumed that the free time you got was rare in the first place.
He eyed your stack of notes and scattering of pens on the table.
Chrollo was in fact there for only about eight minutes. The sense of falling hit him once again, quickly followed by the feeling of water pelting his skin and the exhaustion gone. But even as he was in his own body the burning feeling of his eyes didn’t fade and it took him a moment to realize it was from crying as a hiccup shook his shoulders.
He was sitting in the shower, back pressed against the wall, hotel towel in hand stained pink and skin rubbed raw. It seemed you had been less than excited to find yourself in such a situation, anyone shocked to find themself suddenly covered in blood especially after what could be considered a successful first swap on his end with your pleasant meeting with Pakunoda.
He still thought it was a bit of an overreaction but he commended your rationale of not running and simply fixing the situation at hand. There would have been no point in doing so after all but the human mind did strange things when frightened, and with this he felt he got yet another delightful peak into your mind.
Finishing cleaning himself up, Chrollo stepped out of the bathroom to discover the body still laying just outside. The blood was smeared in one area, hand and footprints telling him you must have fallen over it when you went to explore the room. It was dark after all and would be an easy thing to do. Thankfully his body wasn’t as easily damaged as your own.
This would only complicate things however, and his hope of a casual meeting were dashed. Even more so when he got a notification from Shalnark that your phone had called the police. It seemed he would have to go with plan B.
______________________________
You had no desire to meet your soulmate. A sharp turn from the way you had dreamed about it when you were younger, growing more and more fearful that you were one of the few people without one the older you got.
The first transition had been almost too easy. You had been working a double shift after staying up all night before to finish an analysis and get to an early morning class, hardly comprehending the world around you but desperate for the extra money to go towards your tuition. You were so close to having the semester covered in time to get access to your final classes for next semester and not be forced to have last pick due to an accounting hold.
Your feet hurt and bones ached, wanting nothing more than to get home and crawl into bed, but also knew the rough outline of your paper on discrepancies in translation of the late Sutran empire was due in two days. The more you had done, the more feedback you could get.
Carrying dishes back to the kitchen to be washed, you suddenly found yourself reenergized with a beautiful woman staring at you from across the table, her head tilted in question.
“Chrollo?” It took a moment before you realized she was talking to you, stunned by the way everything didn’t hurt for the first time in weeks.
“Ah, I’m sorry, I-“ you pause, not knowing what to say. You were strangers after all. The truth seemed to be the most simple answer.
“I’m not him?”
It came out sounding more like a question, and the woman seemed just as confused, brows furrowing until they shot up in realization. It was at the same moment you realized you were in a hotel room, dots connecting before you could stop them, thinking you had just interrupted two people who were about to get down and dirty.
You weren’t mad by any means- it was completely normal for people to date others before meeting their soulmate and even times where they chose to stay with their previous partner- but more so embarrassed at the fact. Apologies spilled forth before you could stop them, standing and trying to escape the awkward situation. The woman, Pakunoda as she would introduce herself, was quick to calm you down, assuring that she had only been meeting with Chrollo as a friend.
You didn’t know if she was just lying to make you feel better but she was still kind, getting you a drink and making conversation. The questions were a bit personal, especially for someone you just met, but you answer the ones you felt comfortable doing so while steering away from anything that could be too identifying. Soulmate or not you still had no idea who these people were. Most had at least six swaps before any real information was exchanged.
Pakunoda seemed just as evasive with her own answers so you didn’t feel too bad. When you swapped back, stomach fluttering as your vision blacked out, you came to in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of water as Jane put the first aid kit back.
Or course you had been embarrassed about the situation and fearful that you would get an earful, but she’d been understanding that you hadn’t necessarily been the one to drop them. Drew wasn’t likely to be and you were already dreading the amount he would take from your check to cover the destroyed dishes.
While excited to know that you did have a soulmate it was also a rather inopportune time. You couldn’t go galivanting off to find him, nor did you have the information to do so. It was more embarrassing that such a thing had happened, deducing that your soulmate had some level of refinement based on the room and clothes of which he wore.
Regardless, he would have to wait. You had your studies to finish before you even though about romance. By the time you were graduating it would be appropriate to initiate a meeting and you could take it from there. Until then you just hoped he wouldn’t switch during any of your tests.
Or break any more plates.
Your focus on school didn’t stop you from trying to dig up some information, curious by nature. Chrollo, Pakunoda had called him. An odd name. When you tried looking it up online there were few leads that seemed promising and without a last name or location you could hardly venture to guess who he was.
Still, his name rolled around in your head, feeling just a bit buzzed whenever you remember it, though that could just as easily be the coffee.
You knew when your second meeting was coming up but the date slipped your mind as you studied for an upcoming test, promising you would sleep the entirety of the next day as long as you weren’t called in to work.
The window was cracked to help keep you awake along with the pot and a half of coffee you’d consumed, the cold air contrasted as your eyes slipped closed, jolting awake to find yourself in a steamy bathroom.
The face that stared back at you from the mirror was rather handsome. Pale skin accompanied by dark eyes, an elegant charm even when contorted into a look of surprise.
The marking on the forehead was unexpected, your last experience leaving you with the impression he would have a distaste for such things. In fact, you had even been a bit worried about potentially being matched with someone from such a seemingly high social standing, worried that he would be disappointed. It wasn’t unheard of for soulmates to be shunned based on social standings but the kindness you had been treated with had given you a bit of hope.
It took a moment to register the blood flecked across his face, not realizing what it was at first. When you went to wipe it away more was streaked, looking down to discover hands coated in the drying liquid which splashed along the center of his chest.
You stumbled out of the bathroom, finding it hard to breathe in the humidity, only to trip over something in the dark. Light spilled from the cracked bathroom door illuminating the corpse on the floor. Even if the amount of blood hadn’t been enough to tell you he was dead then the missing head was a giveaway. Your stomach rose in rebellion, barely able to make it back to the bathroom in time as you slipped on the blood covering the laminate floor. And walls. And the ceiling.
Once there was nothing left but bile coming out you felt a wave of disgust overcome you, stomach turning as the smell of iron continued to permeate the air. Grabbing a towel, it was all you do to make it into the shower before your legs have out, scrubbing away the blood as the pattern of the cool tile behind you left marks in skin that wasn’t yours.
This is not what you had been expecting. Just who was your soulmate? Some kind of gangster? The two swaps were like night and day to one another. To go from the friendly face and comforting atmosphere Pakunoda provided to this?
The tears wouldn’t stop coming, unable to get the image of the man out of your head knowing the body was still waiting just outside the bathroom door.
You thought it may have been the heat getting to you, but as your head dipped and jerked back up you found yourself back in your apartment, reclined on the couch as if you’d never left. The panic sure didn’t, hardly able to keep it together as you grabbed your phone to call the police. Even if you didn’t know where he was you could try to give them enough information to try and link the crime somewhere. Soulmate or not you weren’t going to let a serial killer run around doing whatever he wanted.
A part of you hesitated as your fingers hovered over the call button.
What if it had been in self-defense? He didn’t seem like a killer. But that was what all the best ones were like. How they got away with it for so long. You heard a news story of a man who was killed by his soulmate. They were a killer who didn’t want to risk being exposed. Ironically enough it was their soulmate’s death that got them caught.
What if he did the same thing to you? Cut you open with a knife or tossed you into the river with a weight around your ankles. Or maybe he would tie you up in a basement and toss you scraps whenever he remembered.
As the line rang, a flash of pink caught your eye.
There, tapped to the top right of your computer, was a sticky note. Not one you had left among the countless others that scattered your papers where there wasn’t enough room to make notes. This one was written in an elegant, flowing script.
‘Get some rest’
—————————————————
The police were of little help.
Even after you had given them his name, they said there was little they could do but log the report and keep an eye out.
Now even when you had the time to sleep it evaded you, relying on medication just to get a few hours every few days as anxiety gripped your insides, testing like a clown with a balloon. It had begun to take its toll on you, falling asleep standing up and nodding off during lectures. Where you went you couldn’t help but feel watched, as if there were an invisible pair of eyes just around the corner you could never quite catch.
winter break was coming up and most of your cams were over, somehow managing to keep enough sense to pass. Never had you been so grateful to have kept your grades high, exams making a minimal dent though you suspected some professors you were a bit closer with may have recognized your exhaustion and slipped a few extra points in.
The restaurant would be closed for repairs as the majority of the student population went back home for the holidays, and your TA position would be transferred to another class next semester. It left you with nothing but freedom for a week, and you planned on spending it doing nothing more than sleeping, eating, and half-watching movies.
It was unfortunate that your swap was going to take place sometime around then though you hoped if you were asleep then you might not even realize it had happened and be exposed to another set of horrors.
Once you graduate it would be best to move and then keep moving. Already you were looking into positions that would require frequent travel instead of working with curators as you had originally hoped.
Submitting your final assignment of the semester, you groaned, stretching your arms above your head as you decided getting takeout was a good reward, getting enough to have leftovers for tomorrow when you wouldn’t want to leave your bed let alone the apartment.
But as you reached for your phone the now familiar tingle hit you moments before feeling as if you’d been dropped.
the city now lay before you, wind blasting in your face from the rooftop you perched on. So close to the edge that you nearly fell off, arms windmilling before falling back away from the drop.
Your breath hitched not just because of the close accident, but because you recognized the city. It was where you lived. You could see the same water tower with its distinctive mural from two streets from where you lived, now rising in the near distance. Even looking down the street was familiar, having taken it home more than once when you were unable to get off the bus in time at the correct stop.
Wandering back over to the ledge an awful thought overtakes you as you stare down at the city below.
What if you jumped? You could end it right here and now. But there was no telling if you would go back to your own body if killed while in his. Besides, while you may be linked to a killer through some mysterious bond you weren’t one yourself. Just having the briefest flash of the thought was enough to have guilt eating away at your stomach.
The spinning sense of vertigo overtook you once again, finding yourself back in your apartment.
He was here. In your city. It didn’t take a genius to guess as to why even if you wanted to believe it was all just a coincidence.
You reach for your phone, flipping through the contacts for the cell number the investigator had given you to call if you got any more information.
She didn’t pick up on the first ring. Or the second. Or third.
A glance at the clock told you it wasn’t an unreasonable time to call, but there was always the chance that she was doing something else. It was tempting to call the emergency number but you hesitated, remembering the way they had talked to you last time, emphasizing the fact that calling for a non-emergency could land you with a fine.
Reluctantly, and with shaking hands, you instead sent a text asking her to call you as soon as possible, and that your soulmate was here.
Appetite ruined, you curled up in bed, too scared to sleep even after double checking that your doors and windows were locked and the curtains were drawn. It was impossible to pay attention to anything you tried turning on, ears perked for the slightest sound of someone trying to break in. You opted to stare at the dark screen of your phone, waiting for an incoming call or message back.
Around an hour later you heard a knock on your door, breaking the silence as a new wave of anxiety rolled through you.
Was it him? But why would he bother to knock and give himself away? Maybe he was just that confident.
Cautiously you approached the door, the small (and only) knife from the kitchen clenched in your hand. As silent as possible you peer through the peephole, jolting at the sight.
A policeman stood outside your door, hand raised as he knocked on the door once again and called your name.
”We've gotten news regarding the report you made on your alleged soulmate, and it’s rather urgent.”
The door was opened with lightning speed, greeted by the smiling face of the officer. He gives a quick flash of his badge, assuaging some of your suspicions. Apparently you’d been watching too many horror moves.
”Sorry to disturb you, but our systems hit a match on a man you described.”
“He’s here.” You say, almost a whisper, fear clogging your throat. The officer, still smiling, tilts his head. His brows draw together slightly, the only sigh he’s concerned by your words.
“Oh, so you’ve switched with him recently?”
Numbly, you nod.
“That’s not good. It seems he’s been linked to other crimes.” Blue eyes flicker towards the chain still keeping the door half closed. A recent installment you’d made yourself, security deposit thrown to the wind. “It would be best if you came with me.”
“What?” Police custody? Was he really someone that dangerous? Sure you knew he wasn’t the most sane person but this?
“I’m afraid it’s the only way to ensure your safety. If he does show up you can call the emergency line, but I can’t guarantee how fast we’ll be able to get here even if I stay in the area.”
The thought of Chrollo coming here, to your home, your safe space, has your stomach churning. This wasn’t a well-off area and response times were long due to the high crime. What if they couldn’t get here in time? You’d thought he didn’t know where you lived but if he was in the city then chances were he also knew your address. Maybe you hadn’t been careful enough. Had left one of your bills on the counter or not hidden your ID well enough. None of the times you’d woken were you anywhere but where you left, giving you a false sense of security.
The officer seemed to tire of your silence, turning around and heading for the stairs.
“If you change your mind you can-“
“Wait!”
He tilts his head back, blond hair peeling from his hat as he stares.
“Can I grab some things to take with me?”
“Of course.” His smile seems genuine even if it makes you uneasy. “I’ll wait out here, but don’t take too long.”
You nod, shutting the door and turning to scramble about your apartment, stuffing everything you need into a duffel bag. A decent selection of clothes and toiletries along with your computer and charger.
All the while your mind races, eyes flickering to the window and scanning the roofline of the adjacent building. Each time you half expect to see Chrollo perched there, waiting and ready to strike.
Halfway back to the door your eyes catch the bookcase, bag already weighed down by a few choice textbooks you were trying to get a head start on reading for next semester. But you could pack a few fun things to read, right? Something to take the edge off your nerves and help calm you. Who knows how long you'll be gone for.
In the end you decide on a handful of your favorites, carefully tucking them into the bag before making sure everything is turned off.
The officer is still waiting in the hall when you emerge, typing on an odd looking phone. He glances at your bag but if there’s an issue with the amount you have packed he doesn’t say anything.
Just outside his patrol car waits, the familiar branding of the local department both soothing your worries.
He allows you to sit in the front seat, joking he would only put you in the back of you caused any issues. Well, you think he was joking. It’s hard to tell with the way he seems to take everything lightheartedly.
The lights of the city flash by as the vehicle makes its way through the streets. Your eyes scan the alley, looking for the faintest outline, and every time you stop at light you grow nervous.
“Where are we going?” The sign proudly stating the city limit passes by, the road transitioning to a highway and the buildings becoming less frequent, more residential. You had thought he would stop at the station first to let them know but instead he continues on.
“There’s a hotel just a few hours from here. Well stop there to rest for a little while while I confirm with my superior what we’re doing.”
That made sense, but you still don’t let yourself fully relax. Not even when he offers you one of the emergency blankets from the back to get some rest, commenting that you look tired. Instead you do your best to remain awake and aware, upright and stiff as you watch the endless stretch of road ahead. It was too dark to read, and you wouldn’t have been able to work up the courage to ask him to stop regardless.
Your companion didn’t seem bothered talking to you, though he was rather tight-lipped on the situation apart from some basic details. A need to know basis apparently, though you would consider your involvement in the situation enough to know. You’d still feel bad about getting him fired when he was just doing his job and by all means was helping you out, even stopping to grab you something to eat. On him as well. The greasy food was almost luxurious, wondering when the last time was that you had allowed yourself to indulge in such a thing with a budget so tight it was practically waterproof.
He even got you a milkshake. A milkshake.
A part of you hoped he would be the officer you stuck around for the duration of whatever it was they were going to do.
But with a lull in the conversation and a full stomach, combined with the ended stress of classes and the secure presence of someone who was more physically adept, you felt yourself nodding off. Your head dipped, jerking back just as suddenly each time until it hurt. Eventually you allowed yourself to rest against the window, the cool glass doing little to keep you awake.
Maybe you could rest your eyes for just a moment. Just to make them stop hurting as much. And still you had a mumbling conversation, but as you asked him why he was the one picked to come and get you when you thought it would be someone other than the local ranks, you never heard the answer, drifting off to sleep with the steady rumble of the car beneath you.
———————————————-
Waking up was always an arduous task. It meant another day of work and a headache. Leaving the comparatively comfortable embrace of your futon. Much more preferable even if it did make your back hurt without the mattress topper you had gotten for Christmas. Being in bed meant you could rest and not have to worry about a dozen other things, even if half of the time your dreams consisted of work and school related things.There was nothing more disheartening than doing an assignment only to wake up and discover it hadn’t actually been worked on at all.
But this wasn’t like the other times. There was no alarm screening in your ear after being silenced twice before. No complaints from the radiator on the corner of the room that had been there since the building was first constructed decades ago. The edges of textbooks didn’t dig into your sides after falling asleep studying.
Instead you felt as if you were floating on a cloud, the space around you hovering at the perfect temperature. It seemed too good to be true and for once you thought that your dreams were giving you a break. But as you roll over to get more comfortable you’re assaulted by light, flinching back at the brightness.
It’s what finally wakes you, pulled from the last dregs of sleep as your eyes crack open.
The room you're in is most definitely not your little studio apartment. The walls are not brick but an off white, and the ceiling is smooth in contrast to the popcorn texture that should be there. The realization has you jolting up, blankets dropping to your waist as you take in the space.
A mix of sleep and confusion disorients you for a moment, panicking at the unfamiliar place until you remember your conversation in the car, the sight of your bag in the corner jogging the memory. This must be the hotel he was talking about. You vaguely remember falling asleep in the car, so that means you were so tired you don’t remember walking up here or he had carried you. With everything else came the realization that your killer soulmate had come looking for you.
The sheets crumple in your hands, the soft fabric a contrast to the rising panic, attempting to calm yourself down.
You were safe. An officer came and got you and took you somewhere far away where he couldn’t find you. They would catch him and you could go back to your normal life.
The last thought wasn’t as exciting as it should have been, and you blamed the comfortable bed. It was hard to miss your futon when this is what you got in return. Maybe they could take a few extra days. That is, depending on how long they kept you.
The sudden realization that this might go on for weeks, months, maybe even years hadn’t crossed your mind until now. What if they never caught him? What if you had to live in hiding for the rest of your life? It would make all the work you’d done through school mute, part of you concerned and the other part annoyed.
It’s with a new sense of determination that you swing your legs out of bed, only now realizing that you were still wearing the same clothes as when you left. You cringe, feeling gross in the rumpled garments. You’d already worn them enough with finals and hardly having time to do laundry as well as not being able to face dragging it all the way to the basement and back up.
Peeking into the adjoining room you discovered the bathroom, pristine and gleaming. You couldn’t hear any sound from the door you assumed led to the main area. He may not even be here right now, or maybe he was sleeping as well, the dim sunlight coming through the curtain telling you the sun was still near the horizon. You felt bad at the thought of waking him after he had driven all night.
Surely taking a shower wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?
The warm water felt even better than you’d imagined, relaxing under the flow, just enjoying the way it relaxed your muscles. It was much warmer than your own shower would get and you would undoubtedly last longer, allowing you to take your time. You nearly fell asleep even, finally deciding it was time to get out as you wrapped one of the fluffy towels around you, wondering if you could snag one before you left.
Fresh let showered and dried, you allowed yourself a bit longer to linger in the room, sorting through your bag. You were a bit sad to discover one of your favorite books missing, wishing you had grabbed it even though you swore you had. After reading a few chapters of a romance you had been in the middle of you finally decided it was time to venture out, hearing the sound of a faucet running and assuming your guardian had gotten back.
Padding over to the door, a sudden wave of anxiety hit as you reached for the handle, taken aback by the suddenness. It was like everything in you was screaming that this was a bad idea.
Where had that come from? Maybe you were still just on edge from the whole ordeal? It didn’t feel like the normal anxiety that followed you around but rather an all-consuming dread that preceded a poor decision.
Whatever the case you would need to know what was happening next, and so stealed yourself and headed out.
It seemed you were in a rather fancy accommodation, a sitting area just outside with a small kitchen area attached. Much more than you had been expecting and vaguely you wondered what the budget was for civilian protection. In all honesty you’d been expecting a rundown motel to keep a low profile but you weren’t some to complain.
Your guardian was nowhere to be seen, but the balcony doors were open, and you could see the shadow of someone outside. Walking further you shivered, wind chilling as it breezed inside, disturbing the curtains as it cooled the dampness that cling to your skin.
As you rounded the corner, ready to ask your traveling companion what the next steps were, you stopped short. Because the man sitting at the table didn’t have the same boyish charm as the officer, blond hair and blue eyes replaced by a striking black. His hair was a bit different, not slicked back but instead hanging loosely around his face, but you would recognize him anywhere even if the marking on his forehead wasn’t a dead giveaway.
Fortunately he’s wearing more clothing this time, the crisp collard shirt and dark slacks make him look as if he could be a normal man on his way to a nice function. Polished shoes tap the ground in an unknown pattern, a picture of contentment as a breeze ruffles his hair.
Chrollo’s eyes lifted from the book he had in hand. Your book. The one you’d been looking for earlier. He was already halfway through, fingers skimming the page as he read. As soon as he saw you it was gently shut, laid on the table with care as his hand rested on the cover.
“You have some interesting thoughts, though I wouldn’t say I agree with your analysis of Schandor's opinion of hieroglyphs.” He says it with such ease. As if you were two friends having a scholarly discussion and not a killer and the person he’d forced to witness a crime scene. Dark eyes take you in with careful consideration where you stand, frozen, taking in your clothes and damp hair, seemingly pleased.
Your eyes flicker back to the main room, hoping to catch sight of your guardian only to come up empty. Maybe he was already dead. If not you could only hope he chose now of all times to come back. You could be angry later about him leaving you alone long enough for Chrollo to break in and make himself comfortable.
“If you’re looking for him don’t bother.”
Your attention snaps back, startled to see Chrollo now standing. There was only one man he could be referring to, and as embarrassing as it was to admit you hadn’t even asked the officer’s name, too relieved by his presence to care. It hadn’t felt like a pressing matter at the time. And now he was gone without you ever having asked so.
“You killed him?”
Chrollo pauses, head tilting as he fixes you with an amused stare.
“I thought you would have come to the answer already, but I suppose your senses are still dull even after a full day of sleep.”
Your eyes widen, realizing with the fading light that it wasn’t early morning but late afternoon. Which meant you had slept for almost a full twenty-four hours.
He smiles, once again scanning you from head to toe. “I’m glad you feel so at ease. Much better than the state I normally find you in. But no matter. You won’t have to worry about such things any longer. I can assure you, you’ll get all the rest you need and more. Well, most of the time.”
Chrollo steps forward, silent as when he stood, and the moment he does you bolt.
Making a break for the door you don’t care for your lack of shoes, only concerned with getting as far away as possible. You make it to the door, wrenching it open and nearly crashing into the opposite wall of the hall, feet sliding over the polished wooden floors. Without much sense of direction you run, not bothering to shut the door behind you. Thankfully it seems you made the right call, spotting the elevators up ahead.
They ding as you approach, smoothly opening on well-maintained tracks to reveal a familiar shock of blond hair. He’s out of his uniform now, dressed in a vest with cutoff sleeves and looking much more casual in the pastel ensemble. That’s of minimal concern as you push him back inside frantically jamming at the button to the first floor. Stairs would have been better but there was no time to look for them.
“He found us! We have to get out of here!”
Your movements are stopped by a firm grip on your hand, halting you from pressing the buttons. Regardless, the door begins to shut as you try to pull away, frustration seeping into your words.
“What are you doing? We have to-“
The door stops before it can fully close, a pristinely polished shoe wedged in the gap as it opens back up to reveal Chrollo, as at ease as can be. You jump, grabbing the arm of your companion. The one who assured you, you were safe.
But instead of pulling a weapon, pushing Chrollo away, or doing anything that could be considered attacking he only looked between you, just as cheerful as before.
“Wow. I’m surprised you let them get this far.” You freeze, his words too familiar. Too friendly. It dawns on you all too late your mistake. But the grip of your friend turned captor doesn’t allow you to get away, strong as if he’d slapped a pair of cuffs on you.
“Some things are best learned through firsthand experience, wouldn’t you agree?”
In any other situation? Maybe. This one? Most definitely not. Your shock seems to amuse Chrollo, a smile lifting his eyes. He was too smug, and oh how much you wished to punch him in the face.
“I knew you would react rather negatively to seeing me so I was forced to enlist the help of a friend. The transition went much better than if I had forced you, and I hope you appreciate the consideration and care put forth by both Shalnark and I. From what I hear you had a decently pleasant time on the way here.”
You struggle as you’re handed back to Chrollo, who holds you with one arm firmly against his side like a part reigning in an unruly child. With his other he takes the bag that Shalnark had been holding, filled with clothes and other basic necessities from the looks of it.
”No need to worry about the phone. Messages have been sent to all the contacts. Even the ones who think to look now will have a few months before they think anything is wrong. The GPS tracker was turned off before we got out of the city.”
You’re phone! Shalnark had taken a bit into the car ride stating they wanted to go through the scam calls you ignored to see if any of them could have been the man they were looking for. It seems that was, what you now knew, a lie as well and you kick yourself for being so stupid i n the first place. With a full night of rest the entire situation seems too obvious.
There was no need for them to say this in front of you, the only explanation being that they wanted you to hear. To know that no one would be looking for you with whatever messages he had sent out, and no way to tack you down.
Chrollo said his thanks, turning you back towards the room as Shalnark waved goodbye from the elevator, the door closing on him and sealing your fate as you were now left alone with Chrollo.
The killer.
"If you try to scream, I’ll have to take care of anyone who comes looking.” He murmurs in your ear as you pass by the other doors, leading you back to where the one you had run out of only minutes before still remained ajar. He closed it with an absentminded move of his foot, lock sliding into place.
He had expected you to run.
It turns out the small kitchenette was well stocked, Chrollo preparing a simple dinner that smelled delicious even before it was finished. The entire time you remained sat where he had left you. Despite his easy nature as he moved about the air seemed stifling, unable to take a full breath no matter how hard you tried. Your eyes darted over every inch of the place, taking in every detail, every clue. For the first time in months it felt as if you could think clearly, your brain working overtime without the inhibition of adenosine laying thick over your mind.
“You won’t find one.”
Chrollo sat a plate down in front of you, and which you realized was one of your favorites to make when you had a bit more money. It shouldn’t surprise you given everything else that had happened, and the implication was clear; he knew more about you than you previously thought. This wasn’t just him finding you by chance one night but a carefully constructed plan and execution involving multiple people and parts.
“What?”
“A body. I assumed that’s what you were looking for.” He placed himself in the chair across from you, folding his hands together, a picture of ease even as he gave what could be taken as an apologetic smile.
“It was rather unfortunate for us to switch at that time and was not my intention to expose you to such a sight at the time.” His words implied that he would eventually, confirming in your mind the fact that it had not been a one-time occurrence. “It’s reasonable that you were a bit spooked.”
A bit spooked? Is that what he thought? No, you were downright terrified of the man sitting across from you. But now wasn’t the time to lose your head. He clearly thought highly of both himself and his intelligence, his posture relaxed by gaze calculating, not missing a single one of your movements.
He did seem surprised when you picked up your fork, digging into your food which you begrudgingly acknowledged actually tasted good.
“Accepting food just like that? Not even going to ask me to taste it first?” He pressed.
“You’re not going to kill me.” You said, sounding much calmer than you felt. His brow rose in response, seemingly amused.
“Oh?”
“You’ve gone through all the trouble of bringing me here unscathed along with a choice of belongings. And from your words it sounds as if you intend to keep me around for at least the foreseeable future.” You set your fork down, taking a drink. “Not the actions of someone who is going to kill me, soulmate or not.”
Besides, if you really had been asleep for a whole day then it meant you’d gone quite a while without eating. You weren’t going to be kidnapped as well as hungry.
“You’re much more entertaining when you’re properly rested.” Chrollo grinned. It was difficult to resist the urge to splash your water in his face but somehow you withheld. Instead you fixed him with an even stare, unflinching.
“Why kidnap me? Of course you could guess that I wasn’t going to be the most excited to see you but then why not just kill me?”
Chrollo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. Confidence radiated from him, not in an annoying way of someone who thought they were better than everyone else, but the cool ease of someone who knew they were.
“You won’t know anything about it, but in simple terms I’m stronger with you alive.” You raise a brow to which he only laughs, waving the silent question away. “You’ll learn of it in due time. For now I suppose you could say it’s because you entertain me. Sure, I could have you locked away as some of my acquaintances do but I find that to be no fun. Not when I can have you here with me and have your mind to pick.”
“So as long as I entertain you I’ll be kept around?”
The knife accompanying your meal sits neatly beside the plate, the sharpened utensil reflecting your own warped face back at you. While you weren’t a killer, could you really feel guilty stabbing the man who had kidnapped you? Maybe. But it would undoubtedly be drowned out by the immense relief of getting away from him. The universe must have an odd sense of humor to put you together. Couldn’t it have been some he could go off and happily do his murders with?
“Please don’t.” You look up at Chrollo, who has now leaned back across the table towards you. His hand reaches to rest atop yours, tightening when you try to pull back. Yet there is no strain on his face. Only the same calm composure he’s maintained through the entire ordeal.
“I would hate for things to get violent when we’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot.”
An eerie feeling creeps up your spine, panic spiking as the tone of the room shifts. Not long. Just a fraction of a second really, where it felt as if the air turned to ice and the pressure increased tenfold.
Your body jolted before you could stop it, nearly knocking the glass of water to the floor at the sudden intensity and only kept in pace by Chrollo. It was like a hundred panic attacks all rolled into one, barely able to get a breath in as your mind turned jumbled, adrenaline flooding your system.
Is this what early humans felt like alone in the woods at night, with only basic weapons to protect themselves against a world full of threats? Maybe they were even doing a bit better than you, as they had some small chance, knowingly born into a world that ought to eat them. You were a burned-out college student whose only physicality came from the number of books you could cram in your pack and carry through campus. Maybe you got an extra point for endurance. But it was nothing against the apex predator that sat across from you now.
“So,” He grins, picking up the book he’d been reading earlier, flipping open to one of the many pages with your scrawling notes. “ About Schandor's work-“
Okay, so I’ve had a few interest in part 2 to a few fics and just want to see which to start working on first. I’ve got a few other fics lined up but would like to start some outlines if I can. They’ll be a bit shorter than normal since I’ll be putting most of my writing time during the week into the Shanks x Brothel Manager Reader fic (rough chapters up to chapter 6 are done, but I’m going to try and get to ch.15 before I find a Beta reader).
Which fic would you like to see get a part 2 first?
A/N: Anyone who says summer is their favorite season can fight me. I want winter back.
Warnings: None, gn reader
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One may have thought that you're biggest enemy as a Marine would be pirates. Criminals. Maybe even others within the ranks who are a bit too out for themselves or with ulterior motives. That would have been easy enough to get away from. To transfer or just keep your head low.
But no. The greatest threat to your existence was the sun, which never failed to rise every single day and taunt you with its punishing heat.
You couldn't be entirely blamed, having grown up on a winter island in the Grand Line, as well as your training academy being located in the same area. It was by mere misfortune that you managed to get a stationed elsewhere, your post request all ignored.
You were a professional, you told yourself. If you could make it through training- struggling to stand up to the others, growth stunted by the lack of resources on your home island and a large reason you had joined the Marines in the first place- as well as a number of battles already with pirates, then this should be a piece of cake.
The first day you managed to keep it together, if barely. Not much was retained, focused on not passing out and interrupted by frequent bathroom trips from the amount of water drank to try and counteract the heat. You could always be found with a thermos full of melting ice strapped to your side, condensation collecting on the outside and soaking through your uniform.
The second day you aren't so lucky, not quite making it to noon before you pass out, waking up in the infirmary with the claim of heat stroke.
Embarrassing, sure, but nothing you couldn't shake off. You were determined to get back to work and climb in the ranks enough to get a good pension when you retired.
It wasn't so easy to brush aside the second time it happens.
Or the third.
Or the seventh.
It comes to a point where you spend more time in the infirmary than out, and everyone in formation knows to keep an eye on you for when the slight sway of your shoulders gets to be too much, ready to jump in and catch you when you inevitably crumple under the abuse of the sun.
And so you were sent to work in the clerical department. Some may consider it an insult but you were just grateful to be out of the sun. Your family was still sent half your pay in any case, allowing them to live more comfortably, and that was all you were concerned about.
Your captain had recognized your keen eye for detail and skill for retaining information. Someone who would do better work outside the battlefield. It would make more sense to send you back to a winter island where you could truly flourish, but your skills were deemed too valuable to be sent to a near abandoned post of the least desirable Marines.
Still, even being out of direct contact with the sun, the office proved to be too much at times.
Your desk was located away from all the windows to avoid the sunlight, and two fans were constantly running, leading to an innumerable number of paperweights to keep everything from blowing away. Water stains litter the wood of your desk to the point it looks like a pattern of its own. It's not ideal, but manageable.
Then comes the cursed- or blessed, depending on how you look at it- day that you first met Aokiji.
You'd heard of the Admiral plenty, and had even seen him around from a distance, the lumbering, lanky figure he was, but your work never brought you together. He tended to prefer a more hands on approach to things and was frequently out in assignments.
The breakroom you normally used was out of commission after someone accidentally set it on fire trying to cook their lunch faster, and so you were forced to trudge across base through the brutal heat, already melting the moment you stepped outside.
Not even your lunch is warm, consisting of a cold soup and yogurt frozen into cubes retrieved from the freezer. While you didn't have to cook it you still had to get back to your desk, and it took splashing cool water from the sink to gather the courage to face it once again, wearing a towel soaked in freezing water around your neck like a bizarre fashion statement.
It's on the way back that you discover it. Well, more like it discovers you, nearly slipping across the icy floor.
As you sit kneeling, recovering from almost smashing your head on the floor and ready to give a piece of mind to whoever mopped the floor without putting up a sign, a wave of freezing air hits you. A blessed cool spot in a dessert of heat that takes you back to your home island. It's near the inner offices where the more important people are but you can't be too bothered by the fact as you locate the source.
The door crusted with a sheet of thin ice, creeping across the glass and wood is spiraling patterns, of which you delicately press your hand against, hardly able to believe what you're seeing.
How long had it been since you've seen snow? Or even frost? The location of Marine headquarters where you worked always remained warmer year-round, even the technical winter season was too much for your taste. There wasn't much opportunity to visit home either and this reminder did nothing but stoke the longing.
It's too good to be true. You had to be hallucinating. You’d actually slipped on the floor and given yourself a concussion. But the chill feels too real, and before you realize it you find yourself pressing yourself as close as possible to the source, uncaring of how your body heat melts the ice and dampens your clothes.
The migraine that always seemed to linger finally abated, leaving you in a moment of bliss. If only you could stay like this forever.
Your mind is made up before there's even a chance to contemplate.
You turn on heel, marching to find the next two biggest marines you have the authority to order around.
• ···················· • ···················· •
Aokiji liked nothing more than to nap in his office. It was relatively private and there were only a few who would disturb him. He kept the temperature in the immediate area cooled as well to his own taste. More than anyone would prefer, and it worked to keep most others away.
That's why it was all the more surprising when he opened his door intending to go find some lunch and instead found you sitting just to the side, sorting through a mountain of paper and files that hid you as he nearly walks past.
It took a moment for his mind to catch up, freezing in place as he looked back to the newest addition to the hallway. You didn’t pay him any mind, seeming content as you worked, entirely focused on the task at hand without paying him any mind.
"What are you doing?"
Your slight start confirms your absorption in your work, peeking from behind the stacks of papers. Well, more like up, as Aokiji is tall enough to stand above your work load.
"Approving shipment logs and cross referencing them with what was lost in the recent attacks, sir?" You say, as if it should be obvious. As if you being here was completely normal.
“Why are you doing that here?” He emphasizes, looking around the- previously- abandoned hallway.
“Because this is the only place I don’t feel as if I’m melting.” You say, straight faced.
Aokiji doesn’t know what to say to that, staring at you a moment longer before shaking his head and walking off. He was too hungry to care too much, and he could deal with it later. You didn’t bother him with your work and it was too much of a hassle to care.
That doesn’t stop him from noticing the way you seem released when he arrives at his office, or the numerous cups stacked around your desk filled with cold drinks instead of the warm coffee and tea that most prefer. How you keep your uniform unbuttoned more than regulations dictate with your sleeves rolled up, allowing the draft of the hall to reach you.
Eventually his curiosity is piqued enough that he asks Garp about you in passing. He was always more in the know on peculiar Marines, collecting them like one might shiny rocks.
“Oh them?” He says, your name finally clicking into place after Aokiji mentioned your odd comment. “I guess I should have wondered when this was going to happen. Their Captain calls them the Floor Inspector. Has a mind like a whip and a patience for paperwork. Can navigate and find near anything you need if you can keep them upright long enough to do it. I tried to get them under my command but knew they wouldn’t be able to stand the heat.”
The old man sighs. “It would have been such a relief on the administrative side.”
Not long after their conversation Aokiji got a firsthand look at your intolerance, finding you laid out after attempting to head to the records room to investigate a discrepancy, the office unfortunately located on the other side of the base. Just passed out in the middle of the courtyard, breathing shallow and hair stuck to your skin with sweat.
You likely hadn’t been there for long, as he’d looked up your records himself and saw the numerous times you were found in a similar situation and brought to the infirmary for an ice bath. He could order any Marine to do so, but another though took root in his mind and refused to leave until he tried it at least once.
Aokiji conjures a simple ice ring, placing it around your neck as he hits you with a chilling blast of frost. Nothing extreme and a far cry from anything he would use in a fight. In fact it was almost more difficult to use the delicacy needed not to turn you into a frozen statue.
Like magic, a sleeping beauty woken by true love’s kiss, your eyes snap open, face heating for a new reason as you see Aokiji above you as your common sense comes back.
Quickly getting up and apologizing, you gathering your things and all but run off, leaving behind a bemused Admiral.
It’s only as your heading back do you notice how odd it is you haven’t become victim to the heat once more, now noticing the ring of ice that acts as a necklace. There’s only one person you know who can make such things that wouldn’t have already melted in this heat.
Later that day Aokiji finds a thank you note and a bag of cookies tapped to his door.
You’re not annoying in any case, offering simple greetings and goodbyes when he passes, normally focused diligently on your work. It takes two months for your conversations to go any further than that.
“Finish that report on the Kato island inspection yet?” You ask casually one morning, already having been working at your desk for hours when Aokiji arrives in.
He pauses, door half open, looking as if you were crazy.
Should you really know about that? Maybe not, but it wasn’t too secret or anything. He’d been gone for a week, and while the area was still cooler than the majority of the office you still found yourself missing his presence.
So of course you had done a bit of digging, getting it out from one Akainu’s paper runners that he had been sent away. You also got from him that his report was late and the missing file was sending some of the other upper brass up a wall.
You shrug, trying to play it cool and not make it apparent you wanted to shove your foot in your mouth. Acting casual with an Admiral? This wasn’t the squad breakroom for crying out loud! Maybe it was just the constant proximity and his lack of outward annoyance for your presence that made you slip into a feeling of ease around him.
Thankfully you didn’t receive a reprimand, only another odd stare as he entered his office. He didn’t come out until around lunch time, though that wasn’t unusual.
“What the-!” You nearly fall out of your seat as a stack of papers slams on your desk, looking up to see Aokiji leaning against the doorway.
“Take those to Sengoku.”
You internally groan, knowing you can’t ignore the order while already dreading the journey. The Admiral’s office was filled with sunny courtyards and stairs, a sweat already breaking out at the thought. You weren’t a paper runner for a reason.
It seems Aokiji picks up on your misery, his mouth twitching at the corners.
“Think of it as rent for staying out here.”
Well, he’s got you there.
Reluctantly gathering the papers, you nearly drop them as fingers brush along your neck. Heat rushed to your face at the realization it was Aokiji who had touched you, followed by a wave of cold. One that had you shivering not in an attempt to warm up, but delight, as you catch sight of your skin. Every inch is covered in a layer of frost, the swirling patterns almost like decoration.
“That should be good for a half hour. If you don’t drag your feet it should be enough to get you there and back.” Aokiji waves over his shoulder, heading back into his office. Likely for another nap, often hearing snoring coming from within.
It turns out you’re quite quick when you’re not overheating, the others on base hardly able to believe their eyes as you run- run! Not shuffle like a melting statue of molasses- through the halls, making it to the Admiral’s office in record time.
“These are from Admiral Kuzan.” You huff, doing your best to solute while not dropping the stack. His secretary seemed stunned, hardly able to get a word out before you were off again, rushing back before your icy blanket wore off.
True to his word, the frost lasted until you were able to get back to the sanctuary of your desk, the Admiral back in his office. It may have been your imagination, but you swore the cold crept just a bit further than before as you sat to finish your own paperwork, utterly too cheerful for someone who still had hours of work ahead of them.
• ···················· • ···················· •
It shouldn't have come as a surprise when you were promoted to be the attendant of Aokiji, though he would never give you a straight answer on if he was the one to request it or not.
He wasn't shy about offloading his work onto you, knowing you wouldn't complain both because of his position, as well as the fact that you were allowed to bask in the pleasure of his devil fruit powers when he was around. Even when he wasn't he would give a good icing to his office before he left, allowing you to work in there until it just made more sense to move your desk all together.
Any and all apprehension you had was quickly dismissed. His presence was no longer looming and intimidating, but a constant that brought comfort in more ways than one.
At such close proximity it was impossible to not pick up on the schedule and duties of the man, and like any good Marine who was looking to keep their walking AC unit close you were intent on proving that you were good enough to keep around.
You did the majority of his reports, writing and cleaning up his recounting as he sat back, half asleep. It became like a second sense to be able to tell what he was thinking or his mood just from the spacing of his words.
You'd never admit how much you enjoy listening to him talk, especially when he was tired or had just woken. When his tone took on a deeper gravel that nearly distracted you from your writing. You chalk it up to your nonexistent love life and make a note to try and go on more dates, though with your workload that proves difficult.
You reminded him of meeting times and dealt with the lower ranks when he didn't feel like it. Everyone knew if they wanted to get to Aokiji they had to go through you. All they had to do was follow the trail of water from the slowly dripping coat of frost you seemed to be constantly wearing nowadays. If nothing else, you seemed to always be lingering in his shadow. Plenty large enough for you to hide from the sun in.
It’s not only you who grows fond of the symbiotic relationship that evolves.
Aokiji likes the way you sort all his letters and documents into piles based on levels of importance. It lets him know what he can push away for later him (or more likely you) without getting chewed out too much. He even found your sense of humor growing on him, more than one laughing at your blunt words, never one to beat around the bush. Another thing he liked about having you around.
It didn't take long for the upper ranks to sniff you out, tipped off by the sudden improvement of his work and punctuality. It was a blatant breach of rank and decorum- one that had Akainu fuming- but Sengouku was willing to overlook the fact as with you around he found himself less stressed by the Admiral. Your superiors also reported an improvement in your own work, and the medical room could finally put your file away properly instead of keeping it out on hand for the next time you went down.
While Aokiji wasn't he most inclined to have an attendant- you sent a glare that had him shivering the one time he called you a secretary- he couldn't deny that having you around made things easier for him. In fact, he had come to almost rely on your presence, and when he was away, he often wondered what you were doing back on base.
He could still hear your voice calling after him to be safe and to remember to check in in the evenings, and he knew that if he didn't you would be calling him instead. Not from the office snail phone but the personal one he had given you, bearing the same sleep mask he often wore.
What if he needed to get ahold of you when you were out of the office? And of course he had one for your direct line as well, always making sure to have the little snail tucked away somewhere safe. Sometimes he would just take it out and stare at it, the small thing seeming content with the chill he gave off just as much as you were.
Were you missing him or glad for the break? Undoubtably he would come back and find everything neat and organized, with no excuse to not be done. He was already late, and you would be cross but still stay behind to help him catch up. And of course he would show his appreciation for the effort by buying you dinner (your salary unfortunately hadn't improved that much in your new position).
The one thing he was sure of was that you would be suffering in the heat, and the fact both bothered and made him almost giddy. Satisfied knowing that you had come to rely on him and there was someone looking forward to his return, but uneasy knowing that you were suffering in his absence with only so much ice packs could do for you. While others shied away from his cold and found it off-putting you moved towards it. Towards him.
Aokiji was smiling before he realized it, eager to get back to you. He stopped short, nearly falling off his bike as his foot slipped on the peddle. Distracted by his thoughts of you.
When had he started caring so much? He wasn't the type to care if more work or headache was created for his subordinates, but when it came to you he was increasingly inclined to listen. He didn't drag his feet when there were meetings, but instead reluctantly allowed you to pull him along, enjoying the way your hand felt almost comically small in his as you stalked through the Marine headquarter halls with everyone parting to make way.
What he hadn't been expecting upon his return was finding Akainu in his office, face to face with you, who stood tall but trembling. Not only because you were faced with an Admiral (Kizaru and Garp stopped by often enough that the grandeur of high rank presence wasn't shocking, though Aoikiji found himself irritated when their attention turned towards you. Even more so when you once blushed at Garp’s compliment for your work both with and outside of Aokiji), but the heat in the room was downright oppressive. Worse than anything one would find outside of headquarters even in the middle of summer. Even the snail phone on your desk seems to have given up, laying on its side panting.
"I...I told you he’s....going to be back to..tomorrow." You manage to get out, using your desk as support to keep from completely buckling, though even the wood seems to sag a bit in the face of the heat.
It was like your worst nightmare come to life. The very heat of the sun unleashed tenfold as Akainu practically glowed with anger. Or maybe that was just a hallucination brought on by heat stroke.
"He was supposed to be back two days ago! What use are you for keeping him on track if you can't even do your job?!" Akainu growled, pushing even closer to you, ignoring the way you cringed away.
Your vision was nearly black, but it helped to not have to look at the face of the seething man. Even breathing hurt, feeling as if your lungs were closing off, and it was getting harder to hear him with the increasing ringing in your ears.
Aokiji wasn't one quick to anger unlike his fellow Admiral, but the sight of you, face flushed, eyes half-lidded, weak in the knees and on the verge of passing out? There was only one person allowed to do that to you, and it certainly wasn't Akainu.
The sweltering heat of the room is cut in an instant, icy coating every inch of the space and crawling up Akainu's legs in thick sheets. It's a shock to your system to go from one such extreme to another but not one you protest. In fact, you nearly cry out in relief as the familiar cool touch coats you like a second skin.
Akainu's head jerks towards where Aokiji stands, face scrunched in anger and eyes blazing. His attention quickly turns from you and onto his new target, now uncaring of your presence as he stalks towards him. Another thing that only serves to add to Aokiji's quickly lessening restraint.
"Where have you been?!" Akainu shouts, easily breaking away from the hold of the ice. His own body is already heating the room up once again, the walls dripping and ink smearing as everything melts.
Aokiji ignores him, walking past to where you stand- barely- placing a hand on your face and turning you to look at him, grunting at the heat your skin retains. Not the pleasant glow it normally has from the chill of the air but a blazing furnace that forewarns nothing good. Unnatural.
"Welcome back sir." You manage to mumble, doubtful if you're really all there as your arm only manages to get halfway up into a salute. It's worse than the time you had accompanied him to an awards ceremony, nearly diving headfirst off the platform had he not been there to provide a chill to bring you back to your senses.
He doesn't ask, gathering you in his arms just as your legs give out and bringing you to his chest. In turn you curled closer, hands digging into his shirt as you sought out the relief he provided.
Aokiji doesn't say anything to Akainu, their glares meeting over your head in a silent battle. One Aokiji refuses to lose, and which Akainu finally gives in after several long moments.
"I expect to see you first thing in the morning." His eyes dart to you, as if expecting an acknowledgment that you would make sure he's there.
"I'll make sure it’s on my schedule." Aokiji says, his voice crisp and sharp. Akainu, making the first rational decision since stepping foot in the room, says nothing as he leaves, slamming the door hard enough that the walls rattle.
Sighing, Aokiji retreats to the couch reserved for his naps. Not the one that came with the room and which he used to force himself to sleep on despite it being much too small, too lazy to get s a new one. This was one he had simply come in one day and found, put there by you.
“If you’re going to sleep at least do it on something that won’t have you complaining about your neck to me later.” Was all you said on the matter.
It fit him perfectly, the end lacking a proper armrest and allowing him to stretch out, and wide enough to allow him to sit back. It’s also enough to hold you as well, balanced carefully in top of him as he eases back into the seat and gets comfortable.
Your temperature has gone down, though you still seem a bit out of it. A part of him wonders if he should take you to the medical room but ultimately decides against it when you burrow closer. All embarrassment is tossed out the window as you relish in the presence that is Aokiji.
His pulse thrums with a mix of anger, nervousness, and relief that concoct into a mixture that has him lightheaded.
It’s not like he’s never touched you before. When he was in a rush and you couldn't keep up with his long legs he had no reservations about picking you up. And seeing the way you would jump when he placed a hand on your back before relaxing into the cool relief it provided never failed to amuse him. Or when you would eat lunch together, sitting so close your legs brushed together and Aokiji could hardly remember to eat as you laughed and recounted something you had heard from the others about whatever drama was going on with the trainees.
But this feels different. Especially as he shifts, your hands gripping his shirt as if fearful he’ll pull away. He doesn’t, instead placing a hand on your back, comforted by the way your pulse slows to a steady thrum under his touch. He draws meaningless patterns there before slipping one to your side on the other to the side of your neck, content as he rests his chin on your head.
The door is frozen shut. Nobody would be disturbing you now. Or ever again. He swore it.
"Then you sir." You manage to mumble, still half delirious but managing to hang on enough for manners as your cheek pressed into his chest.
Your lips brush the inner skin of his wrist, still close as he rests his hand in your neck, and the feeling has gooseflesh rising across his skin for the first time in decades.
As you sit, leaning against his chest in a way that feels only right to him, he knows he's not going to be leaving you behind again. You would be far more useful to him and he would have more peace of mind with you accompanying him everywhere from now on. How was he ever supposed to focus on the task at hand when he would be worrying about what was happening while he was gone?
The only question is what you would fight less; stuffed in a backpack or riding in a cart attached to his bike?
———————————————————————
PSA to everyone else who is also suffering from the heat currently! Make sure to drink plenty of water and stay cool! Wear your sunscreen and make sure you’re not spending too much time outside! Yes sunlight is vital to our health but just like all things it needs to be taken in moderation!
If you still really need to get outside and walk around then wet a towel and slap it over your neck, as well as take a water bottle. Ice packs to inner thighs, sides, armpits and neck can help you cool down. If you feel tired do not nap in the sun! Head inside and take a break! Give yourself an excuse to have a cold sweat treat!
Summary: Omegas are a luxury. A status symbol. And there’s nothing Doflamingo values more than status.
Warnings: Drugging, Assault, Discrimination, Manhunts, not proofread
A/N: Got this in my head and couldn't get it out.
________________________________
One out of ten thousand.
That was the odds of presenting as an Omega. Of having the genetic mutation that only 0.01% of the population had. And you somehow managed to draw the lucky number that would catapult you into popularity. Because with the rarity came an exclusivity.
Could you really consider yourself part of the upper echelon of society if you didn’t have one?
They weren’t even sold on auction markets because as soon as there was even a whiff they were snatched up and given to only the most exclusive, people waiting years on a list to receive one.
Entire islands were destroyed just for one person if any resistance was shown. It became standard procedure for Marines and hunters to show up on islands after getting a tip-off about someone possibly being an Omega, all too eager for the reward and to get rid of someone who could easily cause mass destruction just with their very presence.
Was it really a surprise when Omegas went into hiding, retreating to the most remote and dangerous places they could find in an attempt to be able to live a relatively normal life.
As an unfortunate result they developed a reputation; lack of contact with other left them with less robust immune systems. They were shy and nervous in nature, junky at the slightest sound. The desolate places hey hid often having a lack of resources-of the low-profile jobs they were forced to work leaving them well below the poverty line- malnutrition and exposure leaving them weak and insinuating they needed protection.
There were no physical differences between Omegas and other presentations apart from the size of canines. It was almost like nature was mocking you with the pitifully small fangs you were given, only distinguishable by the pointed end. Like someone had taken a file to the end of a normal tooth. Meanwhile it wasn’t uncommon for alphas to have them so large they would protrude from their mouth. Betas lacked the lower teeth to make room as well, even if their canines weren’t large.
That had been one of the hardest things to do, pulling out your own teeth. You couldn’t go to any normal dentist or even underground doctor, and this was far before you learned how to make contact with any other Omegas while having the certainty they truly were what they said.
All you had was a pair of pliers and a bottle of whisky, crossing your fingers and hoping you didn’t pull the wrong one.
Entire jobs were dedicated to rooting out hidden Omegas and discovering havens. The world government themselves had entire divisions dedicated to the task, chock full of Alphas and Betas with a nose that could smell someone opening a can of soup three miles away.
Solitude and secrecy became a hallmark of any free Omega. A life of constantly looking over your shoulder and shying away from anything that could draw attention.
Which is exactly why you lived the opposite.
Dressrossa was a dangerous place to be for anyone. While the city flourished and the occupants didn’t have the struggles of other poorer islands, the golden rule was to never go poking around where you weren’t supposed to. Marines hardly ever snooped around and bounty hunters had a hard time tracking anyone down in the maze of the city.
It was bright and loud with constantly moving crowds and an endless number of people with a variety of backgrounds. So many eyes and ears that everyone knew someone for something. The complete opposite of where anyone would expect to find an Omega.
It was perfect.
While nobody noteworthy you weren’t unknown. You had friends and associates, making a decent living in your tailor shop in a respectable but affordable part of the city, inherited from your predecessor. A kind Alpha who had been a tad eccentric about embroidery.
They didn’t care that you had no references or previous experience, only excited to share their fixation with someone who was willing to listen to them ramble about threads and minute differences of shades that could only be seen in the light. Even more grateful when you proved good enough to take over the majority of the tailoring side of the business while they were able to work on the embroidery orders.
Finally they had retired to a summer island known for its fine silks and threads due to the spider population, leaving the shop to you to spend their days doing what they loved.
You were sad to see them go, having been the first friend you made after coming to Dressrosa. They had even let you stay above the hop for free when you hadn’t been able to afford rent. The life of an Omega wasn’t one of trust, but they were something close. More so than you’d let anyone else get.
While you enjoyed the work well enough, the initial reason you had been drawn to the shop was its neighbor.
Side to side with your own humble business on the crowded streets was a perfume shop, everything made in house and of high quality. Not only did it draw wealthier clients who often spilled over into your shop, but the overwhelming scent acted as a plausible cover. It would be too obvious if you yourself owned it, and closer to your heats when you couldn’t completely cover your scent it was inevitable that a special agent from the Government would come around, claiming they had gotten a tip about the scent of an Omega in the area.
You felt a bit guilty each time you watched them cart the owner off, a rather agreeable young Beta, especially when he would come back complaining that all they had fed him as they held him in questioning for hours while being assaulted by scent triggers was the same bitter drink.
In your defense it wasn’t always your own scent that drew them there. He did strive to make perfume as close to the scent of an Omega as he could. All perfume makers did. But as close as they could get, it would always fall short of the real thing.
One of the primary reasons the government hunted Omegas as they did, apart from giving them to the Celestial dragons of course. Where they could be ‘properly’ taken care of.
Omega scent was a highly valued item. Even more than some devil fruits with just a few ounces going for a million berri. Not only did it lure all in the area, it acts as a calming agent more effective than any sedative. A defense mechanism from Mother Nature, the small mercy turned into a curse, and those who hunted Omegas had to wear masks in order to not be distracted.
In highly concentrated doses it was essentially a truth serum that none could resist. Highly valued by the world government, criminals, and pirates alike. Even Omegas themselves had to be careful, the scent working as a dual-edged blade. It could just as easily drive someone into a frenzy as it could calm them depending on their demeanor.
The extraction process was painful from what you heard. Even if the conditions Omegas were kept in were nothing short of luxurious, they were paid for with their unique evolutionary defense and squeezed for every last drop.
You had once heard a Marine call it a mercy compared to what the rest of the world would do to them, five drinks in and stumbling over his own words. As if he knew what mercy was. As if he had ever stooped so low as to ask an Omega their opinion.
It's not as big of a worry to you, the perfume samples you got in exchange for lining the boxes of his more affluent clients orders with plush silk acting as the perfect cover along with the general scent that tends to hang in the air. Indeed, you sometimes thought you were the one who brought him more business with the whispers of scent that hung in the air, drawing customers.
You were content, and had no intention of changing anything. With little threat to your peaceful life why would you? So when the door chimed you thought nothing of it and greeted them as any other customer.
To your surprise it was a girl looking much too young to be wandering around on her own. It wasn’t uncommon for children to get separated from their parents in the busy streets and more than once you had seen someone running by in a tizzy as they called out.
“Hello there.” You say, crouching a bit to get closer to her height.
Despite being lost she doesn’t seem overly concerned, her eyes locked on to the display window where a number of dresses and suits sat on mannequins.
“That one.” She points to one of the displays. A deep purple dress that hits at the knee, the sleeves with a rounded cap. “I want that one.”
“Oh. Okay?” You try not to sound too surprised, taken aback by her blunt, confident nature. If she wandered in here then it meant her guardian was likely somewhere close by so why not keep her a bit entertained until they found her. It’s not like you were particularly busy at the moment, and there were no pressing orders to be completed for the day.
Sugar, as you learned her name was, wasn’t crying as you had seen many lost children do. Instead she seemed content to look around the store, standing still as you made a few simple alterations to the dress she now wore. Her previous clothes sat on the counter, neatly folded, though she refused to take off her crown. Her smile only seemed to grow as she watched the mirror, entirely focused on herself as you stepped around her.
“What do you think?” She wasn’t asking you but the doll she carried with her, holding the thing out in front of her, its limbs limp as it stared back impassively.
“I think you’re right. It’s pretty.”
“Would you like me to make a matching one for them?” You ask, still a bit on edge.
From the ease of which she ordered you around and seemed content to largely ignore your presence, you could tell she was used to getting things and likely came from a wealthy family. If you played your cards right you could get another regular customer, even if it did mean giving up some fabric for free. That color wasn’t particularly popular in any case, and you had made the dress in a last-ditch effort to use it up and free up some space for other bolts in the back.
Sugar agreed, seeming to find true interest in you for the first time as you gathered your supplies and headed to your sewing machine. She seemed hesitant when you went to take measurements for the doll, almost aggressive, but quickly calmed when you assured her she could still hold it.
The garment wasn’t large, but the smaller size actually made things a bit more difficult and required more hand sewing to ensure the stitches were the right tension.
It took about forty minutes to complete, absorbed in your work as you made a flawless replica of the dress Sugar currently wore. Once it was done and slipped on the doll, she inspected it with a keen eye.
Apparently whatever she had been deciding on was good enough, smiling nice again as she tossed the doll lightly up into the air, going back to ignoring you.
She was an odd one, you decided as you put away your materials. Bet then so were most of the people in Dressrosa. It was practically a requirement to survive here for any length of time while still maintaining your sanity.
The bell rang once again, and when you looked up this time, expecting another customer or even the girl’s parents, your pulse jumped.
There in the doorway stood a man who looked as if he could be melting, so massive that he had to bend nearly in half to fit through. His cloak brushed the edges of the frame, a persistent mucus left on everything he touched.
You found yourself cringing and hoping he wouldn’t touch any of the fabrics, though you didn’t dare to speak the words out loud. It was Trebol after all, and even your own nature of staying out of anyone’s business had left you with knowledge of some of the key players of Dressrosa. Namely the ones who tended to be more prone to violence, and Trebol was on the top of that list.
“Sugar! There you are.” He walked further into the shop, attention locked firmly on the girl as your heart dropped. You knew there were more members of the Donquixote family, and that they were all dangerous, but this little girl was one of them? You’d never seen her out and about with the other members of the family whenever there were bigger events they decided to go to.
“What are you wearing?” Trebol’s eyes scanned her over quickly, betraying the slight panic he held.
“That lady gave me this dress, and she made one for Polly.” Sugar held up her doll. “Don’t you think we look pretty?”
Trebol’s head snapped to you, as if noticing the presence of another for the first time. Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head in submission out of fear disguised as respect, unsure if you would be able to properly keep the disgust from your face.
“She wandered in here, sir. I thought it would be best to keep her in one place until her guardian could find her.”
Your voice held strong despite the slight tremble of your legs, hoping that the man wouldn’t lose his temper.
It was no secret that Trebol wasn’t shy on doling out punishment and had in fact been a reason why he was one of the most prominently known Donquiote family members among the general populace.
Maybe it was just his ire at being a Beta surrounded by so many Alphas in a position of power, feeling the need to raise himself to their level somehow. A good guess, as you spot the fang enlargers capping his normal ones. His devil fruit must make it difficult to keep them properly in place with the connection. They were hard enough to make look natural without a slippery body moving them about, your own requiring the strongest sealant you could find and even then having to be reapplied twice a week.
Except while his were for aesthetic and ego, your were survival, the sharp juts nearly nonexistent in comparison to some of the Alphas that nearly poked out their mouth.
His scent, like that of glue fresh from the bottle, was awful enough as is and you didn’t even want to think about how much stronger it would be if he were an Alpha.
Entire families and shops wiped out for a perceived slight as small as looking at them wrong. And here you were with a kid who was apparently a part of that family. It would be all too easy to call it a kidnapping, and in fact you’d heard of such an attempt before. It didn’t end well for them.
“Can we get lunch? I’m hungry.” Sugar interrupted, cutting the tension. Trebol’s attention was drawn back to the young girl, apparently no longer interested in you. Any dismissal was preferable to being perceived by someone like him.
“The chefs should have something prepared.” He said as he grabs her clothes from the counter and leads her out, neither of them paying you any mind, or for the clothes. But you couldn’t help but feel relief in place of anger, collapsing against the counter the moment they were gone, body unable to accept your survival of the encounter.
At least it was over, and you never had to see any of that wretched family again.
______________________________
A week later you receive a summons from the castle. Well, not so much a summons as an escort, guards showing up and hauling you away without even the chance to lock your doors as your neighbors look on. Of course none of them would step in, and you didn’t expect them to. It would be useless to try and the scene wasn’t uncommon.
You’d never been to the castle, only having seen it from a distance. There was never a desire to be closer, but it seemed there was no choice, not only getting a good look of the delicate moldings along the walls that rose high above, but an up close and personal sight of the interior as you were dragged through the halls. No matter how hard you dug your heels in, the two toy soldiers continued on, relentless and unwavering in their strength as they carried you up the stairs and to the top floor.
The only reason you could come up with was the visit of Sugar and Trebol the week before. Maybe he had finally remembered you and decided that he was angry about it. Or it could be that Sugar decided she didn’t like the dress after all, and that was reason enough to drag you here.
They finally stopped in front of a rather ornate door, knocking with a heavy fist.
“Enter!”
With the doors pushed open you were once again carried inside. Any struggle you had was put on hold as you spotted the man behind the desk.
Donqioute Doflamingo.
He looked just as he did in his pictures that were scattered generously through the kingdom. Once there had been an event at which you had seen him address the crowd from a podium, and even then he had cut an intimidating figure despite his apparent easy nature. Something about him set your nerves on edge and you were quick to make yourself scarce, the feeling following you the rest of the day.
He was even more so now, a towering man even when sitting. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore but could still feel the way his gaze fixed upon you as you were sat in the chair across from him. The guards kept their hands firmly on your shoulders until he waved them off, to which they left without hesitation, leaving only you and Doflamingo in the room.
The scent of Alpha permeated the room, a near nauseating mix of rose and iron. It was impossible to tell which was his natural scent and which was an addition. Neither were pleasant.
Doflamingo stared at you with his head tilted back, legs crossed and elbows resting on the arms of his chair as his hands traced the papers on the desk in front of him.
Chancing a quick glance as the movement drew your attention- as well as the fact you were sure meeting his eye would be taken as an insult- you found yourself wishing you hadn’t, feeling your body go cold as you saw your name at the top in bold letters. It was filled with lines upon lines of information and a few dozen photos of you, one being your citizen registration photo taken in a headshot while the others depicted you clearly unaware of the camera.
Silence stretches, and the longer anything goes unspoken the less feeling you have in your legs.
Is he trying to bait you into speaking first? Given the situation it didn’t seem right considering he was the only one who knew why you were here. While it wouldn’t be proper manners to speak first it was also rude of him not to say anything, but the majority of your energy was spent on not letting the scent of your panic raise too high.
Sunlight streams in through the open windows, the pleasant weather f the island allowing a gentle breeze to carry in the smell of the ocean and cut through his overwhelming scent. It was obnoxious and inconsiderate to have it lay so heavily with others in the room, but then who did he have to be considerate of? Who would complain if they valued their life?
“So,” Doflamingo finally speaks. You jump at the volume after the deafening silence. “You’re the tailor I’ve heard about. Sugar has been quite happy with your work.”
Ah, so there was at least that scenario you could cross off your list. Must be a kidnapping charge then, though if Sugar liked the dress then maybe it wouldn’t be as harsh. You preferred loosing a limb over imprisonment. One you could live without, find a new profession if you had to. A prison sentence proved a whole number of issues, and any end result wouldn’t look good for you.
Discovery would be inevitable.
Doflamingo flicks through the papers, humming as he reads the information with an air of performance.
“A Beta who moved here eight years ago and took over the shop of an established business. No family to speak of, though your neighbors seem to think you’re a sweet little thing, if not a bit reserved.”
He pauses, expectant, silence prompting you to speak even if you wish for nothing more than to stay silent in a vain hope you can delay whatever inevitable end he’s getting at.
“I don’t see the need to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong, sir.” You hesitantly tack on the last part, unsure of how to address him. Certainly not by his name or designation. That would be far too personal, and your majesty seemed ostentatious. Then again nearly everything about him was.
It seems an acceptable answer from the way he grins, and though it’s undoubtedly one of joy, it’s not the warm kind of happiness that comes with it but instead a biting malice waiting to be let out.
“Smart girl.” He produces a familiar purple fabric from his pocket. Much too small for even a child, but perfect for a doll. “But still, I can’t help but wonder why I caught traces of Omega on the fabric.”
You swallow thickly, doing your best to remain calm while feeling as if the floor had dropped from under you, nails digging into your palms.
The fabric storage was always hot and humid, your scent thicker there than anywhere else with it located right below your bedroom on the second floor. Not a pressing concern considering you were the only one to ever go in there, and the lingering scent helped to sell more clothes.
Customers were drawn to the goods even if they didn’t know why.
You didn’t know exactly what constituted an Omega scent, how it was any more indistinguishable from others in the variety that swarmed together. Your neighbor explained, after asking under the guise of professional curiosity, that it was supposed to have a unique light sweetness to it, though you could never detect what he was saying when you tried to pick it up in your own scent.
Normally nobody had a good enough nose to pick up exactly what it was and on the off chance they did you gave the same explanation you did now.
“My shop is located next to a perfume store. The scents often travel over from there and Omega scented perfumes are very popular.”
You do your best to smile, though it comes out more pained than anything else.
”I’m sure he would be overjoyed to hear your compliments of his work.”
Instead of responding, Doflamingo gets up from his desk and quickly rounds the end to where you sit.
Your first instinct is to put as much distance between you as possible, only to find yourself unable to move, though not through a lack of trying. As if being physically restrained, and the harder you pull the more painful it becomes.
“No need to run off.” Doflamingo practically purrs, placing himself behind you. His hands settle on your shoulders, large enough to wrap around your arms with ease as he leans down.
You hear him inhale deeply, as if huffing the air, skin prickling at the sound. It’s all you can do to hope that he doesn’t pick up your true scent, hidden beneath layers of body oil crafted to mimic the scent of Betas, as well as the skin peeling scrub you give yourself every other day.
Your only worry was the suppressants you took to top it all off had been late, arriving only that morning. They weren’t anything you would find even on the black market, specially crafted by one Omega who had come up with a concoction some years early that could suppress scents to near nothing by accumulating in the glands and inhibit the enzymes that trigger the release in the first place. Sure the areas were a bit tender to the touch and itched, and you were more prone to migraines, but that was a small price to pay.
Doflamingo stands, body tense, before pulling away with a growl that makes your stomach flutter. A natural reaction that only serves to put you further on edge.
It’s likely he’s trying to get your scent to go out further, to allow the trace of Omega to peek through everything else, but you’re not about to let eight years of secrecy go down the drain. You didn’t get this far by being that easy to find and is one of the biggest differences between you and what someone may consider a ‘wild Omega’ living in one of the safe havens.
Scent control is a fickle thing. Hard for all presentations, though Omegas simply because they put off so much scent, and Betas due to their muted abilities to do so. Alphas are never taught a majority of the time.
Unlike others you’ve spent years perfecting it, hardly a trace getting out even under duress.
The one time you’d been taken in for questioning- during your time of high travel, and had been one of your reasons for settling down in Dressrosa, wary of the ship checks that could be spring out of nowhere- they’d quickly released you, putting in your record that you were confirmed Beta when they didn’t pick up the sweet scent after you were repeatedly dunked in cold water and blasted in the face with the scent from an Alpha in rut.
No apologies of course, and it had triggered you to go into heat only a week later with barely enough time to hide yourself away.
It seems Doflamingo can detect just as much as them, looking less than pleased as he returns to his seat. It’s bth concerning and a relief as you’re saved from him discovering you but also not wanting to increase his ire anymore.
He seems to contemplate as his tongue runs over his fangs in thought before reaching to the drawer beside him. For a moment you think he’s about to pull a gun and shoot you. Odd, given the carpet looks expensive and getting blood on it would be a shame when he could easily strangle you with a singular hand. But maybe he’s just so rich it doesn’t matter. He could have a copy made and in place by the end of the day.
Instead of a weapon he pulls out something much more baffling; a bowl of fruit. It seemed all too innocent settled between you on the rich dark wood of the dark. The bright red skin seems almost artificial. Like a warning sign to stay away.
“How rude of me not to offer you anything after coming all the way here.” He gestures to the bowl in a display of faux-affability. A gracious host. “Please, enjoy.”
You eye the fruit, unsure of what he’s getting at, but it’s clear you’re not leaving without accepting at least one.
Your hand hovers- relieved to find that you can move your arms once again- carefully selecting the smallest without trying to be too obvious. It’s hardly larger than a grape, and subtly rolling it between your fingers you’re satisfied with the slight give. It doesn’t seem hard enough to pose any threat to disturbing your fang enlargers.
It has to be poison. There’s no other explanation for the way Doflamingo’s smile widens as you bring it to your mouth, not even the slightest scent detectable. The thought should terrify you more. It’ll likely be painful knowing his reputation, but no more so than if you had been discovered by him off all people. Death would be preferable. A mercy even. You heard of many who took the same path when discovered, and any transport of Omegas was considered high security both inside and out, guards only allowed to carry non-leathal weapons and keeping watch constantly.
You maintain a calm exterior as you eat, the honeyed taste popping in your mouth as your teeth bite through the skin. So sweet it makes your jaw hurt, tongue tingling. There’s a small pit in the center, of which you carefully work around and store in your cheek as subtly as possible as you would any other fruit.
Doflamingo seems to be waiting for the poison to hit, sitting forward eagerly. But as seconds pass, then minutes, nothing happens.
Frowning, the man across from you pushed the bowl closer, prompting you to eat more. But with each one you swallow he seems to become increasingly puzzled, the crease between his brows growing deeper as you ate until your stomach hurt and half the bowl was gone, feeling like a chipmunk with the seeds hidden in the sides of your mouth, hoping it wasn’t obvious.
Doflamingo gets up suddenly, pacing the floor in front of one of the many tall windows. His hand rubs at his chin, occasionally stealing a glance to where you still sit, wondering what he could be mumbling to himself. While he’s busy you take the chance to spit the mouthful of seeds into your hand, hiding them within your pocket.
Finally he stops and turns, stomping over and grabbing the front of your shirt. He was none too gentle as he pulls you up, held above the ground at eye level.
“You will be my new personal tailor. I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. Anytime you’re called upon you come, got it?” He practically seethes.
Even as your stomach drops you quickly nod, grasping at the fabric of your shirt as it slowly cuts off your oxygen. He holds you there a moment longer before dropping you, heading back to his seat and kicking his legs up as you gasp, knees now bruised but alive.
Before you know it you're escorts are back, once again seizing you in their grasp and carrying you away.
“One more thing.” Doflamingo called after you, the toy soldiers halting long enough for you to look over your shoulder. The same sadistic smirk was back on his face, showing of the respectable canines that lay hidden.
His hands gathered the papers on the desk. The dozens of photos taken while you remained oblivious.
The message was clear.
He would be watching.
_____________ oOo𝛀oOo _____________
You don’t attempt to run. Not because of the warning, but because you know it would seem too suspicious. And any time you got close to the marina you felt as if you were being watched, even as you simply enjoyed watching the ships come and go.
Sure, being so close to the royal family wasn’t ideal for anyone who valued their life, but to try and escape would be practically admitting your secret.
Doflamingo had the suspicion you were an Omega. Or at the very least you knew where one was. It seemed to be the center of topics whenever you were called upon for one thing or another. A button that had come off or a jacket with sleeves just long enough to bother. Things that could easily be fixed in your shop but instead forced you to trek up to the castle, closing your shop for a good chunk of the day.
He would comment upon any news he had heard of Omegas being found or simply his opinions. It was blatantly antagonistic, though you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He seemed to relish in the discomfort and the game of cat and mouse he would play with others, his patience surprising for his temper. As long as he was the cat that is.
“Such stupid little creatures.” He remarked as you took his measurements, the man insisting he had to be in his clothes as you hand sewed the alterations. Suspicions told you it was on the chance you accidentally prick him with a needle and he could punish you. Or maybe he wanted it to happen because he was a masochist. Both were equally likely, though he seemed to enjoy inflicting pain much more than receiving. “Pathetic really. They should be grateful to have so many willing to look after them. What do you think?”
He looks down as you hem his pants, trying to hold your scowl for more than his words as you stare at the pinned fabric. It seemed he was allergic to having anything within three inches of his shin. A fashion atrocity.
“I wouldn’t know sir. I’ve never met one.”
It wasn’t a lie. The underground organization that delivered your medication was never done face to face. Only little paper creatures that seemed to be the work of a devil fruit user.
You couldn’t remember either of your parents, dropped off at an orphanage around five. There were a few vague memories, but nothing you could confirm wasn’t part of some dream or hallucination. Sometimes you wonder if they would regret not keeping you if they found out what you were and the money you could have brought them.
Doflamingo stares a moment longer, mouth set in a firm line, before stepping off the stand he had been on. In the process of which he steps on your foot, his weight and the intentional force behind it enough to nearly have a distressed chirp escaping. Something that only Omegas do. An Alpha or Beta would growl or yelp. A warning to not do such a thing again. An Omega chirp would alert pain, and any others close by that there was danger.
Instead you swallow it down, doing your best not to put weight on the appendage. The pain mixed with the heavy layering of his scent over what felt like every inch of the room into a dreadful concoction, counting down the seconds until you could leave.
His attempt at getting a reaction out of you wouldn’t work, just as it hadn’t the past five months. At this rate his suspicions should be all but cleared, and in ways it seemed they had, much to your own smugness.
Omegas go into heat roughly four times a year. Those first three months he seemed to always be looming, calling upon you at least once a week to come to the palace and even keeping you confined for multiple days with what you could only describe as busy work. Endless hemming and adjustments. And realistically how many suits did one man need? Especially when he seemed content to lounge in whatever he wanted, normally being those dreadful flood pants and shirts he never bothered to button, giving a generous view of his chest. Of which he walked around puffed out like a peacock, seeming all the more bird-like with his feathered coat.
All the while you were kept in what was by all means a luxurious room. Much nicer than your own or any place you had ever stayed, the sheets like water as they flowed over the bed. The pillows were stuffed with feathers instead of cotton, and the rug felt like walking on a cloud.
The enjoyment was undercut by Doflamingo’s scent that seemed to permeate every inch of the place, like he came in and scented it while you were gone. Though you wouldn’t put it past him. As such the comforting bedspread and pillows were chucked to the floor, the mattress still comfortable without them.
But as one bleeds into another, three full months, then four, Doflamingo’s temper only seemed to get worse. His jovial mask began to slip more and more as his temper spiked. He lashed out more. At you, servants, and even other family members. No doubt pissed he hadn’t found a shred of evidence against you. It seemed he had a difficult time accepting he was wrong, or at least having all the facts pointing that way.
You would give it to him, he was a persistent bastard, determined to get what he wanted. Unfortunately you were equally so, and just clever enough to stay one step ahead. One loose thread could unravel your entire life.
It would be easier if he came outright and said it, but it seemed that would only take the fun out of his game. Still, you couldn't go a single place without feeling as if you were being watched, his threat of surveillance holding true as you had spotted someone trailing you more than once.
They could follow all they wanted, but would never catch you. At least you didn’t feel as threatened walking alone at night, knowing you already had a stalker who was under orders of the most deranged person in Dressrosa already.
But all this wouldn’t be your issue for much longer. Because as summer rolled around so did your vacation time, offering an escape from his increasing efforts to get you to expose yourself.
Well, vacation time was the cover. Really it was when you would go to a deserted island and spend your time alone and in peace. It was like a super power you had, the cycle only coming around every six months. A large contributor to your continued success in secrecy. An abnormality within the abnormalities, though likely due to the heavy medication use.
You had little care to how it was potentially affecting you as long as it wasn’t actively killing, only content with the fact you only had to lock yourself away twice a year. Two perfectly normal vacation times that plenty of others took.
Of which you had no intention of telling Doflamingo of until he brought it up himself.
”You’re traveling away from the island.” He said, pushing a plate towards you, laden with the fruit.
You look over the choices before selecting the same one he had given you at your initial meeting. They had been all he offered during your first visits, though even when others were offered you found yourself drawn to them.
The pits were annoying to work around, but they were small enough to hide between your cheek and teeth until you got the opportunity to spit them out. It was a shame this was the only place you could get them, and made a few attempts to grow them yourself but none had been successful.
They weren’t poisonous in any case. You surmised such after seeing him eat a handful once, though his face soured. Despite having looked for them in the market you came up short. Likely an expensive import and his attempt to woo you with his money and long speeches on how Omegas needed to be well-kept.
Apparently his family had one, but it was stolen away by his brother, and he often lamented the fact he wasn’t able to find them after they had grown to maturity, too well hidden.
They were well lavished as he liked to tell you, wanting for nothing, nearly the world at their beck and call. But you wouldn’t trade all the comfort in the world for having to spend any more time around him. You only hoped that the Omega he spoke of was living free and safe today.
”Yes. I’m visiting the previous owner of my shop and mentor. Their island has a great influx of fabric this time of year as the spiders molt.”
Your mentor’s island would only be the first stop, though according to any logs that were kept it was your only one. They had already given the all clear to borrow their own personal boat for what they thought was some sight seeing while you were there. Normally you would return it after riding out your heat on the perfect little island you’d found, and take a ship back to spend a few days cooling off, making it appear as if you were on the same island the entire time.
Except this time you weren’t coming back.
Doflamingo had gotten far too close for your liking, and the desire of other Omegas to be away from the world made far more sense now. To live in society like this was freeing, but also brought havoc to your nervous system. It would be nice to be truly free for a little while before moving on. Maybe you could find a haven of Omegas to spend some time around, though they were near impossible to find without a contact.
Alabastia was a growing market from what you heard. With a new name and identity, starting over there would be a dream, especially considering your current change of fortunes in Dresserosa.
“I will be unable to attend to your needs for those two weeks, but I’m sure the place on Seraph street will be able to help you.”
Doflamingo sighs, throwing his head back dramatically and throwing an arm over his face.
________________________________
You’re in the middle of double checking your luggage, prepared to leave before first light the next morning, when you receive a summons once again.
This time it’s Pica, waiting outside your shop to guide you to the castle. It had become an unnerving thing to have guards appear once a week, but this was a new development and for a moment you thought he was here to prevent you from leaving.
Despite your time spent in the castle you didn’t see the other members of the Donquixote family very often. They seemed quite scarce apart from when they dropped by to talk to Doflamingo. Trebol had lingered once longer than needed, his eyes watching as you worked. It made your skin crawl, twitching and attempting to use Doflamingo as a buffer between you.
The Warlord seemed to note your shift, growling at his staff officer.
Since then, you rarely saw any of the others. Which is why you were so surprised to see Pica now.
Apparently something had happened to remove a good chunk of the normal pink feathers adorning Doflamingo’s coat and he needed it to be repaired before you left. A little part of you died inside, hands already cramping at the thought of having to hand sew all the feathers back into place.
Even though you wanted to toss caution to the wind and finally tell the pompous Alpha where he could shove his feathers, you instead complied as always and allowed yourself to be taken to the palace once again.
Upon arriving you were led to his office as always, finding him relaxing at leisure on his couch out on the balcony, a servant standing close by.
“I’m glad to have caught you.” He seems in an oddly cheery mood, dampened only slightly as you decline the bowl of fruit offered. Normally you would allow yourself to indulge- a small reward in return for being dragged here- but are in no mood.
“I’m told your coat needs repairs?”
He snaps his fingers, another servant quickly bringing the garment forward. It's definitely seen better days.
What looks like a large portion of the back has been nearly plucked clean, revealing the pink fabric beneath. It reminds you of a plucked bird, wondering how the damage had even happened in the first place. It would take hours, and while not impossible, time consuming and annoying.
When you turn to set your tools up, only to be redirected to another spot out on the balcony near Doflamingo, a chair and table with a mannequin already set up. Internally you groan, but know you should have expected something of the sort.
As you work, the sun beats down harshly, punishing under its rays. Doflamingo seems unbothered, reclined as he soaks in the warmth like a big pampered cat. His size is only fractionally diminished by the absence of his fluffy coat, still as broad as ever.
You can feel him watching as you work, eyes drilling holes into the back of your head as you pointedly look away from him under the guise of having your back to the sun to see your work better.
It’s hot, especially for being the tailend of summer, and you quickly realize your fault of not spending more time outside, body unused to the heat when you kept your store cool. The needle gets increasingly more difficult to work with, hands clammy as the sharp metal slips.
“Feel a bit warm there?” Doflamingo calls out, resting on his side with his head propped up by an arm. He’s abandoned his shirt at this point in favor of escaping tan lines, the pretentious man he is.
“No sir. Perfectly fine.” You grit out, swearing under your breath as you prick your finger as the needle slips.
Didn't he have anything better to do with his time? How was the kingdom even being run at this point, or did he schedule out time just to be an annoyance.
He leans over, whispering to the servant. They disappear with a bow, returning minutes later with a glass promptly forced into your hand.
Resisting the urge to glare at the man behind you, instead thanking the servant and taking a long drink.
It was cool and refreshing, irritatingly perfect for the weather with the fruity flavor, though it was impossible to guess what had all been tossed in there. It was almost unbearably sweet, as if half of it was made of sugar.
On the rim of the glass sat a pink paper umbrella, the sight of which made your teeth grind so hard you could hear them squeak in protest. When you made it to Alabastia there wouldn’t be a single scrap of pink fabric anywhere near you.
Downing the rest of the drink, you put your head down and get back to work, moving even quicker to attach the loose feathers.
Doflamingo goes uncharacteristically silent behind you, and when you chance a look over your shoulder you find him staring in your direction. He could be looking at the city behind you, though it’s impossible to tell with those glasses he never takes off. A part of you wonders how prominent the tan line under them must be and the image conjured almost makes you laugh, barely concealing it with a cough.
The sun is setting by the time you finish, hands aching from the dozens of feathers sewn in as you try to fight the ever-growing headache that had set itself upon you. When was the last time you’d been out in the sun so much?
Doflamingo slips the coat on, inspecting the repaired section.
“Such attention to detail. Is that just for me?”
“You are the king. I always make sure to take great care with your clothes.”
Either that or risk losing your life. You’re grateful to be faced away as you pack your things, allowing you to roll your eyes. One last silent little rebellion before you never have to see him again.
As you put your things away, a bobbin falls from your case. But when you go to pick it up you notice your hands have begun to shake. Not the normal nerves that accompany you here. Something out of your control that won’t still no matter how many deep breaths you take.
You fumble the same bobbin once more, clattering to the ground and rolling across smooth marble all the way to a pair of pointy black shoes, polished to perfection. Much closer than you expected them to be.
“What’s this? Not feeling well?” Doflamingo clicks as he grabs the thread, looking comically small as he holds it between two fingers. “It would be a real shame to miss out on your trip. Especially since you haven’t for the past eight years. At least that’s what the travel logs say.”
His words are creeping, peeling your nerves with their own self satisfaction, hair standing on end.
“It’s the slow season. I don’t know what other time I would take it.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. Forget the bobbin. You have plenty of others. Consider it a farewell present.
“Mm, that might be. But your predecessor's logs indicate that their slow season starts two weeks later than others. I guess everyone still needs clothes in the winter, even in Dresserosa.”
“I like to avoid the crowds.” You counter, gripping your case tighter as a headache begins to creep up on you.
You’re cornered, back to the wall with nowhere to go as Doflamingo leans over you. His arms cage you in, unable to escape as he presses closer until you’re practically suffocating in his scent.
Instinct is what guides you, not logic. If it were the later you may have tried to talk your way out of the situation, play it off. But with your blood pounding in your ears and a thousand years of evolution and instinct pushing adrenaline through every inch of your body, your body moves on its own.
Teeth sink into flesh, the tang of blood hitting your tongue before common sense your brain. The sharp tang, while intoxicating in its own right at the success of having wounded your opponent, is also unfamiliar enough to draw you back.
Fuck.
You just bit an Alpha. A direct challenge. And not just any Alpha; Donquixote Doflamingo.
He’s going to kill you. Forget about finding a new identity. Your existence was going to be ended right here on this pristine marble floor, blood staining the expensive carpet. And when it was rolled away, likely with your body tucked in it, any trace of your existence would be wiped away with the murder.
A deep rumble traveled through your teeth, prompting you to quickly retract and press as far back as possible even as your fangs remained bared, unable to cower completely without a fight.
You must look a mess, panting with blood staining your mouth and teeth. BUt the sight doesn’t turn Doflamingo away in the slightest. In fact he seems to be laughing, not growling as you initially had thought, body morphing from light trembles to full-blown laughter that shook his shoulders.
You attempt to duck away while he’s distracted, only to be grabbed and pinned back against the wall by those ridiculously large hands.
His tongue drags up your face, collecting the small trickle of blood that pools at the corner of your mouth.
“I knew there was something wrong with these.”
Still holding you with one hand, a string appears between his fingers on the other, and which are promptly brought to your mouth.
He grips your jaw and force your mouth open, your hands rendered immoble at your sides when you try to lift them as you realize what he’s doing.
In a last ditch effort you attempt to use your tongue to fend off the intruding digits, only to have his ring finger easily hold the muscle down, drool pooling in your mouth and mixing with the blood as it slides dangerously back, nearly triggering your gag reflex.
Between the two he’s able to hold you still enough as the string skillfully works between the near non-existent gap between your canines and the false ones overtop. They clatter to the floor. First the right, then the left. Worked off with such ease despite the pain it caused, the near industrial glue fighting to keep them on.
“Lots of Betas use fang enlargers.” You growl as soon as his hand leaves your mouth, the taste of rose-scented lotion left behind and laying like a thick coat over your tongue.
“Oh, I know. Trebol has quite a few pairs.” Doflamingo grins, leaning down to bring his face close. “Beta may be vain, but I’ve never met any susceptible to Koja fruit.”
The heat, which you had blamed on the Dressrosa sun, had only gotten worse. But long gone was the sun, now dipped beyond the horizon and leaving the room cast in a twilight as the lights of the city below began to glow.
Your head swam too much, body breaking out in a cold sweat even as you shivered, the air in the room sweltering. No, this wasn’t a normal heat.
This was a heat heat.
But that shouldn't be. You were still two weeks out and it never came early, keeping obsessive track of your cycle and none of the early warning signs had been there. You hadn’t even gotten the urge to nest yet!
But it didn’t seem to matter, the familiar sparks curling low in your stomach, stoked further by the scent of an Alpha quite literally on top of you. It lays like a layer of slime in your throat, suffocating as your lungs tighten.
"It's harmless to most, if not terribly bitter. But Omega’s? They can’t seem to get enough of it. It’s like ambrosia to them. To you.” He was too close, nose tracing your skin as he spoke, practically huffing the air as you realized it had become laced with your scent. Not the muted Beta scent you normally carried, but that of a true Omega, sweet and alluring as it broke through all your safeguards as your heat settled in to stay.
“They were created by Vegapunk for the government to induce heat in Omegas already close enough. You can hide your scent, but not your nature.”
Your mind flew back to all the times he had offered you the fruit, thinking he was so giddy each time you accepted the fruit and even sought it out among others on the plate. How it seemed odd that such an unknown fruit that was clearly imported and held a certain level of rarity went untouched by him.
“I like bitter foods.” You grit out, attempting to hold onto any last defense you could even if your body had long ago given up the facade.
“They’re not cheap mind you.” He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and in all likelihood he hadn’t, his own ego practically oozing with satisfaction.
His own breathing was becoming more labored, overwhelmed at the scent of an Omega so close, not to mention going into heat. Even if he spent his blood money on the finest imitations it was a pale comparison.
“Do you know how many you ate before I figured out it was the seeds that contained the important part? I just had to make sure you were eating them.”
Your mind swirled, wondering when he had done so before remembering the drink he had served you. The pink umbrella.
The sweetness was all too familiar, only unrecognizable due to its high concentration, but now seeming stupidly obvious. No, it wasn’t a poison as you had initially thought, but now you wished it had been.
“I’d almost doubted myself. You made me think I was wrong. One more thing to punish you for.” He sounds absolutely delighted by the prospect. “I’ve waited so patiently for you to break, to come crawling to me like a proper Omega.”
As your heat burns brighter, hormones rising, so do all your other emotions. Another heat. The heat of anger. Anger at yourself for being careless enough to be caught, as well as Doflamingo for putting you in this situation. But above all at the universe for making you this way.
He wants an Omega so bad? Fine. You’ll show him an Omega.
“Get. Back!”
Your scent has the equivalent impact of a cannonball. No, more than that. It wouldn’t have nearly the impact on Doflamingo as your scent did, sending him stumbling back and landing flat on his back. He proceeds to lay there gasping as he stares up the ceiling, shudders wracking his body, fingers digging into the plush rug beneath him.
His brain must be working overtime with the endorphins released at such a high concentration and you yourself even feel a bit giddy at the relief it brought. Like a stopper on a drain had been pulled as the scent always kept bottled up oozed out.
Your body nearly collapses without his support, barely managing to catch yourself, sleeve pressed over your nose in an attempt to block out his own overwhelming scent in response to your own.
There’s no time for a breather, stumbling towards the door before he can gather himself.
There would be no time to stop by your apartment and gather your things. It was late enough that the marina should be relatively abandoned. No way would you be getting on a boat with others in this condition, but staying in Dressrosa wasn’t an option either. Doflamingo would turn the place upside down looking for you, so stealing a boat and getting as far away as quickly as possible was your only option. Head out to sea and hope you didn’t happen upon any wayward ships.
You stumble to the door, shaky hands finding the nob and attempting to reef it open, but no matter how hard you pull it refuses to budge.
Locked. When had he done that?
There’s no time to find the key and you’re not even close to strong enough to be able to bust the heavy wooden slab down.
Eyes darting around, you finally land on the balcony, the soft breeze still fluttering in and setting the curtains in motion, as if beckoning you closer with the promise of fresh air and freedom.
Running past Doflamingo, who has now recovered enough to get on his hands and knees, though his palms still remain clenched over his face as his senses are overwhelmed, attempting to block some of the scent.
He tries to grab you as you pass, his movement too sluggish to catch you as his clawed hands tremble. No doubt if you could see his eyes behind those glasses they would be fully blown out.
You make it to the balcony, ready to jump the railing and hope that the trees below are enough to cushion your fall.
The moon gleams overhead, the light of the perfect sphere shining down. It’s at the last moment that you notice it as the light catches at just the right angle, skidding to a stop just before you run into it full force. The sudden stop skins your knee, but the pain is miniscule, too absorbed by the sight before you as you tentatively reach out.
It’s nearly invisible, as delicate and intricate as a spider’s web and just as dangerous, waiting to catch and reel you in.
You attempt to move it aside, hissing as all you receive is a cut for your efforts, fingers bleeding freely from the paper-thin slice. You turn, ready to jump out a window, only to discover the same nearly translucent threads crossing the panes as well. Every single one of them, all covered in a web of crossing lines too small to squeeze through.
You were trapped. Nowhere else to go. No other ways to escape.
Except one.
Doflamingo kept a gun in the drawer. He didn’t bother to hide the fact, often twirling it around his finger carelessly in a way that had you thinking it wasn’t loaded for your own peace of mind. If you could get to it then you could use it. Preferably on Doflamingo.
Racing to the desk, you jerk the drawer open and spot the familiar gleam of metal, shining like a lifeline as you reach for it.
How many other people has he killed with this exact weapon, not even caring enough to kill them with his devil fruit abilities? How much blood has been spilled by a madman without a single care as he takes what he views as rightfully his? A fitting end then, for the same weapon to be turned in its owner. Poetic in a way you could only appreciate later when you were rid of him.
But the heavy weight never hits your hands, body jerked back, reeled in like a fish on a hook. A snarl of rage and frustration tears from your throat as lanky arms close around you, forcing you against a broad chest with skin that feels just as sweltering as your own. Pink feathers dance at the edge of your vision, cutting off everything else as you’re pulled closer.
In a last ditch attempt to escape your teeth sink into his arm once again, doing much less damage than they had with the enlargers on. In fact they hardly even did any damage at all, barely making it through skin and much less impressive as your head is forcibly jerked back.
It’s like a common housecat fighting a tiger, your tenacity and fury lacking the ability to overcompensate for the sheer strength presented.
Doflamingo’s scent is cloying, no longer able to push it out of your head as it consumes your thoughts. Like a rose garden that’s been the scene of a fight, elegance and beauty marred by the stench of blood. But it’s not normal, laced with something stronger, now underlayed with a scent of spicy musk.
Your stomach drops.
Yes, your attempt had gotten him away from you, but it seems it had also proved to be too much for him in more ways than one. The other danger that came with an Omega putting so much of their scent out.
It had sent him into a rut.
“Was this your plan all along?” Doflamingo laughs, ignoring the way you try to squirm away from his touch, nails tearing at any skin you could reach. The heels of your shoes squeak against the marble floor, head snapping back the moment you feel him shift.
Lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his much larger canines dragging along the cartilage and nipping just enough to not draw blood, red marks welling regardless.
Your stomach churns, not with arousal as it normally did during your heat, but disgust, knowing what’s coming next. Years of evolution playing out in real time, no longer relegated to your nightmares. Even knowing there’s nothing you can do to properly brace yourself, only able to hold back tears, refusing to cry. To give him the satisfaction.
Fangs sink into your neck, much longer and thicker than your own, powerless to stop him. The sensation brings your struggles to a cold stop, adrenaline replaced by euphoria as your brain becomes further clouded.
The fog closes in, impenetrable and suffocating until you’re cornered into a dark recess of your own mind. More of a passenger than anything else as his tongue laps up the dribble of blood, the saliva providing a balm to the wound and staunching the bleeding.
The entire time you can’t help but think how stupid you were. To think that you could live a life of relative freedom when the world was intent on seeing you caged, unable to look past one genetic deviance.
For the first time in years you chirp, the small sound of distress the final nail in the coffin, now drowning in the evidence of your biology as you reach the highest levels of stress conceivable. Because for you? This is the end of the world. Of your world. Of everything you had carefully built and crafted for yourself.
Doflamingo reacts in kind, his chest rumbling with purrs meant to put you at ease, yet only increases your distress, of which he seems to relish in.
“I’ve got you.” He groans into your ear as his cheek presses against your head, the taste of your blood lingering on his tongue like the finest of wines. It’s nearly just as intoxicating as your scent.
“I have everything you could ever need.”
No. You needed your freedom. You needed to be away from him, not stay here for whatever he had planned.
He wouldn’t sell you, if the bite on your neck was anything to go by. But even beyond that you knew he wouldn’t trade all the money in the world for you, the Omega he caught himself.
But with the way his arms tighten around your waist, drawing you closer as he huffs your scent like it’s the most addictive thing in all the seas, you know it’s but a pipe dream.
The urge to write a Might Gai x Isakai Reader is so strong y’all don’t understand.
I’m picturing reader doesn’t know a lick about anything going on and can’t even understand the language. Like emerged from a lake (or Gai spots them at the bottom of one after getting knocked in during a fight) and everyone has no idea what to do with them but there’s some big bad that wants them so of course they need a protection detail and of course the only person they trust is Gai since he’s the one who saved them and hasn’t pointed something sharp at them. Maybe they fall from the sky and Gai catches them or that literally fall into him as he’s jumping to do something idk which is more funny
Idk maybe they have like visions or some healing thing they have no idea how to control (I’m just stream of consciousness writing here at this point).
How am I supposed to stay focused on writing the Shanks fic when I have this rolling around in my head?!?!?!?! (also side note Obsidian is a great app for helping to organize longer fic outlines).
I love this man so much and there’s a criminal lack of fics for him. Drop recs for fics please
Yayyy! Can i req alpha! Shoto, Shinso, Bakugo and Keigo (separate) coming home to their Omega fem s/o all chirping and crying because someone destroyed her nest. By accident or intentionally, you can decide. Thanks so much <3333
Masterlist
A/N: I have a favorite, can you tell? Also, the assumption is that all characters are adults and working as pro heroes. Tbh I’ve really missed doing ones like this so that you so much for the request! Omegaverse BNHA is my jam. Forgive me if there’s spelling errors I wrote this during my breaks at work on my phone.
Warnings: None (as far as I know), not beta read, Reader is kept as gender neutral as possible but there may be a mistake or two
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Keigo
He’s always rushing off in a hurry somewhere, leaving behind shocked faces and gusts of wind. Its not like he’s doing any harm apart from messing up people’s hair and scattering a few papers.
He doesn’t even think much of it when you start courting and he often finds himself coming over to your place more often. Your windows are too small for him to comfortably get through so he just uses the door (much to his displeasure).
This is one of the motivating factors when he asks you to move in with him, away from your cramped apartment and into his own that has higher ceilings and a balcony attached to his bedroom. Plenty of space for him to stretch out, though he seems to always find a reason to be attached to you whenever he can. Even a king sized mattress isn’t enough to keep him away from you, huddled between the edge of the bed and him.
There no shortage of blankets and pillows as he likes to have a comfortable life when he’s not working and is prone to splurging on things that make that happen, I.e. comfortable mattress Nd bedding to crash on and sleep when he’s finally done for the day. The collection is only added to when you move in and he can’t help but think you make the place even better when you start arranging everything and making your new nest. He knows better than to touch it. Or even wash anything without your permission. Instead he’s content to bask in your scent, his bed a careful array of everything you’ve deemed good enough to be included, your scents mingling together.
He loves your nest, especially when you have to get up earlier than him for work on occasion. It makes up for the fact that the rest of your morning routine is broken. Keigo is generally the earlier riser, wanting to get a head start on the day so he can get back home at a decent time. He’ll make coffee and bring it to you in bed, allowing you both to slowly wake up and get ready for the day.
He heads off first, not even bothering with the door and going right off the balcony which he opens as soon as he wakes to let the nice morning breeze in, but when he leaves he always makes sure to shut and lock it, not wanting you to get too cold as you doze in bed until it’s time for you to get up.
But this morning you had something to do at work even earlier than him. Of course you give him a kiss goodbye as he does for you, laughing when he groans but still accepting the code you make him this time.
You’re out the door and an hour later he’s getting ready to leave as well, but this time he doesn’t bother shutting the balcony. You’re not there to be disturbed so he doesn’t see much point in his still drowsy mind. And so he kicks off with the same speed he normally does.
When he comes home he’s instantly hit with the scent of your distress, panicked thinking he should have closed the doors and someone got in. But as he ventures deeper into the room he finds you kneeling on the bed, not crying but the occasional chirp escaping as you reorganize the blankets and pillows-all ones he’s loving bought with you in mind- only to become even more frustrated since it’s not the same as it was.
“Hey it’s alright I-“
He stops short as you fix him with a glare, pinning him in place as a low growl escapes. Not the playful one you’d give when he would hold things above your head as you jumped to get them. No, this one was pure anger. That if an Omega who promised to pounce and it sounded foreign coming from you.
“You could have just told me you didn’t like it.” You snap, leaving Keigo more confused than before. He tries to question you but you’re on a roll, abandoning your attempt to recreate your nest and turning on him, walking him back until he’s against the wall.
Even with all the situations he faces on the daily as a hero he can’t help but be more scared now than he is in any of those.
“Not only do I have to go to work early, but also have to deal with a bunch of clients who have contradicting demands and refuse to be on an email chain or discussion board together as well as a boss who thinks I can snap my fingers and have things done! Then I come home looking forward to nothing more than sinking into my perfectly constructed nest and reading, and you know what I find?”
Keigo swallows, biting his tongue, already realizing his mistake but far too late.
“Blankets everywhere! Not a single pillow left on the bed! Bare except for the sheets!”
You turn back around, still silently fuming as you go back to trying to get everything back in order.
Keigo can’t help but feel guilty, knowing you’d been under more pressure than normal at work and the last thing he wanted was to add to that. And so it’s with all the disposition of a locked puppy that he goes out to the kitchen, ordering your favorite takeout.
The smell when it arrives is enough to lure you from the bedroom, your frown easing just a fraction when you see the table set and Keigo standing awkwardly. He was a good mate. Amazing even. So the times that you were upset, truly upset, with him were far and few between and each time it happened left you both feeling awkward.
What finally broke you was when he offered up his jacket, freshly scented and an item you often covered and stole from him during your heats. It wasn’t something he often let you have apart from those times, distracted by your scent all day when he got it back, so for him to do so now was more of an apology than words.
Hesitantly you accept the olive branch, trying to be subtle as you sniff the fabric before slipping it on, practically purring at the fit.
“I really like your nest.” He says, slowly wrapping his arms around you, pleased when you don’t pull away as he rests his chin on your head. “Promise I’ll be more careful.”
You sigh, still mad but also recognizing his attempt to make you feel better. It might not have been as bad if today at work had gone better, but all of it adding up was just too much to handle. He was reckless, but not malicious.
“You better, or else I’m moving my nest to the storage closet.”
“I’d be too small for us both in there.” Keigo complains, pulling you closer as his wings fold around you. When it came to it he sure knew how to lay it on thick, but even so you couldn’t help but feel a bit better as his hands rubbed the tension from your shoulders, already eyeing the takeout containers.
Shinso
He loves nest. This man is bone tired ever day and there’s nothing he loves more than collapsing into your nest at the end and curling up with you. Whenever you’re feeling skittish or upset and just want to be alone in it he understands and sleeps in your shared room alone while you stay in the guest room that had been converted into your personal nesting area.
You both don’t normally sleep there but it’s cozy and a nice way to end the day after coming back from work. It was all the more lonely when you weren’t there but he managed. Just as he did before he met you.
He’s well informed on the topic, much more than anyone would expect for a Beta, often giving advice to others when they’re in trouble. It’s not so much about knowing the technical aspects but being able to read the individual Omega and what they would want or need for their nest and Shinso is particularly good at it.
His nesting skills aren’t that bad actually. He liked to make them for himself in his younger years even if some of the others liked to tease him for it. Jokes on them because you certainly didn’t seem to mind, impressed with his knowledge on both construction and etiquette surrounding them. Especially because you were particular about your nest even for an Omega.
You could notice the slightest change in anything and he was honestly impressed with your observation skills. Sometimes it came back to bite him though.
Shinso stumbled through the dark apartment, trying not to trip as he continued his frantic search. He was already late waking up, the power going out in the middle of the night and knocking his clock out, and it didn’t help that he had stayed awake late last night so you could watch the latest episode of the series you were both watching.
Now he couldn’t find his bag, frantically searching his mind for where he could have left it and kicking himself for not using the hanger you had installed for him by the door to avoid this exact situation. He was doing his best not to let you in on the situation, knowing you would tease him about it, even as you got ready in the bathroom by the light of a candle. Your own time to head into work was a bit later and it had been you that had woken him up, surprised he was still there.
The faintest memory flashed through his mind. Coming home yesterday and immediately collapsing onto the couch with you, laughing as he chucked his shoes back down the hallway with impressive aim. He’d also slung his bag down in favor of burying himself under the blankets and on top of you.
Wheeling back to the living room he found the couches just as it had been when you went to bed, piled with blankets and pillows. After a bit of searching he emerged triumphant, tossing it over his shoulder and calling a goodbye over his shoulder as he bolted out the door to make it on time for his train.
He made it with time to spare, panting as he pulled out his phone to check the time. Along with a few other notification he saw that there was a notification from the building manager that the power would be restored by that afternoon. You’d floated the idea of getting takeout for dinner if you couldn’t use the stove to cook, but it seemed those plans were out the window.
Shinso got to work on time after all, putting his things away in his locker and slipping into his costume. He had the early patrol route with Uzui, one of the newer inters he was supposed to be showing the ropes. Though Shinso had his own suspicions it was simply to torture him. Despite her quirk that allowed her to slow time within a specific radius, the young woman never seemed to stop moving. It was like she drank coffee and energy drinks all day and he’d never seen her look even remotely tired.
Today was no different, meeting her just outside the changing rooms where she was already bouncing on her heels and talking with a group of office workers who were still bleary eyed and chugging coffee. They seemed grateful for the rescue, not guilty in the slightest as Uzui turned her attention to him.
“Good morning!” False. It had been an awe full morning. Shinso just hoped that nothing happened to make it worse.
“I saw that there was a power outage in your area! Have you gotten it back yet? Is it going to affect the train schedule? Did you sleep late? Is that why you look so tired?” She paused, eyes narrowing. “Well, more tired than normal.”
Shinso sighed, not bothering to answer her questions as he made his way for the door. He might have felt a bit worse if he also didn’t know there would be a hundred more.
It was going to be a long day.
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Shinso’s locker slammed shut, resting his head against the cool metal while trying to ignore the ache in his leg where he’d been struck earlier while restraining someone, distracted by another one of Uzui’s questions and allowing them to get a lucky strike.
The hours felt all too long and he was just thankful the report was simple enough that he didn’t need to stay late. You’d be home already and maybe finally let him into your nesting room after being shut out the past week.
When he exited he found Uzui already there and just barely stopped himself from turning right back around.
“Can you sign for my hours today? And put the report number down to count towards my practical experience?”
He sighed, grabbing the offered paper and pen to scribble the information, ra king his brain trying to remember the number for the report. As he did so Uzui leaned in closer, her nose twitching.
“I’m glad I was able to catch you since you’ll be off work next week.”
Shinso paused, his signature trailing off as he looked at the young hero.
“You know, because of your mate? They’re going into heat, right?”
Some may consider it rude, but while Uzui could be annoying she also had a nose like no other and seemed to use it to further terrorize others. She could know everyone you’d hung out with in the past 48 hours even if you scrubbed your skin raw.
There was no reason for him not to believe her and he was more so surprised. Your heat wasn’t supposed to be for another two weeks and you were rarely off schedule. Shinso took it with a smidge of pride as it was a silent proclamation that he was giving his mate a safe, stable environment.
He wracked his brain, trying to think of any of the signs to show it was coming but he’d been so busy it was hard to recall. Sure you were a bit more protective of your nest than normal but as it approached you normally were more open with it, wanting him to put his scent over everything. What-
He paused, noting the way Uzui’s attention seemed to be over his shoulder. On his backpack. The same one he’s dug from the pile of blankets and pillows that had been living on the couch for the past week. What he assumed had been there due to you both being too busy to move them.
There was only one other time when you had made a nest outside its designated area, spurred on by the stress at work and Shinso’s increasing absence earlier on in his career. You’d been so worried about missing him when he was home that you’d set up camp in the living room to catching him as he was coming in going. He hadn’t even thought about it happening again but now a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. As if he’d eaten a bowl of rocks. Something he would have done over what he did, remembering the way he’d carelessly tossed everything off the couch that morning.
He practically threw the papers back at Uzui, leaving her puzzled as he dashed out the door.
Shortly after he found himself standing in front of the apartment door, your favorite takeout in hand as well as a puzzle to add to your collection, of which you liked to do at night while you lounged together.
The lights were on when he entered, allowing him to see the mess he’d left earlier in his haste. They lay in the same crumpled heat, the living room devoid of your presence that had been a constant the past few days. What really hit him was the bitter tinge to your scent, a mix of distress and anger that always made his nerves burn with distaste.
Shinso crept through the hall, cautiously making his way closer to your nesting room where he could hear you moving about. The scent only grew stronger and he felt all the worse. He couldn’t even remember the last time it was this bad, feeling as if it were clinging to his throat like a thick glue.
The door was cracked, allowing him to see the way you stood in front of the bed, arms clutching tightly to hold yourself together. His own anxiety must have peaked enough to draw attention, your head whipping over to where he stood. But instead of chastising or slamming the door in his face he was surprised when you flung yourself at him, chirping your distress as you latched on. He nearly dropped his bags, barely managing to set them down in time.
He tried to soothe you- crooning as load as he can, though it’s nowhere near as loud as the rumble that alphas can produce- but the tears wouldn’t stop, feeling like a slap in the face as you wimpered.
“Shinso, my nest-“
“I’m sorry. I understand if you want me to leave for the night.” He said, trying to keep his anger in check. His instincts screamed to take care of whatever had caused this but he knew he only had himself to blame. The words wavered even more than your own, making you draw back in surprise. Enough so that your tears had stopped for the moment.
“What?”
“I’m a shitty mate. I don’t don’t deserve you, I-“
He’s cut off as your hands grab his face, confusion coloring your own.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your nest? The one on the couch?” He’s confused by your reaction but don’t fight against your touch, in fact leaving further into it as it calms him in turn.
“I don’t have be one on the couch.”
Your admission only makes him more confused. Why had you been so upset?
“But then why did you say-“
“The maitanence workers.” You turn back to the bed, looking over the carefully constructed mess that sits there. “They had to get to the fuse box to test that it was working after resetting the power. They moved all my stuff and put their scent in the room.”
Your nose wrinkles in disgust. Shinso realizes you’re right as he takes a deep breath, the muted smell of others lingering. It’s obvious that you’d tried to get as much of it out as possible but it still lingered in a way that was distasteful to you both.
“Oh, you brought dinner?”
The intrusion of your nest is momentarily forgotten, excited to see the familiar takeout box sitting next to him.
“Would you mind scenting the room to get their smell out while I plate these up?”
Shinso could only nod as you placed a kiss on his cheek before retreating to the kitchen, hardley able to believe his luck as he layered his scent thickly over everything. By the time you came back the place reeked of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Much to his delight he was allowed to stay, his offerings even to gain him entry.
“Why did you think my nest was in the living room?” You ask as you fit another puzzle piece into place, brows furrowed as you try to assemble a large area that all looked the same.
“Ah, Uzui mentioned you were near your heat, and with everything else going on I thought you might have decided to put it somewhere else again.” His face reddens as you laugh.
You knew about the intern, finding her positively endearing after catching them out and about together.
“That was one time! Besides, my heat is still a few weeks away. Tell her to get her nose checked.”
“Yeah yeah.” Shinso halfheartededly agreed, pulling you back into his chest as he felt his eyes grow heavier, your scent mingling with his and only growing stronger as you scented him, purring all the while.
He often considered himself a lucky Beta but now more so than ever.
Unfortunately he wouldn’t get to talk to Uzui until the following week, your heat in fact coming early, much to Shinso’s amusement and your annoyance.
Bakugo
Despite what people think he doesn’t have a secret gentle side no matter who you are. He’s straight forward with everything in his life and that includes his mate. Straightforward, but not rude. He just prefers honesty and doesn’t have the patience to be tiptoeing around things, especially when it comes to you.
Honestly it’s a bit refreshing from the normal treatment that Omegas get. He’s not a brute but won’t let you push him around, while still indulging in your desires. He’s not the type to get you new nesting material just because he saw it, but if he knows you’re needing something new or you’ve had a rough time lately and need a pick me up he’ll get it. It saves you the headache that some other Omegas have of having to go through your collection every few months and weed things out.
You knew how he was when he first asked to court you and were under no impression that he would change. And while he is softer towards you than anyone else, it’s still not the mushy, head over heels way that others can be. He looks out for you and cares for you in his own way. That might not be the usual PDA that mates display-even if he’s insistent on you scenting each other whenever you’re leaving the house, he would only ball at the idea of doing so in public- but he still does his own things.
Making sure you make it to the bed when you fall asleep on the couch, knowing you’ll be hurting in the morning if you don’t. Ensuring you get the proper nutrients during your heat when all you want to eat is instant ramen and juice, even if that means pulling himself away long enough to go make a proper meal at least twice a day. He won’t let you cling to him like a swims skin in public, but best believe that his hand is holding yours in an iron-tight grip.
Still, you never thought he would do this.
You stand in the doorway, hardley able to believe your eyes. Surely you must still be asleep on the plane, still coming back from the conference you were at for two weeks. That you hadn’t come back to find your nest completely gone.
No blankets or pillows. No plushies or carefully selected garments.
All gone.
You’re still there when Bakugo comes home, finding you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you. Your travel bag was still on the floor, unpacked, as if the silent tears rolling down your face wasn’t enough.
His eyes lock with yours, widening as he realizes something is truly wrong, long legs eating the distance as he crouches in front of you.
It’s not how he expected to see you after two weeks of being away from each other, normally more eager to greet him. Or, when you got home late, he’s there by the door to greet you and take your bags.
“What’s wrong?” His voice could have been a bit more gentle, more soothing, but he’s too put on edge by your distress to care.
Find the problem and fix it. Simple.
“It’s gone.”
Bakugo didn’t have to ask what it was. He already knew as well as you did that he was the one who had gotten rid of it.
For months he’s been grumbling about the mess in the corner of the living room that made up your nest but there was nowhere else to put it. You didn’t like the height of beds or other furniture and felt too claustrophobic and cramped to put it in the tub. The bedroom was too small to even have it in the corner of without being in the way and so the living room had been the only option. You didn’t have guest over that often, and when you did you would clean all the items up and put them away even if it was a pain to do every time.
And now he’s went and gotten rid of it while you were gone, part of you angry but a larger part of you hurt that he’d done so. Moving, or even touching an Omega’s nest was a big no. Not if you valued your relationship with them.
Bakugo paused, taking a deep breath before picking you up much to your displeasure. You weren’t too happy with him at the moment and in the time he was gone had seriously begun thinking about your relationship.
But before you could fight too much he sets you back down on your feet, now in front of the half-bath just down the hall from your room.
Except when he opened the door it wasn’t a bathroom, shocked to see it resembled the reference photos you had saved for a nesting room. But these weren’t photos, complete with everything including a small fridge tucked away in the corner.
You recognized the familiar items that normally made up your nest tuck at the far end of the wall. They sat atop a heating pad that separated it from the newly laid flooring.
“Now you don’t have to get all antsy when other people are coming and get too close to your nest.” Mumbling, he crosses his arms. “Don’t even use this one anyways so I figured why not make it something actually useful.”
You turn to Bakugo, wide eyed and lip still trembling as a wave of tears rolled down your face. Not from devastation but joy, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, not caring for the dirt that still clung to him for work as you purred.
“Eh?! Stop acting like it’s some big deal! Now I don’t have to trip over it in the mornings.” Despite his words you could feel the deep rumbles as he preened at your reaction, clearly pleased.
You let go, slipping inside to explore more and excited to see a new blanket made entirely of the same material as your favorite shirt of his. It’s perfect, from the color of the walls to the shelves that had replaced the sink and toilet. Where the shower once was sat a pile of materials both old and new, much to your delight.
When Bakugo tried to follow he was quickly pushed back out, the door shut in his face.
“What the hell?!”
“You still moved my stuff!” You shouted from behind the door, not bothering to lock it as you began sorting through all the items. “No nest for you for a week.”
He grumbled, annoyed but knowing there would be no changing your mind. Instead he got up, grabbing your travel bag and already starting to sort through the items of what he could toss in with his clothes.
Shoto
This man has both little time and a decent amount of money from his hero work, so I imagine that for a good chunk of his professional life he’s hired someone to come and clean his place. Plus, he’s contributing to the economy.
Even before you’re officially mates and are just courting he likes to ensure that you have everything you need, even if he’s not entirely sure what that is.
He often goes to his siblings for advice, a bit more socially adept than him, but still manages to make a mistakes on occasion. He’s grateful that you’re understanding of his upbringing, not taught to care too much for the comfort of Omegas until his later teen years.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that a lot of Omegas found him to be intimidating even when he developed a bit more social tact, his scent rather striking and overpowering. But somehow he had managed to find you, and despite all his (many) blunders when courting you, you agreed to be his.
Still, old habits are hard to break. With how his job is he’s grown used to giving orders and expecting them to be followed, confident in his decisions. Just as always people listen to what he says. A natural born leader.
He just sometimes wishes they wouldn’t.
Shoto steps inside the house, finding it the same as he would any other Thursday. Even if he had graduated and launched to quick success in his career you still had some college classes to finish, and he was more than happy to support you in any way he could.
Despite your busy schedule you still tried to do everything by yourself as much as you could, and he could already smell dinner coming from the kitchen. It was something you insisted you enjoyed doing along with packing his lunches and he found food always tasted better when coming from you.
A soft melody came from the kitchen, playing music off your phone as you worked. He called a greeting as he passed by, catching sight of you in front of the stone as he passed by towards the bedroom.
But as soon as he stepped inside an odd feeling overtook him. Normally the moment he stepped through the door he felt a bit more at ease just knowing he could relax without worry. But now he felt on edge. As if something were wrong but he didn't know what.
Moving to change, he stripped his shirt and tossed it into the hamper which had been overflowing that morning. It now sat empty thanks to the housekeepers who had been by earlier in the day, and whom he had made sure to give instructions that everything in the house was to be washed. With your heat and exams coming up he knew you wouldn't want anyone in the house, and he wanted to make sure you wouldn't have to worry about any sort of laundry for a good while. Even the bed was freshly washed and crisply made.
As he walked back to the kitchen, he passed the nook that served as your day-to-day nesting corner. Normally it was packed full of books and any puzzles you were working on, lost amidst the sea of blankets pillows, and his clothes. But instead of a chaotic mess he was greeted with a neatly organized corner. The blankets and other fabrics were there, but neatly folded on top of one another.
You didn’t fold your nesting material. When it got too old it was washed and put right back in place. A comforting constant you could return to and ever since he’d known you Shoto had rarely seen you change what was in it apart from a few things of his, which he also noted were missing.
The chances of you leaving them in such a way? None.
Shoto’s body tensed, looking towards the kitchen where you remained. He crept closer with caution, a new caution to his steps as he approached. You remained with your back to him. Knife in hand and vegetables untouched in front of you.
It had been easy to miss with the sound of the music you were listening to but the light tremble of your shoulders told him all he needed to know.
Without a word he wrapped his arms around you, unsurprised when you turned and immediately hurried your face in his chest. Tears quickly soaked through his shirt and the smell of your distress finally peaked through the aroma of spices coming from the stove. You must have done so on purpose, just like the music.
Once, you admitted feeling bad about putting your worries on him after he had picked you up from Uraraka's place after a girl's night, drinking just enough to let your tongue loose. With everything he did as a hero you knew he had a lot to deal with and didn't want to add anything to it.
Very few times in his life compared to how crappy he felt in that moment, and it was a big push for him to try and be more open with others to try and encourage you to do the same even after he assured you it wasn't a bother.
Your problems were his and vice versa. That's what being mates meant. You cared for each other. Something he felt like he failed to do as he gathered you into his arms.
"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell them not to touch your nest."
"It's fine." You hiccup, aggressively trying to wipe away the tears only for more to take their place. "They were only doing their jobs."
Shoto didn't try to stop your crying, letting you get all of it out as he held you. He rubbed his hands along your back, lightly scenting you as his chest vibrated with deep rumbling purrs. A rare treat from him, still a bit uncomfortable with the practice even after all your time together. He was always worried he sounded too intimidating. Kaminari had once told him instead of comforting it sounded a predator about to pounce.
"You can remake it. I'll scent everything you need. You can even have my winter uniform to put in there." That had you perking up a bit, the breathable fabric one of your favorites yet still rejecting the blankets he had made of same material stating it wasn't the same. Finally, you pull back far enough back for him to see your face. Your tears have stopped even if your eye remain red and puffy, but your scent has gone back more towards what it normally is.
“Sorry. I know it’s dumb.” You mumble.
“No. I was dumb for not thinking about it.”
“You’ve been busy. We both have. I know you were just trying to help.” You smile and Shoto feels his own lift in response. “You can help me remake it after dinner, then quiz me for my exam Monday.”
“Sounds perfect to me.” Shoto pressed a kiss to your forehead, drawing a small laugh from you, turning back to continue with dinner as he remained close by, a rare display of clinginess.
He didn’t feel entirely better, but made a mental note to mention it the next time he brought in cleaners. There would be clear instructions to not touch your nest under any circumstances.
A little peak at the first chapter of Shanks x Brothel Manger Reader because I have no self control. Still a long way to go before I start releasing chapters but I also can’t stop thinking about it.
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It seems your conversation drew the attention of the head of the table, not bothering to set his drink down as he turned, still laughing at something one of the others had said.
His epithet spoke for him, his fiery shock of hair the shade of freshly spilled blood. The air surrounding him was loose and jovial, carrying the easy confidence of a man entirely at home wherever he happened to be. One leg rested crossed over the other as he reclined in his seat, relaxed in the way only plentiful drink and absolute certainty could make a man. The dark cloak around his shoulders only added to the mass of him. Hardley needed with the way the air laid warm and heavy with excitement.
Countless mugs litter the table before him. Evidence of a night well spent and had you questioning his tolerance. Surely they couldn’t all be from him? A normal man would be unable to walk after three and yet there was nothing dull about his gaze.
Sharp eyes met your own, clear despite the alcohol. Attentive in a way that sets your nerves alight and far too curious to spell anything good. The sort of eyes that missed little, even while their owner appeared wholly unconcerned with the world around him. It only served to further your apprehension even as you observed with the same prodding nature.
There was a gravity to him, a presence that commanded notice simply because it was his. That drew eyes without effort and kept them there, as though the world itself recognized him and instinctively bent around his existence.
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RAAAHHHH IM SO EXCITED!!!! For sure have to find a Beta reader for this though😭
Summary: Things can't stay hidden forever. But then, do you want them to?
Warnings: Violence, Yearning
A/n: The final chapter! Thank you all for reading! I've honestly never had more fun writing any other work, and it's taught me a lot about my own personal style. I hope you enjoy the final chapter and are looking forward to the release of my Shanks fic!
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The sun remained hidden by dark clouds, just the same as the kind that had brought you here for repairs. Their presence cast the day in a dreary gloom, an ill omen lingering over the harbor, though nothing stood in the way of the ship’s departure.
Beckman remained ashore while you and the others finished preparing the vessel, combing through supply logs, checking that every crate had been loaded, and ensuring the necessary repairs had truly been completed. The work consumed most of the morning, but at last the ship was ready to sail. With little left to do, you returned to the main deck in search of Beckman at Shank’s request. He should have been back a good while ago, and it wasn’t like him to be delayed for just any reason.
After asking around, you eventually found him standing at the end of the main dock, deep in a heated exchange with the dockmaster. The contrast between them was almost comical. The other man clearly tried to make himself seem imposing, but beside Beckman he looked small and flimsy. Then again, few men could hope to appear more intimidating than the pirate.
Beckman’s brows were furrowed, jaw set in a harsh line as his hands clench, arms crossed and shoulders squared. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, and you have to remind yourself to keep a normal pace as you approach.
“Everything seems to be in order. We should be set to head off.”
Your words pull the attention of both men from their staring contest. The shorter man sneers at your appearance, as if you were the problem somehow.
“Are there any issues?” You ask, to which Beckman scoffs, turning to head back toward the ship.
“None at all.”
The other man is not so convinced, hot on his heels, face red with anger. He’s trembling, the waver reaching his voice, though from fear or anger it’s impossible to say which.
“You still owe me! Your ship is not pulling out of here until you pay the docking fee!”
“Already paid it.” Beckman replies without looking back, his pace brisque as you follow, practically jogging to keep up with his quick strides. “Not my problem if you decide to try and jack the prices last minute.”
Ah, so that’s what it was. It wasn’t uncommon for docks to promise one price to keep a place for the ship and raise it when they went to leave. The smart ones would at least try to come up with an excuse of some kind, such as staying too late in the morning or claiming that the deck had been damaged in some way from the ship. Normally they were smart enough to try and not do it with pirates though, as they were more apt to lead to a physical altercation than merchant or passenger ships. It seemed this man thought you had enough money to make it worth the potential risk.
Beckman ignores him as you continue back to the Red Force, every protest and complaint falling on deaf ears as they escalate in volume, polished shoes clacking behind you. It’s hard to see him as threatening when compared to Beckman, shorter even than you and softened with paperwork filing. Though you suppose the two also following you- roughed dockworkers by the looks of it, likely his attempts at intimidation- give him more confidence than he should have. The chance that you’ll dock at the same place the next time you come around here is slim and if the man had a better mind for business then he wouldn’t ward off future customers.
Like a persistent mosquito, his high-pitched complaints follow you and it becomes all too tempting to smack him away like the blood-sucking pest he is as he begins throwing insults into the mix. How you’re all nothing but crooks and how he’ll be glad when the Marines catch you- not to mention the fact that he also largely profits off the pirates using his docks- and that you're all nothing more than parasites leaching off honest working folks. As if the work he did was anything of the sort.
Blood boiling and pace faltering, you turn back. Your fist tightens, nails digging into your palm, ready to clobber or choke- you hadn’t decided yet- but a look from Beckman has your temper simmering, if not reluctantly, allowing his hand to settle on your back and steer you towards the ship. The trouble wouldn’t be worth it over a few words spoken. You know that. But curse everything if the temptation isn’t there.
Sticks and stones, you remind yourself. Sticks and stones.
You're only a few dozen yards from the ship when it happens. The man’s hand drops to his waist, drawing a dagger too pristine to have ever seen honest use. Steel flashes, intent clear as day. Fitting, really. A cowardly move from a cowardly man, emboldened by the absence of consequence for his loose tongue. Under different circumstances, maybe you could have respected the sudden willingness to dirty his hands. But there was nothing admirable in it. Not when it sprang from nothing more than wounded pride and blind anger.
It’s a small thing, and you doubt it would even harm him more than an annoying poke that he would complain about later. His audacity overlaps with stupidity and the only answer is that he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. No doubt his hand would be crushed before it could even do any damage, but you don’t give him the chance.
You move on instinct, deftly twisting the man’s arm back. He cries out in pain while dropping his meager weapon as the limb twists at an odd angle. You’re quick to kick it over the edge of the dock and into the water lapping at the post of the dock below, driving your heel into the back of his knee. He goes down easily, his shout drawing the attention of Beckman, attention finally drawn back to the situation as he looks back over his shoulder not looking the least bit surprised.
Your actions hadn’t drawn just his attention, the two men who had been following you as well jumping into action at the sight of their employer on the ground. The first takes a sloppy swing, only to go down as you duck and deliver a clean jut to the jaw with your elbow, knocked out cold. The second seems a bit smarter than his friend, reaching into his jacket. You expect a gun or maybe knives, only to be surprised when he tosses something small and round at you. Not quick enough to hit, but when you attempt to bat it away it explodes, smoke filling the air. The thick smog fills your lungs, burning your eyes and forcing you to let go of the man, swatting at the air in an attempt to breathe as you back pedal. It wasn’t the same burn you got in secondhand smoke from Beckman. This was more cloying, seeming to stick to your throat and lungs.
By the time it clears out they’re both long gone along with their employer. The best scenario for them, as while Beckman had seemed mildly frustrated before, he appears absolutely livid now.
He growls, steps shaking the wood as he stomps back to where you were crouch, hand on your knees and still coughing, only to stop short as his eyes flicker down.
Burning. Not the same acidic scent that normally came with smoke bombs.
At first you think it’s Beckman, but looking back you see the signature cigarette is missing from his lips. It’s only a moment later that you feel the heat, a sudden creep that has you jumping as it licks your skin. You crane your neck back, eyes wide upon spotting the tail end of your shirt on fire and spreading quickly.
“Oh fuck!”
You attempt to pat it out with frantic hands only to have the flames spread even further, much to your distress. There must have been an accelerant of some kind in those things, and it seems it had gotten on your clothes.
You pull the fabric as far as possible away from your body in an attempt to protect your skin. It’s Beckman's modified one, the modified but still large garment giving a bit more room to avoid the lames.
One moment you’re on the dock, dry and warm- if not a bit too much- and the next you’re in the water, coughing and spluttering as you resurface. It’s freezing, the missing sun not having a chance to warm the waves, and the shock has you gasping. You tread the surface, confused, before a hand appears in front of you. Looking up you see Beckman kneeling on the deck.
“Sorry about that.” Despite his words, he seems a bit amused even as annoyance still clings to him. It’s with a dawning realization you realize he’s been the one to dump you in.
As annoying as the fact was it also made sense, and you feel a bit foolish for it not being your first instinct to put out the flames. He could have at least given you a bit of warning, and he only shrugs as you glare.
Regardless, you let him pull you out of the water, trying not to note the ease of which he does so, lifting you without an ounce of strain. Just as when he had hauled you from the mouth of the figurehead months ago.
The commotion has drawn a bit of a crowd, onlookers who gawked at the situation. While some eye Beckman warily, the majority are focused on you, dripping wet and shivering as you rub your arms.
Didn’t they have anything better to do?
It’s not until you feel a breeze that you realize they’re not necessarily looking at the commotion, but more specifically you. Apparently the flames had spread even further than you realized, your shirt sporting scorch marks where it wasn’t burned off, held on only by scraps as it covers you chest and loops around your neck like some kind of bizarre-fashioned halter top with one sleeve. It doesn’t help that you’re drenched and cold, the light fabric clinging to your skin as you struggle to keep your now soaked pants up to preserve any remaining dignity.
“What are you all looking at you perverts! I’ll carve the eyes out of every one of you.” You shout between chattering teeth, skin burning as they continue to leer. You step forward to make good on your word as you snatch your knife, the item thankfully not having fallen out. One hand was all you would need.
Unknown to you, or rather slipping your mind in the heat of the moment as you decided on which person to start with, the mark along your lower back sat perfectly visible on your skin to the person standing behind you.
For a fraction of a second, Beckman’s brain ground to a halt as he processed the sight in before of him, trying to decide if he was hallucinating as he laid eyes upon your back for the first time. A part of him thought it was too much to ask for. That he was simply willing himself to see something so much that his brain was tricking him, but as you moved once again, he was hit with the reality that his eyes were perfectly fine as they traced along the dark lines.
He knew that mark better than a carpenter knew wood. Had seen it before himself many times in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time he was taken aback, breath knocked from his lungs as he felt his skin warm despite the weather, tingling in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.
Before you could make it any further, Beckman stepped forward and shrugged his coat off and in one smooth motion draped it around you from behind, snugly securing the front. The heavy fabric swallowed you and warmed the exposed skin, cutting off your threats as you looked back in surprise, then embarrassment.
“Uh, thanks?”
Your mind was still half focused on violence, ready to track down the dock master and his friends when you were done here.
Beckman’s expression had gone unreadable, keeping you in place as his gaze weighed just as heavy as the hand on your shoulder. While you were used to his silence, it seemed oppressive in this moment. Not the shared, silent acknowledgment it normally held, but instead a puzzling intensity of deliberation.
As your flared temper evens out, it’s with a jolt you realize how much of you had been exposed; particularly your back where you had been so careful to keep covered. Until now that is.
Surely he must have seen it? Or maybe with your body angled the way it had been he didn’t get a clear look? Would it be too much to hope that it had been mistaken as something else, moving around too much for the lines to be seen clearly? Or course you would never be that lucky, and Beckman neither that blind or foolish. His eyes were nearly as good as Yassop’s.
You wait, frozen like a rat in a trap, unsure of what to say, mouth dry despite nearly drowning a moment ago. What possible explanation could you have for this? A tongue lashing is the best you could hope for, braced for the shouting to begin.
Instead of saying anything, his hands lingered for half a second longer than necessary, making sure the fabric stayed closed. He turned you back around, pushing you towards the ship, a single glare enough to send the remaining onlookers running.
There was no mistaking it. The mark he’d seen on your back matched his exactly, down to the slightly titled placement. Suddenly the conversation in the tavern about soulmates didn’t seem nearly as ridiculous as it had before, and he mentally kicks himself. For a smart man, he should have been able to connect the dots sooner.
His silence on the walk back was more unnerving than anything. Any chance you took to peak back at him had you quickly turning back as his gaze met yours, brows furrowed in what you could only assume was annoyance. Your chest clenched.
He already hated you now.
“What happened to you? A little trist in the alley that got out of hand?” Limejuice teases, eyeing the coat around your shoulder and the ruined fabric peaking out. “I thought you had more tact than that.”
“If you must know, I was set on fire and Beckman was kind enough to lend me his coat so I didn’t have to walk half naked back here.” You snap, pulling the garment closer, as if it could shield you from the entire situation.
Pointedly ignoring the mentioned man, you stomp onto the ship with the others quick to get out of your way. No way you could face him right now. Not without at least a little mental prep for the conversation. You definitely weren’t running away to lock yourself in the medic cabin and contemplate your life choices.
The ship set sail with no further trouble as you dry off and throw on one of your other shirts. No longer would you be forced to wear Beckman’s old modified one, though you weren’t entirely too happy about that, already missing the familiar feel of the fabric.
You didn’t go back up on deck, instead waiting for someone to come and get you, intending on staying hidden as long as possible as you pace back and forth. Staying still was impossible but so was going out.
Maybe you could act like the whole thing hadn’t happened. If Beckman was content to pretend like he hadn’t seen anything then so were you. Had he told the others already? Or would he want to keep the incident under wraps so they would pester him about it?
Nobody came to get you, even as the grey sky faded to night. You could hear the others passing by on the way to the dining hall, Snake tentatively calling out your name and knocking on the door before he was dragged away. It’s only hours later that you sneak out once sure that the rest of them have gone to bed, sneaking into the kitchen with the sounds of their snores covering any creak of the floorboards. As you steal some bread and jerky.
Before you can make it back Roux catches you, blocking the doorway. He doesn’t seem happy despite having caught you doing the same before, arm crossed.
“No food unless you show up for meals.”
“What?” Well, there goes your plan on avoiding Beckman for as long as possible. If you didn’t want to stare that is.
“I don’t know what you’ve done but Beckman’s in a mood, and not even a foul one. He just sits there spacing out and it’s creeping the rest of us out.” He says, pushing you out of the cabin without a chance to argue.
It’s impossible to sleep, lying in wake until the morning, getting up when you hear the others moving about. You’re first at the table, abandoning your normal spot for one at the far end of the table.
“What are you doing?” Punch asks, eyeing you in his seat, his own plate in hand as you stare at your own.
“Change of scenery.” Hopefully your grumbling can be attributed to the early hour and not your growing anxiety. Something that comes to a head as Beckman walks in, hair still tousled from sleep. He stops short in the doorway, his heated gaze staring holes in your face as you refuse to look up, watching the way he moves in your peripherals. It’s as Shanks approaches behind that he moves.
“Wonderful morning, isn’t it?” He yawns, stretching his arm high as he stands on his toes. It was one of the worst parts about his missing limb, he’d once told you. The difficulty of getting a good stretch in. It doesn’t seem to bother him now as his eyes roam the cabin before landing on you. Unlike Beckman, he doesn’t hesitate, tossing an arm around your shoulder as you try to busy yourself with your coffee.
“Missed you at dinner last night. What are you doing all the way down here?”
“Change of scenery apparently.” Punch offers, now in your seat. His large body provides a decent shield from Beckman who’s just settled on the other side of him, looking none too happy.
“That so?” Shanks doesn’t look the least bit convinced, but lets go regardless as you give a weak nod, grabbing a plate and taking his own spot at the head of the table. It’s not abnormal for breakfast to be quiet as everyone shakes off the dregs of sleep, but the mood hangs heavy.
You spot Beckman reaching for his mug only to find it missing. Of course it would be. You were the one who normally got it for him. But now the spot remained empty even as he stared hard, like it would appear if he focused enough. When that didn’t work he got up with a sigh, heading over to get it himself as you dipped your own drink. It was still too hot to properly enjoy but you didn’t care much, only wishing to get done and out the door as soon as possible, where you could occupy yourself with your chores and not the thoughts that had kept you awake all night. You'd even take as many from the others as they wanted. Anything to stay busy.
As such you’re the first to finish, tossing your plate in the sink and all but running out the door, ignoring the curious glances of the others.
————————————————
It seemed you didn’t have to worry about Beckman approaching you about the topic after all as he spent the next two days avoiding you just as much as you were him. An unfamiliar tension between you that neither would approach lingered in the air like a dense fog over the ship. Everyone else seemed to sense it as well, noticing how you stiffened when the other got close, your normal easy conversations silenced. Yassop tried to ask about it but was quickly shut down with a glare.
You could feel Beckman’s eyes burning into you whenever he was in proximity, shrinking under his attention as your stomach churned, hands shaky as you tried for the third time to tie a simple knot.
Only Shanks seemed to maintain an oblivious, if not sly, attitude about the whole thing. In fact he seemed absolutely giddy, practically skipping around the ship and following you like a shadow.
When he asks you to fetch Beckman for him instead of approaching as you normally would, taking any portion out you could to talk, you instead loudly call over the deck “Captain is looking for Beckman.” Something he could easily have done himself to get the attention of the man who was no more than twenty feet away.
You continued to dance around one another, acting through the others on the ship and not looking each other in the eye when you passed in the halls. That is, when you’re not darting into the nearest room to avoid him.
The only reprieve is your room, and even then you’re subject to Hongo’s scrutiny.
“What the hell happened?” Hongo finally asked after watching you tense for the thousandth time as one of the others walked past the door. He spins in his chair, fixing you in place from where you currently sit with a pillow tucked to your chest. Normally during any free time you’d be up on deck, wrestling around and playing games with the others. But that also meant facing Beckman, who remained up top.
“He found out.” You say, burying your face in the pillow, half hoping he wouldn’t hear. But you need to say it. To get the oppressive weight off your chest and let at least one person know of your turmoil, and Hongo was the only one you could. Maybe he had some sage soulmate advice. At the very least he could considerate enough to sedate you so it didn’t feel like you were going to have a panic attack every time the first mat got within ten feet of you.
Hongo sighs, standing from his seat and plopping down next to you next to you.
“You had to know it was going to happen eventually. We’ve all seen each other naked at some point.” You remember back to the memory of Snake, shuddering. ”So I guess you’re lucky you made it this far. Honestly, I expected you to break sooner.”
Hongo places an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean into his side. The silence thrums like a current, pushing against your will until it becomes too much.
“He didn’t even say anything.”
“What?”
“When he saw the mark. I’m positive he did, and yet he didn’t say anything. Just gave me his stupid cloak and walked me back to the ship.” You clutch said garment closer, still having neglected to return it and the owner not having asked. Another sign he wanted nothing to do with you.
“Maybe you should just talk to him.”
“I can’t! Every time I get close I feel like I’m going to puke. He’s going to kick me off the ship, I can feel it.” Your eyes burn but refuse to cry like some teen, roughly wiping at your eyes to the point Hongo grabs your hands, pulling them away.
“No he’s not. Shanks and the others wouldn’t let him anyways.”
“Then I’ll kick myself off at the next port. I can’t live on this ship with him hating me. It was what I was trying to avoid in the first place.”
Hongo sighs, rubbing his temples as he takes a few deep breaths.
“I’m not letting you off this ship until you talk with him. If you do and still want to leave then fine, but don’t go planning your escape just yet.” He grabs your shoulders, pulling you upright. “Promise me you’ll talk with him. I don’t feel like dealing with his attitude if you up and disappear."
You should promise. It would be the easiest thing to do. But you can’t bring yourself to, unable to lie to him. Because nothing in you wants more than to do what you seem to do best.
Run away from it all.
Instead you wrap the cloak around the pillow and bury your face in the fabric. It still smells like his cologne. Something he had started wearing just a short while ago, and which the others had laughed about, but the scent had already been ingrained in your mind as uniquely him. Just as was the smell of tobacco, and the specific shade between the most beautiful night and richest onyx stone that colored his eyes. The faint scent of oil that clung to his hands from cleaning his rifle.
“At least get some sleep before your watch tonight. You look like shit.” Hongo prods, expecting a jab back, only to receive silence.
Fine. If you wanted to be like that there was still another person he could go to in order to stamp out this issue. And so he sets out of the room with determination, leaving you to wallow in your self-imposed doom and gloom.
____________________________________
The sea is quiet as you sit on lookout duty. A grateful distraction from everything, giving you more of an excuse to avoid Beckman by sleeping late in the morning. It marks the longest you’ve ever gone without talking to Beckman since you joined the crew, and you yearn to hear his voice despite knowing that would mean having to talk with him. To confront what you’d been avoiding. He had hardly even spoken to the others the past three days even, spending most of his time shut up in the map room or standing at the back of the ship watching the wake of churning waves.
The ship glides steadily, the horizon a seamless blend between sea and sky, sails full and the wind cool against your skin as you sit in the crow’s nest. Beckman’s jacket is draped over your shoulders, unable to let go of the last piece you have of him. You’re reminded of the last time he had lent it to you, all that time ago when he had first coaxed you from the mouth of the beast on the front of the ship.
Maybe you should have let it eat you then and saved everyone the trouble.
The lantern below throws a soft glow across the deck, but up here the world is only shadow and stars. You should be watching the horizon for anything suspicious but instead stare up at nothing, mind occupied. Your fingers keep drifting to your lower back, brushing the fabric of your shirt where the mark sits hidden beneath like a brand.
The memory of the incident keeps replaying in your mind like some awful nightmare as your stomach twists. Except there’s no waking up from this one.
He had seen it. There’s no way he didn’t even if every part of you hoped it wasn’t true. He was too observant not to, and not even skinning the mark from your back could save you now.
You groan, drop your forehead against the railing with a painful thud.
Great. Just great. You’ve spent months avoiding this exact scenario, and now fate apparently decided you had done enough hiding. You should have known better than to tempt it. To stay so close when you knew the risk of it being seen. You should have gotten off on the first island and ran as soon as you knew but those pesky feelings of infatuation that had latched onto the man had kept you there, deluding yourself into thinking your plan could work. If you had no bad luck, then you wouldn’t have any at all.
Footsteps on the ladder make you freeze, identifying the cadence as one you had memorized long ago, not even having to look to know who it is, his very presence ingrained into your soul.
Beckman pulls himself up into the crow’s nest without a word, settling easily beside you, just as he’s done a hundred times before. Neither of you says anything, unsure as to even what you would.
From the corner of your eye you spot movement, flinching, then feeling guilty as he pauses. He stays like that a moment longer before moving again, this time slower, holding out a mug. Your favorite. A wooden piece with a rather ugly carving of a mouse on the side that you found endearing. Or maybe that was only because Beckman had been the one to gift it to you.
You blink, hesitant and wary as you debate taking it, fearing it would invite conversation. Beckman makes the decision for you, thrusting the cup into your hands, trying and failing not to jump as your fingers brush his, electricity spiking down your spine.
The warmth seeps into your fingers as you take a sip. Something sweet and spiced with a vaguely herbal note. One of the drinks he usually brings you when you’re stuck with watch on cold nights. Something to keep you up that won’t prevent you from sleeping later.
Long, sturdy arms lean on the railing beside you, too close, gaze sweeping the horizon like he’s actually checking for ships.
It almost feels normal.
Almost.
Beckman’s standing close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, the chill of the night having no effect on him as the wind blows back his hair, devoid of the normal tie that keeps it back as it flies around his face.
“Quiet night?”
You nod, unable to find your voice without trusting it to crack. Another moment passes as the wind rustles the sails with a soft creak overhead. He shifts, the familiar clink of his lighter sparking before a soft glow burns in the dark. The warm light does little to smooth the harsh lines of his face, fading back out as the end of his cigarette turns to ash, burning down quickly with the deep drag he takes. When he blows out you find yourself leaning just a bit closer. The smoke had long ago lost its sting, and you were an honorary member of the vice despite only ever having tried once. An offer from Beckman when you doubted the fact it helped him warm up on chilly nights such as this, and which had left you coughing and wheezing much to his amusement. It was almost worth the shoulder shaking laugh he gave.
No, you didn’t smoke, but were addicted all the same. Only when it comes from his lips, or rather because of it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ah. It seems the pleasantries are over. A small mercy to begin with given his normal blunt nature.
The words lodge in your throat as he waits for an answer, knowing he won’t speak again until he gets one. You pretend not to understand, not ready to out yourself on the minuscule chance that by some miracle he hadn’t seen and was referring to something else.
“About what?”
He turns slowly, the look on his face making it clear you’re not fooling anyone, least of all him. But why couldn’t he turn a blind eye to it? Let you sweep it under the rug and pretend like nothing changed.
You fiddle with the cup as your shoulders slump, running your finger along the carving. No matter what, you promise yourself, you won't cry. Won’t beg. Only accept what’s to come.
“You aren’t interested in soulmates.”
It sounds weaker out loud than it did in your head, cringing at how pathetic it sounds. You have half a mind to jump into the sea if you weren’t so sure that he would grab you before you could.
“I did say that, didn’t I.” He admits.
Your stomach sinks, knuckles turning white as you will the tears to stay away, as if keeping them from falling will prevent the chasm that feels like it's opened in your chest. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but outright rejection stings more than months of yearning. The feeling is sharp and hollow all at once, like the air has been pulled straight from your lungs and leaves nothing behind.
You hadn’t meant to hope, had told yourself not to, over and over like a mantra, and now the stubborn part of you that swooned over romance was being crushed beneath the weight of his words.
How are you supposed to take this? To face him every day knowing that you’re meant for each other, that you love him, but he doesn't feel the same? It would have been more merciful for him to say something back on the island so that you wouldn’t be stuck with him on the ship for the foreseeable future and could sneak off on your own. It felt like a knife twisting in your gut, to think of giving up all this. A place you found to belong after tears of wander on your own. It seemed the universe really did have a cruel sense of humor, dangling the prospect of a happy life just out of reach, yanking it back every time you got comfortable.
You’d never considered Beckman a cruel man. Quite the opposite, even if he could be violent at times. But never towards anyone who didn’t threaten him. Never towards you. But now you fear his wrath. Of what he would do now knowing the truth.
“But I’m interested in you.”
The words hit with all the grace of a hammer, your brain stalling, jarred from its downward spiral. Silence rings once again as you process, convinced he’d said something else or even nothing at all because there was no possibility you’d heard correctly.
Your voice cracks, little more than a whisper.
“What?”
He looks at you. The same way he does when he thinks something should have been obvious. Like he had just told you not to throw the anchor down while in the middle of a hurricane.
“I’ve been interested in you for a while now.”
You stare at him, hardly able to believe what you were hearing, his words a contradiction of one another as you try to understand. Was he trying to get you to admit something just so he wouldn’t feel bad about kicking you off the ship?
“You said soulmates were a distraction!”
He doesn’t flinch as you throw his words back in an attempt to recover your defenses, refusing to act like a complete lovesick fool despite the way your pulse races.
Instead he doubles down.
“They are.”
You didn’t like being made a joke of, and now it felt as though he was simply toying with you. Maybe it was his payback for trying to pull one over on him. Any earlier apprehension gives way to anger. An emotion you know what to do with. One that’s helped you survive other situations before, so why not this?
“Beckman-”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” His gaze never wavers as he steps forward, forcing you back until the cramped space runs out. The low wall of the railing digs into your spine, and for a fleeting second you considered vaulting over it just to escape the intensity of him.
“I can't get you out of my head. The way your face pinches when you're mad, or how your voice raises an octave when you laugh too hard. How your breathing stops just before you take a shot, or the way your hands twitch when you're being stubborn, like you’re about ready to strangle someone.”
Another step. Close enough that the end of his cigarette threatens to burn you.
“The way you say my name, like it’s the most casual thing in the world even though it makes every other thought fly out the window.”
You shift, trying not to look stupid under his pinning gaze, noting the way his eyes flicker to your throat as you swallow, processing his words.
He wants you.
He wants you.
Your heart is beating hard enough that you’re sure he can hear it as the words repeat over and over in your head. A mantra that you could never tire of. One you had already dreamed of, now brought to reality. Or was it? Maybe you had hit your head on the dock and this was all a hallucination, and if it was then it was particularly cruel. But the brush of his arms against yours as he cages you in, blocking the light of the moon above, feels all too real. As does the way your pulse spikes in response.
“You’re a complete ass.” You manage to stutter out, gripping the railing like a lifeline, trying to regain your thoughts. But you can’t. Not when they're filled with him.
He doesn’t deny it, only responding with a rough chuckle that sends goosebumps across your skin as the moment stretches taut between you.
This close, you could see the shadows beneath his eyes more clearly now, the dark circles deeper than before, as though sleep had long since stopped finding him.
Hesitantly, almost without thinking, you lift a hand toward his face. The motion faltered halfway through, uncertainty catching at you, but he reaches up before you could pull away, guiding your palm against his cheek just as he had in the medical room what felt like an eternity ago. Your thumb brushed lightly beneath his eye, tracing the tired lines carved there. The gesture was soft- far gentler than anything either of you usually allowed yourselves- and it drew a quiet sigh from him. His shoulders loosened beneath it, tension draining as though some invisible burden had finally eased. Like the weight of the world had been resting there, and if memory served correct there seemed to be a few more grey hairs dotting his temples and streaked throughout.
Beckman leans forward, closer than could be considered casual or friendly. No room for misinterpretation. His hand brushes your cheek, guiding you to look at him as he leans closer, grinning, and you realize as his finger brushes under jaw he must be able to feel your racing pulse.
Beckman’s not unaffected either. His own breathing turned uneven beneath your touch, each slow inhale sounding more strained than the last as he holds your gaze with an intensity that made it difficult to look away, hardly able to keep himself from closing the gap.
You weren’t some fleeting mistake. Some stranger he would disappear from before sunrise and never think about again. He wants you to meet him there, to show he hasn’t fucked everything up. That you still want him with the same unbearable certainty that he wants you. He can’t even imagine how you must have been feeling all this time, carrying on in silence for months, pretending nothing had changed while standing beside him every day.
Had you really feared he would reject you even after- to him- such blatant displays of interest?
He might have commended your performance if it didn’t drive him insane at the same time. Meanwhile, after only two days of knowing, he was already unraveling beneath the weight of it, trying to give you space to approach in your own time until he finally broke.
The air between you is shared, warm and electrified. Every breath tangled together in the narrow space, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his lips against yours. A question lingered there in the silence, unspoken.
Your hand brushes a stray lock of hair from his face. The simple touch draws a sharp hitch from his lungs, breath stuttering as though the gesture affected him far more than it should have.
That sound was what finally undoes you.
Your lips crash against Beckman’s with painful force, cigarette dropping somewhere underfoot as your fingers grip in the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer. Any remaining restraint vanishes the instant he kissed you back, rough and desperate, lips equally so, chapped by wind and sun. The impact of it steals the breath from your chest, all heat and hunger and weeks of unspoken tension finally snapping at once.
He still tastes of rum and smoke, delicious in how they lay on his lips, though you would never accept them delivered any other way. His hand slides to the back of your neck, possessive. The kiss is devouring, comforting, and everything you’d been wanting for months.
Beckman groans, the sound felt more than heard as he lifts you up with ease, setting you on the edge of the railing so he doesn’t have to hunch down to reach you while giving him an even better angle.
It’s a bit nerve wracking, balanced carefully on the edge with the deck a few dozen feet below, but with the way his hands- the ones you’ve had too many dreams about- latch on to your hips, your own dig into his forearm, leaving crescent marks while the other remains clutching his shirt like a lifeline. You have no fear of falling. It would be nothing compared to the fluttering that’s moved from your stomach to every inch of your body, now pleasantly humming as if the universe had been set right. The only thing you have to worry about tipping over the edge is your own sanity as his lips seal your own in a clumsy, hurried pace, as if trying to make up for lost time, groaning into the action.
Your lungs burn for air by the time you finally pulled back, though even then he’s chasing after, stealing several more hungry kisses before forcing himself to retreat far enough to let you breathe.
The two of you stand dazed and panting, the world around you feeling distant and inconsequential. Your eyes caught on the thin strand of saliva trailing down his chin, and the sight alone sends your pulse stumbling again.
Beckman looks wrecked. A deep flush spreads across his face, coloring his cheeks and reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. The most color you’d seen on him that wasn’t earned beneath the sun. His breathing came unevenly, chest rising sharply beneath your grip on his shirt, still trying to recover. Seeing him like this only made the heat curling beneath your skin worse, tempted to see how much more disheveled you could get the composed man.
Moments ago the cold air had seeped straight through you, leaving you shivering despite your layers. Now you felt feverish, heat blazing through your veins so intensely it seemed impossible your body could contain it. Like one more look from him might be enough to make you spontaneously combust.
Beckman settles between your legs, tightly clamped around his hips, both trying to get as physically close as possible and keep the other from getting away. His hand sits heavy against your back pushing you flush against his chest and you wonder over the miracle it was that you had remained seemingly so apart for so long when it felt natural to be entangled like this.
“Fuck.” Beckman breathes out, placing another chaste kiss to your jaw, slowly trailing further down as he speaks between each one. While you were still greedily gulping air, he didn’t seem as concerned. It seemed he was intent on covering every inch of skin he could reach and even more as he pushed the collar of his coat you still wear aside, humming as his fingers moved the fabric. “I’ve waited so long to do that.”
His words have your legs tensing, feeling the way his lips curl against your skin. Your fingers thread through his hair at the base, pulling him back as he grunts in annoyance.
“If you think this makes up for how you reacted, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Please,” He laughs, dipping you back over the railing just enough to have you gripping him even tighter, stomach fluttering. “I intend to make up for it. But let's not pretend you weren’t walking around for months knowing.”
His fingers tighten a fraction on your waist. Enough to nearly bruise, though the thought isn’t completely unappealing.
“That’s different! You were-”
Beckman cuts you off before you can finish, pulled you back in once again. But this time you’re just a bit more prepared, fighting for control the best you can while also trying not to melt. If anyone were to try and sneak up on you now they would have no issue. Nothing short of a cannonball splitting the mast could break you apart now, gasping as Beckman’s teeth nip at your lip.
Well, that, and one other thing.
The first shout from below barely registers. The second was louder, followed by an entire chorus of cheering that finally shattered through the haze clouding your thoughts.
You jerked back, nearly toppled over the edge of the crow’s nest, catching yourself at the last second with a startled curse. Beckman only lets out a long, weary sigh before dropping his forehead against your shoulder, as though surrendering to fate.
Below, the entire crew had gathered on deck, all of them staring upward with far too much enthusiasm. Shanks was practically folded in half with laughter, clutching at his stomach while the others hand over pouches of coins, though you see Hongo pocketing a few himself.
“I told you!” he shouted triumphantly, pointing up at the two of you like he’d just won the greatest bet of his life.
Heat flooded your face so fast it bordered on painful, burning in an entirely new way than before. Meanwhile, Beckman simply looks down at the others with the exhausted expression of a man who absolutely should have seen this coming, yet had somehow convinced himself he might be spared the humiliation anyway.
“I’m going to kill them.” You growl, already turning as you reach for your slingshot, ready to notch a stone at the ringleader as you spit profanities of them being perverts and creeps amongst other insults.
Beckman, despite the situation, finds himself grinning. Because now he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking glances when you're not looking, or feeling as if he has to stick beside you every time you dock in fear someone else would try to woo you, though he doubts any would have been successful. Still, the thought of someone else touching you after that kiss made something possessive curl low in his chest.
You made it halfway down before the crew scattered in complete panic. Men bolted in every direction, scrambling for cover and retreating to the quarters below deck, slamming the door and bracing it before you could reach them.
Shanks, traitor that he was, only laughed harder. Even he wasn’t saved from your wrath, dodging a shoe thrown his way with frightening accuracy and speed.
You were preparing to leap the last few rungs when Beckman finally intervenes. With the ease of someone entirely unbothered he catches you around the waist and hauls you over his shoulder before your feet even hit the deck.
“Beckman!”
“You’ll survive.” he says calmly over your continued swearing, one large hand keeping you firmly in place as he carried you away. Shanks and Hongo watch in amusement, the only two left on deck, one smug and the other seemingly relieved.
At least the doctor’s talk with Beckman had gone better, much to his relief. The man was already so infatuated all he needed was a little push in the right direction. And to think Beckman thought you were going to reject him, and that its why you’d kept it a secret.
Ignoring both them and your continued threats of violence, Beckman heads toward the medical room instead, unable to hide the smile still pulling at the corner of his mouth.
You had a lot of lost time to make up for, and he intended to show you exactly how he’d been feeling all these months.
I'm on a bit of a One Piece kick right now, especially since I'm working on the Shanks x Brothel Manager fic right now (two chapter written and hopefully getting a third done over the weekend, though they're only the rough drafts), so you'll have to forgive me. I also have an Omegaverse BNHA ask that will be put out soon. The final chapter of If Not Fate, Then This will be posted tommorow.
A/N: It was a tie between him and Shalnark and since I've already done a werewolf one recently, I decided to go with Nobunaga. Rest assured, I have Shalnark's outline primed and ready to go.
The bitter sting of alcohol has you jolting, not getting far with the vice-like grip around your wrist. Nobunaga held you tightly, mouth set in a thin line as he carefully inspected the wounds to make sure every piece of debris was removed down to the smallest pebble. Despite his anger he moved with a careful reverence. Something that could be considered loving. And, you suppose, in his own twisted way it was.
Maybe it was just the way Dragons were. The only way they knew how to be.
Nobunaga loved you more than anything. More than the feeling of the updraft from the north on a warm afternoon, or the taste of freshly caught elk from the forest below. Even more than the hoard of gems and metals that lay abundant, so numerous that they engulfed the space in great heaps creating a maze to be carefully navigated through, lest you cause an avalanche. More than once you had been buried, forced to wait until Nobunaga got back to dig you out, scolding you to be more careful. Even then he swept away diamonds brighter than the stars, rubies the size of apples, sapphires so deep they could be mistaken for the sea, and gold polished to a shine. All of them tossed aside so he could carve out the perfect space for you to rest beside him in your own special little nest of blankets and furs.
Silks with a higher thread count than you knew possible and the softest of rabbit skins all stitched together. It was slightly nauseating to think about the number he had caught to create such a thing, and the only consoling factor was that it helped to cushion you from the unforgiving bed of metal and stones you slept on, as well as helping to keep you from feeling the need to seek out other sources of heat-Nobunaga- during cold nights.
He was like a furnace, walking around nearly nude apart from the plum colored robe he wore when he wasn’t in his true form of a fiery creature from mythology. A step up from the way he pranced about naked the first month, finding your flustered nature about the whole thing rather cute, thinking you were just shy. However he also found that you fought less-sitting like a statue instead of actively trying to bite and claw at him- when he tried to hold you while he was wearing clothes.
‘Anything for you, love.’ Is what he would say.
Anything but what you truly wanted. Anything but your freedom. The exact thing you had been trying to gain and had lead to your current predicament.
It had taken weeks to get the materials you needed. Not even a full kit, but enough to feel confident enough to get down the mountain without serious injury. Small knives and daggers that looked as if they belonged in museums to help dig into the ice and snow. Gloves and shoes made from clothes and skins to protect from the biting cold and stone alike. Nothing that would pass in even the most obscure worlds of fashion but enough to get the job done for what was needed.
He was supposed to be gone for three whole days, from the morning of the first to the afternoon of the third. Plenty of time for what you needed to get down. The forest would do enough to cover your tracks if you traveled through the river, though it would be an up upstream battle the entire way. Going downstream would only lead you further into their territory, and even if it meant going the long way to loop around their expanse of land the prospect of running into one of the beast he had described as his friends was less pleasant. Creatures with fangs and claws that came out at night and would slowly tear you apart, enjoying it all the while. At least Nobunaga was quick with his kills.
But of course he had to come back the second morning, having started just as the sky turned grey to get as much daylight climbing in as possible. Who knew how long it would be before you reached a shelf out of view to rest on. Something deep enough he wouldn’t be able to smell or see you flying overhead. The irony was that if you had started the day before you might have been able to actually make it a good amount of the way even though your skills were a bit rusty after all this time, but fear that he was trying to trick you and would come back the same day lingered, leaving you to wait a full twenty four hours to make sure he was gone.
So much in a panic upon finding you that he crashed into the side of the mountain while trying to grab you, feeling the entire thing shake under the impact as your grip was lost. Desperately scrambling to find purchase it was no use as you were sent into a free fall, stomach dropping as you plummeted towards the ground. It was only with a few dozen feet to spare did Nobunaga manage to swoop in and grab you, his claws digging into your skin in his panic.
He didn’t let go until you were back in the cave, quickly stripping you down despite your protest. One glare was enough to let you know how much trouble you were in, his normal fretting and talkative nature set on the back burner as he moved with a silent efficiency.
Once bare and ever inch of your skin inspected, he was quick to start a fire, the flames leaving his mouth in a steady stream to catch the wood without the need for kindling. The brightness of them told of his mood, a simmering anger that went with the violet flames as opposed the almost blue hue they took on when he was in a better mood. Something you had only just begun to be able to decipher and from the looks of it you were screwed.
It was for this reason you didn’t fight as he dragged you into his lap, fingers prodding your sides where his claws had dug in while applying a balm and bandages before moving onto the smaller scraps and bruises.
The entire time he worked in a suffocating silence, the light of the flames dancing along the stone walls. It would have been better if he was yelling, scolding you like a child as he often did whenever he was displeased. Your acts of defiance had only ever been treated as little more than tantrums. And why not? How could they be when you posed no real threat to him in either form.
His lithe body was deceptively strong, and his healing factor made it nearly impossible to do any damage that would last longer than a day. You’d nearly bitten his tongue off once the first time he’d tried to shove it down your throat while kissing you, hanging on by little more than a small strand of skin, and even then it had healed by the next morning. All that had happened then was his apology for surprising you, but it was clear should the mistake be repeated again he wouldn’t be as forgiving. The next time he did the same action his class dug into your sides, a reminder of what he could do should you anger him.
It was easier to let him think of you as someone naive and shy to affections, letting you push most things off. You were a survivor after all. Adapt and overcome.
Despite everything it was easy to soothe his temper. Even the simplest of returned affections put a dopey look on his face that made you want to gag. There were days he would come back in a bad mood, so worked up he wasn’t even able to change forms, stomping about with legs that would easily crush you, jets of fire so hot they melt away the stone outside the entrance and melted entire piles of metal into molten obstacles, only adding to his temper. Yet it only took you calling this name in a soft tone, doing your best to curl in on yourself while also hesitantly approaching and looking concerned, for him to calm down. He liked when you held him close as he complained, running your hands through his long hair to soothe him.
You doubted it would be enough this time.
“Do you have any idea what could have happened!?”
Nobunaga finally breaks the silence, spinning you around to face him. If the fire had been warm in warding off the chill that permeated the cave then his gaze was blazing, dark eyes glowing with a purple light that told you he was one wrong word away from shedding his human skin.
This was not the time for pride to get the better of you. Treading carefully was the only course of action even if it turned your stomach to bend to his whims.
And so, you concede.
Something you would never have thought of doing upon first being taken. How long ago that time seemed now. Almost like a dream.
___________________________
There were times you loved your job. It was the picturesque vision that everyone who saw it from the outside thought it to be. Beautiful views, fresh air, and all the freedom you could wish for. Even if the adrenaline that had once flowed with every foot gained up a steep incline had faded to a mellow buzz, only jumping in the rare instance you found yourself slipping or realizing the safety rope had become twisted in the wind, it was still something to look forward to every day. Much better than being stuck in an office and slowly being driven crazy by endless mountains of work, though you had to admit it would be nice not to have to consciously think about putting money into a retirement.
There were plenty of things that you hated about your job as well. Namely the people you had to deal with a majority of the time. Anyone who was serious about climbing and being a guide wouldn’t book anything with your services unless they were looking to gain an internship and learn the ropes, to which you would direct them towards one of the agencies that could help them. They were too full of themselves most of the time for you to want to deal with them, though it was nothing compared to some of the customers. Those with deep pockets looking for a bit of weekend fun who got offended when they weren’t allowed to climb near sheer cliff faces and would inevitably have to be saved as they swung a couple dozen feet off the ground by their safety rope.
This was one of those times where it was a rare combination of both. No whining and complaining or endless questions, just you, your gear, and the hundred-foot drop down the snowy mountainside. It would be too much to hope that the snow at the bottom- a dozen feet of powder- would break your fall. It would be a mercy if that was it. Worst case scenario you broke a leg and had to wait to freeze to death. This area was a service dead zone. Even your satellite phone might have some trouble, and it was doubtful that anyone would be able to get to you in time to be of any help.
It was outlandish to be doing such a climb by yourself, and any other guide who did so you would suggest being checked if everything was alright up there.
In your defense the original plan had been go up with two other. A couple you worked with frequently and knew to be competent and even more experienced than yourself. Some of the only ones willing to traverse the terrain. With them by your side there should have been nothing to worry about, however one had fallen and broken a leg the week before after tumbling down the stairs to their house. It was an almost laughable way to get hurt considering the nature of the job, but it put them out of commission nonetheless and their spouse refused to leave their side as they needed help getting around the first few weeks.
The plan had been to call the trek off and refund the client with hopes he wouldn’t leave a bad review but instead he had come personally to beg you not to.
His sister was missing, gone for months, and everyone else had given up on the search. Hundreds of miles of wilderness that had been explored yet not even putting a scratch on where her plane could have been knocked off course. It was more likely she was dead at this point even as he claimed there she was experienced in some of the survival camping he took part in, the area notoriously dangerous and avoided due to disappearances and strange happenings. It was like the Bermuda Triangle for hikers, and only those dumb enough dared to venture in. There was a reason only those with permits were allowed to even think about it, though when you got to the experience level you had to obtain one most people knew better than to try.
He begged on hands and knees for you to find her, even if it was just a body or bones. Anything to help put his mind at ease, already having spent all his resources trying to track her down but with nothing to show for it. Unfortunately your work hadn’t turned you completely immune to compassion, and so with an uncertain reassurance you told him you would try your best.
That’s how you found yourself clinging to the side of a mountain. The map stuffed in your pack showed the areas that were already searched, as well as where to avoid at all cost. If anyone had gone there they were good as gone with no hope of getting them back.
The initial intention had been to search the forest at the base. Two days of searching in and your instincts woke you in the dead of the night, a sense of unease telling you something was very, very wrong. It would have been easy to brush it off as just the situation getting to you but after years of working as a guide you learned to trust your gut, and it was telling you to hightail it out of the area.
And so you continued onward, forced up the mountain by means of the forbidden areas on either side of you and whatever was giving an uneasy feeling behind. If the girl had come this way there was a chance she had done the same. It wasn’t the worst idea to take the mountain over the woods. High ground that could give better lookout for approaching danger. Apart from the snowy peaks there seemed to be enough vegetation and small animals halfway up for someone who knew what they were doing to survive.
The footpath was easy enough to follow, and you made great progress by the time the sun had come up. Or rather what you had initially thought to be the sun based on the sudden light of the creeping dawn sky, though it seems off.
Looking back, the area of forest you had previously been occupying was now ablaze. Purple flames consumed around a mile stretch, everything within already turned to a blackened char.
Above, outline only by the interruption of stars, glides a shape bigger than any bird you’ve seen. More akin to an airship, though you’ve never seen one move with such precision and speed. It’s difficult to see as the light of the fire dies out, the flames having consumed nearly everything they could leaving nothing but an obsidian mar behind, standing out against the lush green of the trees.
Well. Mountain it is.
Not like you have a choice in the matters now with whatever that was flying around. In all the years you spent outdoors you’d never seen anything like it, and you never wanted to again.
The footpath you had been following was eventually blocked by what looked like a rockslide. Taking a break, your eyes scan the rock around you as you take a lengthy drink from your water bottle. It was hard to imagine anyone could have survived here. After just a few days you were ready to get out, and supposedly this girl had been out here for months?
You’d found evidence of a camp two days ago. Nothing fancy but with all the hallmarks of someone who had at least a vague idea of what they were doing. There wasn’t much hope for it as the place had clearly been long abandoned for at least a month, already starting to be taken back over by nature. If the claw marks on the trees and rocks of the surrounding area were anything to go by then the area was also occupied by something else. The sizes were consistent with a rather large bear but the marks didn’t have the right drag to them, and none of the other signs of bears in the area were apparent. If there was any hope of survival then it would have been at the mountain where less dangerous beast lurked.
On the other side of the range was another forest, spanning a few dozen miles. Beyond that your evac point. It was unlikely that she would have made it through the mountain herself to the other side, but for you it would only take three days to climb and descend. It was rather unfortunate, but nothing could be done. You’d told her brother that there was no guarantee that you would find her and as much as you wished to be able to bring him some sort of comfort or closure it wasn’t in your interest to keep looking and put your life in danger looking for ghosts.
So now here you were, halfway up the mountain and looking for a good resting point. It wasn’t necessary to go all the way to the top, most mountains having passages that allowed you to travel across the majority of it without having to go vertical, but with the range so uncharted you felt blind. From the estimate of what you could see from the base there should be such a space a mile to the east, but getting there was proving to be a difficult task as the air grew increasingly cold and thin.
You are just about to call it a night, wanting to play it safe with the light of the sun fading over the horizon as a fog moved in, when your eyes were drawn away from the anchor currently being placed for the hanging tent.
There was a small ledge with just enough room to lay on your side- though your feet would hang off the end- and was relatively protected from the elements by a slight slant above it. Yet the small lip wasn’t enough to block the flicker of light that caught your eye, drawn to the presence as every human was on base instinct.
Flames meant the presence of others, highly doubting there was anything that would be catching fire in this terrain and weather.
It could be the girl.
An absurd thought, but with a slim hope. The better question would be how she got all the way up here without any climbing equipment. With the source so close, just a few dozen yards up and to the left, it was too abnormal for you to be able to brush off as something natural. The climb was a bit frightful to complete as the sun had now completely disappeared and only a few lingering echoes of light remained as orange faded to a deep purple, the stars beginning to peek from their blanket of darkness.
The last stretch has to be done without any anchors, the bumpy rock without any crevices, nubs sticking out just barely enough to get your hands and feet on. If you fell it would be a rather painful swing before the last one caught you, halfway between your previous rest and the new one.
Hand curling around the lip of the ledge, you haul yourself up with a huff, rolling onto your back to take a breather. This shelf is wider, allowing more room to stretch out. It was quite the climb even with your own experience, and you would surely feel the effort in the days to come. You make a mental note to go on some more difficult climbs, not wanting to get too soft with the easier treks you normally take clients on. Lingering out in the open isn’t a good idea, so getting to your knees with a groan, you continue.
There’s a rather large opening in the side of the rock leading into what you can only assume is a cave. The edges are smooth and almost seem dripping, as if melted to make the mouth wider before opening to a larger more jagged space. While under normal circumstances it would be dark even in the daytime, a light burns from deeper within the mountain, drawing you like a moth to a flame. The depth is impressive, curving a dozen yards back as you keep one hand on the wall.
The light is nearly blinding at this point, having to shield your eyes the further back it goes. It’s tempting to think that its a bunch of obnoxious LEDs, but the tone isn’t quite right, and the air is heated to a near sweltering degree. Whereas outside it had dropped to the point your toes and fingers had begun to feel numb, in here it was the opposite. It was tempting to take some of your layers off as heat began to make your head swim. Like being outside on the hottest day in summer, rendered useless and only able to just take the abuse of the sun, movement feeling like a chore.
It was in this clouded haze, as well as still being blinded, that you tripped over something solid, failing to catch yourself as you went down. The stone scraped your hands leaving bloody scratches, your knees only protected by the thick pants, still likely to have a bruise or two on them. A fumble that had you cursing but at least the light had dampened a small amount. It allowed you to crack your eyes open a bit more, hopefully now able to see where you were going.
It would be most logical to conclude you’d hit your head as well. Or maybe a rock had fallen from the ceiling and given you a concussion. That was the only explanation for what sat before you now.
From tip to tail you would guess around eighty feet long, though it was hard to tell with the way it was curled up. Deep lavender scales gleamed in the light of what you now realized was flames, of which rose around the edges of the room. It was only in the shadow of the large beast could you see. Now you were allowed the luxury of having a up close and personal look at teeth the size of your arm. They had nothing on the claws, inky shards that looked to be made of obsidian and matching the curving horns and spines that ran along its back. The only thing you couldn’t see was its eyes.
Despite your loud intrusion the creature had remained asleep, snoring gently as it’s massive body rose and fell under the blanket of membrane that made up its wings, curled over it’s body.
Backing away, you treated it as you would any other wild animal. That was to say, with the utmost intention of staying as far away as possible.
Once, in the earlier years of your career, you had been hiking through the woods to get to your climbing spot. The weather was nice and the intention was to meet one others at a spot just up the mountain, doing a bit of soloing on one of the easier walls.
With your lack of awareness, too content with enjoying the wilderness for what it was, you had allowed yourself to sneak up on a bear, only alerted by the chuff it released while ambling out of the woods behind you, nearly the size of a cow.
Everything you ever learned had immediately been thrown out the window, running for your life as the creature gave chase to the rocky wall that loomed a dozen yards ahead and the bear being far enough back to get a head start did you survive.
It was only by the skin of your teeth that you made it in time, practically leaping up the wall as the creature slammed into it a moment later, claws mere inches from your feet as they scrambled for purchase.
That was much like the situation you were in now. The same bone-chilling fear, blank minded survival that drove years of evolution and higher thought and reasoning turned to nothing in the face of something much larger and stronger than you, once again reduced to prey as base instincts took over. Instincts that didn’t notice the pile assorted trinkets and treasures stacked behind you, shuffling feet bumping it just enough to knock a single coin from the top.
It landed on the ground with a delicate clink, rolling in on itself until it settled. Less noisy than you had been entering the cave with puffing breath and stumbling steps. It shouldn’t have been an issue. And it wasn’t. Not until you felt a warm stream of air hit your back, slowly turning to see the once closed eyes of the beast staring at you. Like endless darkness they bore into you, sharp as any fang and surrounded by a silver glow. As if the very scelera were made of molten metal.
There was a flash of light so sudden and blinding it stole your breath almost painfully, blowing your hair back. All at once it felt as if your face had been superheated, the smell of melted nylon fabric following.
This is how you die. Burned to a crisp by a creature from fairytale. You just hadn’t been expecting to be conscious for so long at the fact. Maybe you had already passed on and the blinding light was the afterlife.
Yet as the light faded you were once again found standing in the cave. Face to face with a creature who seemed just as perplexed as yourself- if you could call it that- head tilted as its eyes widened. Its tail shifted like a tree trunk falling to crush whatever was below, and that was the only thing needed to break you from your stupor, turning and sprinting out of the cave.
The beast roared behind you, the sound of its body shifting and running into the stone walls, causing the very ground beneath your feet to tremble, only prompting you to run faster. Compared to the sweltering heat of the cave you welcomed the outside air with reverence, even more so due to the fact it meant getting away from whatever that thing was.
So in a rush, the shaking of the ground not having let up, you didn’t even stop to properly attach the rope, lashing it around your waist in a knot you hoped would hold and all but jumping from the ledge. It cut painfully into your skin as it caught your waist but that was a much lesser concern, more focused on how it promptly swung you back toward your original resting place. Your fingers grabbed the stubby handholds, climbing like a true mountain goat getting away from a predator, hardly even feeling your knee bash into the rock when you slipped.
The descent was little more than a blur in your mind, fueled by sheer adrenaline and panic as you half stumbled half climbed. There had been another path lower. It didn’t look the most promising, taking longer to get up the side of the mountain as opposed to a climb, but it’s where you headed regardless. It would through a number of trees and outcroppings, offering plenty of places to hide. The smaller the better, especially as you heard a shriek that sounded far too close for comfort as you made it to solid ground and dashed down the path, leaving a considerable length of rope behind as you stumbled through the dark, tripping more than on any hike you’d been on. If the moon wasn’t covered it might have made things easier, but the waning crescent was half hidden by thick clouds and left you in near total darkness.
You stumble upon a small clearing, unable to ignore the sounds of danger approaching. Your eyes dart about looking for a hiding spot, squinting to see anything that stands out in the muddled shadows. A hollowed log or particularly dense bush. Anything that could give you cover as you pray it wasn’t tracking you strictly by scent. There was nothing to do if that were the case, options on direction and weapons limited.
Eventually you find what you’re looking for.
Pulling your legs under you, there’s a low-laying opening about two feet off the ground. Not enough room to even crouch but plenty to slide under. Most importantly out of sight from above, or to anything over ten feet. It's cold and damp with a few bugs skittering about. Nothing you even batted an eye at as you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to calm your breathing as your heart beat so erratically you were sure it was about to come out of your chest. So loud that you nearly missed a similar rhythmic thumping approaching.
The sound of wings. Like that of eagles when you would fly too close to their nest. Only this is much louder, kicking up wind so strong it might as well be a storm. Small rocks and dust fly everywhere, stinging your skin as trees bend under the strength of the gust.
Under the pale light of the moon you see a shadow pass, the same shriek as earlier ringing out, forcing you to clasp your hands over your ears in fear of them bursting. A constant ringing erupts, sharp, high, and grating as you nearly scream in pain, body clenching and begging for it to stop. It doesn’t, only continuing on and on in a demonic symphony until at some point you must have passed out, a mixture of fear and exhaustion catching up as adrenaline finally runs out, unable to keep production up with what your body demands.
———————————————
You wake to grey skies and a sore body, filtered light not quite able to reach you so far back in your little cave. It’s hard to feel anything, even relief, as your mind struggles to process everything.
All your gear was still on, backpack clenched in front of you like a shield while your pick dug into your thigh. Your hat was gone and the top section of your hood was charred from the shoulders up leaving your shoulders bare as the fabric hung loosely. The tight compression shirt worn under all the layers was the only thing to stay in place, though it now resembled more of a strapless top.
Your fingers ran along the burnt edges, mind flashing back to the cave.
You should be dead. That thing should have roasted you alive, yet here you were; living, breathing, and cowering under a rock like some mouse. While the thought of being fireproof was tempting, the experience of having been singed more than once while arranging logs on the fire debunked it. It was impossible to even start theorizing why it hadn’t hurt you. You weren’t a scientist or fairytale specialist, though you had trouble deciding what would be more useful in this situation.
Roll with the punches. That’s what your mentor had taught you. Nature was wild and unpredictable no matter how much humanity thought they could tame and understand it, though you highly doubt he had this in mind. The fact of the matter was that there was a dragon or whatever out there, and that wasn’t going to change. The question that remained was how you’re supposed to make it over the mountain with that thing out there, likely still flying around.
A part of you could only hope that it was nocturnal, but there was no guarantee. Hypervigilance would be needed traveling during the day, and it was doubtful you’d be able to get any true restful sleep at night knowing it was out there.
Climbing was out of the question. You’d be a sitting duck ready for it to fly by and snatch you like a takeout meal. Traveling along paths meant more opportunities for cover, though it would take significantly longer. With only two cushion days to make it to the meetup point it would be close, but a new sense of determination rose. This area had taken many experienced guides and explorers, and you were not going to be another.
The skittering of rocks caught your attention, body tensing, thinking it to be the creature coming back or some other predator roaming the mountain, only to turn confused as a pair of legs comes into view. They’re lean but well muscles from what you can see, but most importantly distinctly human.
“Hello?” A voice calls, pulling you from your stupor. You must be imagining things, cracking under the pressure. Who in their right mind would be all the way out here?
There’s no time to react as you come face-to-face with a man.
He’s crouched down, kneeling as he peaks under the ledge. A part of you wonders how he even found you until your eyes dip lower, spotting a thin trail of blood running along the ground, right to where you were hidden. It could have come from any number of cuts that adorn your body, your haste to get away making you reckless. A small price to pay even if you now felt stupid about being so obvious. But then again it had led you to finding someone else. Someone you didn’t know. But that fact is tossed out the window, too happy to see another person after everything you’ve experienced in the past twelve hours to question it.
Scrambling from under the ledge, you all but trip over yourself as you get to your feet, nearly knocking the man over in the process.
“Easy there.” He says, placing two strong hands on your shoulder, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle, legs sore from being kept in one position for so long. “Are you alright?” He eyes your wounds, brow furrowed, but that’s the least of your problems. Right now, you’re more focused on getting out of this place and away from whatever that was.
“How are you here?” The question is a bit more forceful than you intend, but the sheer absurdity of finding someone way out here has you bewildered.
“I’ve lived on this mountain a long time.” He says, hands moving to grab you, stopping short as you jolt away. He swallows thickly, voice a bit tighter and eyes wide. “How are you here?”
“I’m supposed to be finding someone who crashed here.” Would it be too much to hope he had seen her?
There wasn’t a guarantee she’d even made it this far, but if he could survive then why couldn’t she? Or maybe he was some kind of crazy killer who eats people, and that’s why nobody makes it out of here alive. What if there was a whole group of them like some kind of sick horror movie plot?
Your hand inched towards the pick at your waist, trying not to make the movement too obvious. If he thought he was going to kill and eat you he had another thing coming.
With the way his brows furrow in thought it’s hard to see him as dangerous, seeming more upset than anything. He suddenly perks up, fingers snapping as you can practically see the lightbulb go off. A name escapes, your turn to be surprised at recognizing it for belonging to the very person you’re looking for.
“You’ve seen her!?”
“Yeah.” He huffs, almost amused as he runs a hand over the back of his head, posture a picture of ease. “Found her out here a few months ago. The others of her group didn’t survive but she somehow managed to hold on.”
Despite your excitement you don’t let it get the better of you, filing the information away and going back to your interrogation.
“How did you get here?” You ask, not allowing him to evade the question of his origins. The last thing you need was to stumble upon some cult that had been here doing who knows what.
“Similar situation really. Never thought I’d meet anyone else here.” That tracked, even if you still had your suspicions. More than one plane had gone down in the area, and there was still the plethora of novice hikers who got lost. All of whom were never seen again.
A shadow passes overhead and you jump, eyes scanning the sky and ready to dart back into your hiding place. The man only seemed unconcerned, stepping between you and shortening the already small space.
”If you’re worried about the dragon don’t be.” His head tilts, a look of amusement gracing his face. “He’s not flying around right now. Won’t be for a while.”
“And how do you know that?”
He shrugs, seeming too casual for someone who knew exactly what was out here. “Been around a while. I know his pattern like the back of my hand.”
“We have to get to the other side of the mountain.” Checking your gear, you make note of all the things that still remain in your kit. The rope is severely depleted, a small portion left behind from your frantic descent, but everything else seems good for the most part. You stuff the remainder of the coat in your bag as best you can, slipping on the one extra shirt you’d brought. It was warm enough to not need much during the day, especially as you got moving, but come nightfall the temperature would likely plummet again and you’d have a bit of trouble.
Pulling out your compass and a rough map of the area, you try to chart a path.
“Can you take me to her? I have a pickup scheduled in three days.” A shadow looms, looking up to see the man blocking the sun, entirely too close. A part of you wants to spit at him to give some space, but it’s probably been a while since he’s been in society. His clothes are well worn, the soft lavender fabric patched in areas, tied around his waist with a cloth belt while his legs remain bare. A pair of sandals that look as if they’re going to fall apart are the only protection he has from the rocky ground. Not the most ideal for hiking but if that’s all he had when he was stranded then you couldn’t judge.
“Of course, you can come with us. I’m sure you have family that’s looking for you.”
It would be best to take him. If he had survived for this long than obviously he was doing something right, and with an unknown factor thrown into the equation it would be nice to have another set of hands. Besides, he was the only one that knew where the girl was, and even if it was a lie you could hardly leave in good conscious without checking.
He doesn’t say anything, only continuing to stare and making you more nervous. Just as you think he’s truly gone and fallen asleep standing he abruptly turns, leading the way further into the mountain.
———————-
Nobunaga, as he had introduced himself, seemed perfectly adept at traversing the mountainside.
Long jumps and steep inclines seemed to be no problem for him despite his lanky appearance, and you wondered just how much muscle he had hidden under his baggy clothes. You had plenty of climber friends who looked like shrimps and were stronger than someone who looked like they were about to bust out of their shirt. It made you wonder just how long he’d been out here, though he only responded a vague ‘few years’ when asked. He didn’t dodge questions or hesitate when asked, so you’re inclined to believe he was telling the truth with the ease of which he answered. Maybe he didn’t even know the number himself.
But as much as you tried to needle and feel him out, he turned everything back around, seeming far more interested in you than anything else.
”You seem quite…capable.” He said as you hauled yourself up the ledge, ignoring his outstretched hand. You were careful to keep him in front of you, leading the way to wherever it was you were going. It wasn’t heading across like you had hoped but rather along the ridges, making you nervous as you got closer to the dragon’s cave.
”It’s safest there.” Nobunaga explained when you voiced your concerns. “Less predators creeping around.”
It sounded simultaneously logical as well as crazy. Like jumping in snake filled waters to avoid the tiger on the shore. Sure it worked for the immediate problem, but there was always the threat of something worse.
”I mean it’s kind of my job.” You say, pulling out your compass and making a mark on the map. Hopefully enough to help you get back should anything happen to your companion, either by nature or your own hands.
”So you put yourself in danger a lot?” Nobunaga frowns, looking over his shoulder.
“I guess? There’s not much I can’t handle nowadays though.” You can’t help but be chatty, the few days of isolation making you a bit more open despite the concern of drawing attention. He seemed to have an air about him that put you at ease, likely having to do with his own lax nature of the situation though he could have shown at least a little more excitement at the prospect of finally being rescued.
He doesn’t seem to like your answer, frowning as he mumbles to himself.
When sunset hits you decide to make camp for the night, sore from your trek with minimal breaks.
Nobunaga points out a cave, thankfully much smaller than the last, and apart from a few bugs there’s no other occupants. It smelt faintly of iron and leaves you wondering if the minerals were present in the rock.
You were quick to start a fire, knowing the risk it brought of drawing attention but unable to simply sit there and freeze. Not only had the temperature dropped with the sun, but you’d also climbed higher as well as further across the mountain, reaching the delicate point of frost touching the surface of everything, the snow capped peaks not far off. You’d been struggling to find your flint and striker, digging through your bag, only to turn and see Nobunaga with the kindling already blazing.
“I’m pretty good at starting fires.” He must have used some sort of friction method given the lack of starters in his hand. The rocks around here wouldn’t work even if you tried. Regardless, the heat was enough to have you crawling near, eager to warm yourself as you catch a smug grin on Nobunaga’s face. He must be tickled pink to have someone to show his skills off to with the way he seemed to swell at your obvious amazement.
Dinner wasn’t anything fabulous. Dried jerky, fruit, and some cashews that were just barely above being considered a dust, pulverized by your journey.
“You sure you don’t want me to try and catch anything?” Nobunaga asked, eyeing the dry meat with distaste. You’d offered it out of consideration for your new companion, feeling awkward eating without doing so. There were enough extra provisions to last longer than you predicted you would need, a precaution you always took, but with two and soon to be three people in the group it would be stretched thin.
Evidentially he had gotten used to eating fresh caught food out here and it was amusing to watch him scowl at the food as if it offended him. Who knew being stranded in the wild could make you a picky eater. Still, while on the lean side he didn’t seem to be starving which spoke to his hunting skills. Maybe you could ask him about it at a later time.
“It’s too late for snares to catch anything.” You shook your head, too tired to even think about venturing out.
The day had been run at a rather brutal pace by your own insistence, wanting to get to the girl and get off the mountain as soon as possible. Nobunaga grumbled and you worried you’d offended him and his knowledge, but he just chewed on his dinner, offering the last bit to you and claiming he wasn’t that hungry. Maybe his time in the wild has shrunk his stomach or maybe he was just trying to be polite. Either way, you weren’t going to let it go to waste.
He offers his own contribution. A green plant that smells faintly of mint. Potentially a distant relative or variety that grows here despite the difference in appearance. He’d gathered it from somewhere just beyond the mouth of the cave. You’d accepted it of course, but only ate a bit when you saw him do the same. It was actually rather sweet, laying pleasantly on your tongue. A suitable substitute for the bar of chocolate you’d lost in your scramble to get away, the remaining half previously the only thing to look forward to at the end of the day, a piece broken off each night to help keep your spirits up.
It was all too easy to consume given the last forty-eight hours, though Nobunaga didn’t seem to mind, even offering the rest of his share.
You made sure to keep the embers low, heating a few rocks and wrapping them in a few of the bandage rolls you had. Your coat was little more than a small blanket now and you opted to use it to put something between you and the cold ground, even putting some of the heated rocks underneath.
As you settled on to your little spot you noticed Nobunaga watching you get ready for bed, realizing you didn’t have anything extra for him to use. A singular, well insulated sleeping bag was all you had, your tent material tacked to the opening of the cave with room to let the smoke out while keeping the heat in. Still it was rather cold, you yourself shivering even as Nobunaga didn’t seem all that affected.
While manners dictated you offer to share you still felt a bit awkward. This man was practically a stranger even if he hadn’t done anything threatening so far.
The choice was made for you as Nobunaga crawls closer, stopping just at the edge of the fabric.
“Do you mind if we share for the night? You look cold.” His words carry a tone of worry. Odd, as normally you’re the one fretting over unprepared hikers.
“And you’re not?” Your eyes dart down to his bare legs, not even a trace of a shiver or gooseflesh. Meanwhile your own teeth threatened to nip your tongue, curled in on yourself as you rubbed at your arms.
“I’ve lived here a long time. I’m used to it.” He waved his hand. “I’m practically a space heater, or so I’ve been told.”
You hesitate, debating on just giving him the sleeping bag and making due with the fire. But with the way he looks at you, wide eyed and almost concerned, makes you cave. Best not to anger the man you’re stranded in the woods with in any case.
Lifting the edge of the sleeping bag in invitation, you're startled at the speed with which he moves, practically diving in. Whatever position you expected to sleep in- back-to-back or even sitting up- was thrown out the window as he settles himself behind you, pulled into his arms as he settles down.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Your surprise shout escapes before you can stop it, face scrunching into a glare as you peer over your shoulder even as the blanket is pulled around you.
All movement is halted as heat swaddles you almost immediately, nearly suffocating. Not just from the blanket and fire, but radiating from the man currently holding you.
“Holy shit.” You mumble under your breath. It comes off him in waves, like a beacon drawing you closer. His hands are like irons fresh from the forge as they wrap around your own, brining feeling back into the frozen tips.
“Told you.” Nobunaga sounds almost smug as he eases you both down into laying position, arms still wrapped securely around you. He doesn’t even flinch when your icy feet touch his, the heat seeping through your thick socks.
“You may know how to navigate the wilderness, but I know how to survive it.” He hums, resting his chin on your head. Begrudgingly you have to admit he has a point. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d shared a sleeping bag for warmth but all those people you had known and didn’t have to worry about ulterior motives and wandering hands. Thankfully Nobunaga’s remain firmly around your own, verging on being too tight.
“You could have at least warned me first.” You huff even as you sink back deeper into his warmth. His strength and ease of movement from earlier makes more sense as you feel the rigid and hard outline of muscle against your back, twitching with every movement.
There were worse things than being stuck sharing a sleeping bag with a handsome man, even if you did wish it were different circumstances.
Your eyes feel increasingly heavy, drunk on warmth as you watch the flames flicker. A thought to put more wood on the fire for the night briefly floats through your mind but can’t muster the energy to even move, limbs feeling like they were already asleep.
Nobunaga only seemed to curl further around you, a deep rumble vibrating along your back.
‘He must be a snorer.’
“Do you know anything about dragon fire?” You whisper- hesitant to wake him should he be sleeping- the memory of the cave and what had happened leading to your current situation rearing back to the front of your mind. He might not even know anything about it, but it was worth a shot. To put at least one piece of the puzzle in place even if you had no intention of finishing it. One less thing to keep you up and wondering at night.
For a moment you think he must have already fallen asleep, nothing but the sound of the crackling fire and flapping of the tent along the entrance, but a mumbled ‘yes’ prompts you to continue.
“When….when I saw the creature before I thought I was a goner. I should have been. But the fire didn’t seem to do anything. It burned my jacket but I was fine.”
Nobunaga hummed, his breath tickling your skin as you shivered.
“It means that you're very special.” Is all he says, grip growing even tighter.
‘Special how?’ you wanted to ask but your tongue felt too heavy to move, mind clouded. It was the last conscious thought you had.
———————————————
Waking up, it felt as if you’d been out on the town on the ultimate bender. The heat was nearly suffocating, like baking all day in the summer with all the doors and windows closed. Not to mention your neck had a kink in it that promised to be a pain all day.
Head pounding and limbs like molasses, it was tempting to just fall back asleep, intent on doing just so, but when you shifted to roll over the distinct sound of metal scattering jolted you out of your stupor. It was a struggle to raise yourself enough to consciousness to crack an eye open, but with great effort you did so, groaning as you were greeted with light.
Shielding your eyes, it took a moment to adjust before you could look again, but as you took in your surroundings you wished you had kept them closed.
You were in the cave. Not the one you remember falling asleep in. This one was much larger, filled with piles of metals and gems that reflected the heat of the fire burning along the walls. One you had only seen once before and never wanted to again.
Yet here you were, nestled in a crater of treasures of all kinds, your sleeping bag wrapped around you and providing only the barest protection from the harsh metal and stone edges beneath you.
Your first thought was ‘How did I get back here’.
The second was ‘Where is Nobunaga?’.
The man was nowhere to be found. Even if you hadn’t known him for long, his death would be a heavy weight on your conscience. He hadn’t seemed all that bad. Friendly even. All that time spent surviving out here only to get the axe when you showed up.
A much more concerning thought butted in before you could think much more of the missing man. The last time you were here there was a dragon that was now missing, and you were sitting in a suspiciously dragon sized hole. Each movement seemed obnoxiously loud, metal shifting and tinkling like a hunting trap with bells.
‘It found us while we were sleeping and ate Nobunaga, then brought me back as a midnight snack. It’s probably still pissed from last time.’
It was the only thing you could think of to explain it, but were you really so exhausted that you hadn’t heard the man shout or woken even for a moment on the journey back? You weren’t a heavy sleeper by any means, and you only became more perplexed. And all that didn’t explain the fact that you were currently in just your underwear. How did that happen?
An increasingly familiar shriek pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, like a siren proceding a tornado.
There was a shudder of the ground, wind whipping in from what you knew to be the entrance. From around the bend- like some kind of horror movie- a snout emerged, followed by a head, then a body, and finally a tail. All the while you could only remain frozen, watching the creature lumber into the cave, shaking its wings free of the remaking snow that clung to them.
It walked with an awkward gait, a large stag clenched in its front claws that it was clearly trying not to turn to paste under its weight.
Maybe you could sneak away? The creature was so large and the cave and items so expansive. Surely you could hide long enough for it to lose interest. Like trying to find a singular ant in a decently sized apartment. But the moment you shifted to crawl away, the treasure pile under you did as well.
Glowing eyes locked with yours, tearing away any hope of going unnoticed as its head snapped in your direction. You remained looking at each other, unblinking, waiting for the first move. It was only when it took a deliberate step towards you did your limbs decide to work once more, scrambling for purchase against the shifting ground as you tried to get out of the small crater. But the sloped sides only sent you tumbling back down again and again, like trying to climb a dune composed of nothing but loose sand. All the while you could feel the beast getting closer, panic raising rapidly as bile burned in the back of your throat.
“Nobunaga! Nobunaga!” You called out, hoping with your entire being that the man was still alive somewhere in the cave and could hear you. That he could come to your aid and help you out even if you doubted you’d do the same. Who would run towards an approaching dragon and not take the opportunity themselves to get away?
Yet you continued to call to the only person you knew who even had a chance of being close by, desperation growing as tears welled. A cascade of coins behind you told you that the beast was now at the edge opposite of where you were. Close enough to lean down and touch you if it so wanted.
You were going to be eaten. Swallowed whole and left to be killed in the dark by stomach. That was, if its teeth didn’t poke you full of holes first.
Cursing, you had never wished to go back in time more and slap some sense into yourself. You met some crazy man in the mountains and trusted him enough to lead you who knows where and fall asleep with your guard down. Chances were he worshiped the dragon and you were just another addition to the long line of sacrifices.
There was a sharp crack, accompanied by a blinding light and the overwhelming scent of smoke, choking as you tumbled back down. Trembling all you could do was kneel and wait, accepting fate as your legs refused to move, head bowed, pressed into the cool metal. You didn’t want to see it coming. It would only scare you more. Maybe make your meat taste bad. You’d heard once that it was the same with other animals, how you wanted ot keep them as calm as possible.
You hope you tasted awful.
It wasn’t teeth that met flesh but rather the familiar feel of a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and whispering comfort as you were brought into a bare chest. The skin contact left a familiar buzzing feeling. Enough to draw your attention away from your rapidly approaching panic attack.
“Nobunaga?”
The man stood over you, that easy, dopey smile he had worn every other time you looked at him still in place. Though at the time it hadn’t seemed so threatening as it did now.
It was also that moment that you realized he lacked any clothing as well, bare as the day he was born and not seeming to mind in the least. You tried to jump away from him only to have his hands lock around your waist.
“Where are you going? You called me.” He purred drawing you closer, the handsome curve of his nose burying itself in your neck.
“We have to get out of here!” You insisted, remembering the reason for doing so. “The dragon, it-“
Head snapping back and forth, looking for the lumbering mass, you’re instead greeted with nothing. As if it had up and vanished in a snap. A figment of your imagination.
“It’s gone?”
Impossible! It had been right there only moments ago before all that smoke!
“I wouldn’t say gone.” The words were whispered into your skin, pulling away a fruitless endeavor as a chill ran down your spine.
Slowly, you turn back to face your previous traveling companion. Yet it’s not the same black eyes from before that greeted you. This time they burn with a golden light, molten heat bubbling around narrowly slotted pupils.
The eyes of the dragon.
Before you can react, the fabric you’d been holding around your shoulders is torn away, thrown off to the side and leaving you without its shield from prying eyes which greedily drink you in. He seems utterly pleased with himself, smoke billowing from his nose as he gives a hearty sigh, the plume filling your own lungs as you try to wave it away, coughing.
Falling back, you’re pulled to the ground with him, landing on top of super-heated skin that had once felt heavenly, now burning in the already sweltering cave as you attempted to get away. Yet again you’re denied, the muscle that had allowed him to so easily traverse the mountainside allowing him to hold you with the same effort even as your nails dig into the skin.
“I’m so glad I found you. I was worried you would get away.” An arm locks around your waist, a singular hand enough to hold both of yours, legs intertwining with your own in what could be considered a lovers embrace, now only serving to constrict you further. Like a snake getting ready to devour its meal. It’s now that you feel something smooth against your skin, cranking your neck to see lavender scales scattered across his body. Previously hidden by his clothing, they maintain a contrast to his skin where they emerge from the pale flesh, barely able to contain the monster that lurks.
”Let me go.” You say, barely able to keep the quiver from your voice. It might have been something to be more proud of if the words also didn’t cause him to only pull you closer, burrowing into the quicksand of treasure.
”How could I ever let you go now that I’ve found you? I’ve waited centuries.”
You struggle, brain trying to tie whatever ends he had linked in his own mind. Apparently, he had decided you were something. Something he wanted to keep. Better than being eaten, but still not ideal. Especially if you had anything to say about it.
”If you had, I might have had to send Shalnark after you. He’s a great tracker after all. But he’s not the most gentle, and I would have been upset to not get you back all in one piece. It would have been even worse if you’d gotten to illumi’s forest." Nobunaga sighs, nuzzling closer to your skin. “Your mind would never be the same again.”
You swallow thickly at his words, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. Who the hell was Shalnark? Illumi? What pieces would you have been missing?
”Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
He leans forward, head resting on your shoulder. From his mouth erupts a thin jet of violet fire, engulfing your clasped hands and melting the metal underneath. You flinch away on instinct, expecting pain, yet only a pleasant warmth licks your skin. Evidence of how out of hand the situation has truly gotten.
”You’re meant for me after all.”
————————————
Nobunaga’s grip doesn’t let up, bruising as he forces you to face him while your mind races for an answer. Sure you had thought of the possibility of being caught, yet every excuse flies out of your mind as he glares, smoke pouring from his mouth.
“I was worried about you.” You whisper. The first thing you could think of. “You said you would be back but when you weren’t I thought something might have happened.”
“I wasn’t even gone two days.” His growled, though his words held less of their previous venom. He always said it was hard to stay mad at you, but there was clearly a limit.
“Really?” Putting as much confusion into your voice as you can muster, your head tilts as and brows draw together. A picture of innocent confusion. “I’m sorry. There’s no clock up here and with it so dark with all the storm clouds I thought it had been at least four. Time always feels so long when you're gone.”
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring your foreheads together. Your nose brushes his, knowing the gesture was familiar to him in both his forms. It was quite sensitive either way, and while he didn’t relax he still leaned into the contact, just as starved for your touch as always.
It seemed as if you stayed that way forever, listening to the crackle of the fire while his hands rubbed up and down your sides. An action not intended to sooth you, but rather himself.
“Are you mad?” The slight wobble to your voice isn’t entirely acting. Not when you’d seen this man burn anything within a fifty-foot radius to a crisp with one breath, crushing the skull of a full-grown charging moose like it was nothing. And that wasn’t even when he was in his ‘true form’. Neither is the way your fingers grip the front of his robe like a lifeline, desperate to grasp onto anything that could help you in the situation.
It seems enough to bring him out of whatever deliberation he was in, pulling back to face you. The glow of his eyes had faded so at least that was something.
“I’m still upset that you put yourself in such danger, but I was more worried than anything.” He finally says.
“I’m sorry.” You’re not. You’d do it again in a heartbeat. Next time with more planning. But even so you place a kiss on the side of his mouth, unable to voluntarily kiss him fully but still trying to salvage what you can of the situation.
“Just don’t do it again.” He says, and you feel relief at the fact he bought the explanation. You’d worked hard to get to this point with him.
It used to be that he would lock you in a rather large chest like one of his many other treasures, a singular hole poked in the top with one of the lances he called claws. Not enough to climb out unfortunately, the memory of spending hours cramped in there unpleasant to say the least. You’re not even sure your back has fully recovered yet.
Nobunaga stands, not even allowing you the opportunity to do the same as he carries you like nothing in his arms towards the back of the cave. While the rest of the space maintains a dry warmth, it gets increasingly muggy the further you go before opening up to a sudden drop off filled with water.
A light steam escapes from the surface, heated by underground vents. A natural hot spring. Something you might have been excited for once upon a time to stumble upon. But now you’ve grown to hate it, the only place where you can’t justify wearing clothes and are at Nobunaga’s full mercy.
There was nothing to remove now, stripped of your coverings the moment he got his hands on you, and his normal bareness that accompanied every time he melted from one form to another.
The water stings as it seeps around your wounds, resisting the urge to cry out even as you tensed. It would only provoke more coddling from Nobunaga and you weren’t sure how much you could take before you snapped.
Doing your best to relax, you allow him to wash your wounds, accepting every kiss whenever you flinch without fuss. You even leaned into the touch as he washed your hair. Something that seemed to take the last of the tension from him, hands loosening just a bit, nails not digging into your scalp quite as harshly.
“I’m glad you weren’t trying to escape.” Nobunaga sighs, pulling you closer. Head tilting back, you allow an expression of innocent curiosity to take over your features. He was building up to something. You could tell by the trace of excitement that lingered under his words, nearly rushing to get them out.
“I’m taking you to see the others next week.”
You freeze like a rabbit in the maw of a beast, breath catching. Ever since he’d trapped you here there hadn’t been a glimpse of another person.
Once, about two months in, you’d heard a voice calling from the entrance. At first you’d assumed it to be a hallucination brought on by your isolation and sheer hopelessness of the situation. But as they called out again Nobunaga was quick to react, planting you firmly in one place with a command not to move. And you didn’t, wanting to keep up appearances to appease him, but it didn’t stop you from trying to lean and get a peak of whoever it was. From the sounds of it they were friendly and the fact Nobunaga remained in his shifted form said they weren’t a threat. Anybody who was a friend of his definitely wasn’t one of yours, and the deep timber of the voice set your hair on end.
“You’ve been so well behaved I thought you deserved a reward.” He said, tracing his nails along your skin, gooseflesh rising despite the heat of the water. “You’ve been the easiest by far. Even if they don’t say it, I can tell the others are jealous. Everyone is always eyeing a dragon’s greatest treasure.”
You roll your eyes, glad to be facing away as there was no way you would have been able to hold back.
Nobunaga was easy enough to manipulate as long as you played along, but it got exhausting at times. Thankfully he found your ‘shyness’ endearing, and could get away with the occasion behavior. Though each time you bashfully turned away and blushed, stumbling over your words, you felt like vomiting. As if you were some sort of love interest in a drama. Like he hadn’t seen you competent and capable before, that image tossed out of his mind and replaced with the current one he obviously favored.
Once again, your acting skills were put to the test, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck, resisting the urge to strangle him as your fingers flexed.
“I’m so excited!” Smiling, you play with the loose hair that hangs along his back, reaching for the soap to wash it. “If they’re important to you then they’re important to me.”
He sighs, allowing himself to lean back and close his eyes as your comparatively blunt nails drag along his scalp, hands on your hips and keeping you in place as you wash the soap from his hair.
Once finished he drags you both out, drying you off with a fluffy towel- gifted upon your request in return for allowing him to wash your hair- before heading back out to the main area. You already know how the time will go, curled up with his collection surrounding you, reading or trying to think of a way to escape.
Nobunaga slept a lot. Something about mass and energy. It was difficult to say which form you preferred him in. The beast was easier to hate and dissociate from, yet was more terrifying as you fear one day he may roll over and accidentally crush you. But when he was in his humanoid figure it was nauseating the way he seemed that much more loving. You could close your eyes and pretend the hands around your waist were someone else’s. An old boyfriend or some long-harbored crush. It was nice to pretend, but also dangerous. Because pretending put you into a mindset of complacency, the facade of acceptance nearly slipping into something more real. That things truly could be easier if you were to give in.
As Nobunaga settles you into the heart of his horde, tucking himself in and pulling you close like you belong there, it’s easy to pretend you don’t feel the way he clings himself to you. Your mind is too occupied with other things.
A trip off the mountain means a chance of escape. The vague map from before is permanently etched into your mind, always lingering day and night. Depending on where you went there was a chance. And you’d take that chance over an easy life any day. Maybe you could even help some of the others that you had heard him talk about in passing, including the one you had originally come for.
For all that he was, Nobunaga wasn't a liar. The girl was indeed close by but seemed to be kept by one of his own deluded friends. A werewolf.
How fun.
“I love you.” Nobunaga purrs, chest rumbling in the way you’ve come to learn means he’s blissfully happy.
He expects an answer, even if it’s a lie, and what’s one more when that’s all your existence is? A carefully constructed facade to appease the temperamental man.
Yes I am! Generally I’m always open to request and I live MHA ones! If it’s multiple characters I generally do headcanons (with some shorter writings at the end) but if it’s just one character I’m able to do a full writing.
Summary: Tensions rise as your feelings only continue to grow. The only question that remains is who will be the first to break?
Warnings: Violence, Yearning
————————————————————
“Is Beckman mad at me?” You mumble to Snake, your partner in holystoning the deck, as you cast a glance at said man from the corner of your eye. The first mate had been in a mood all morning- or rather the past few days- snapping when you had approached to ask about the most recent paper, wanting to see your updated poster from the pages.
He had tossed the paper at you, already clipped, but said nothing more as he disappeared back behind the pages, using them as a wall between you even as you tried to engage in more conversation. It was only met with grunts or short answers until you had given up, leaving him to sulk.
“Nah.” Snake grunts as he scrubs, the sandstone block in his hand much larger than your own and covering twice the space. It was always ideal to be paired with him, taking a fraction of what it would with the others. “Just gave him quite the scare is all.”
You pause, head tilting as your hands slow. Sure you liked to annoy him, but scare him? It was difficult to believe that was even possible.
“Ya know? When you got tossed the other day?”
Ah, that. Not that you had forgotten, your back still aching, though that could just as easily be from the way you spent the last hour hunched over the deck, but it didn’t seem like that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. There had been other incidents that night that had you more concerned than your brief tumble.
——————————————
The spray of salt washes over you as another high wave hits the ship. It’s a storm not unlike the one you had weathered in the mouth of the dragon months ago, yet you’re in arguably better shape now. At least this time you’re actually on the ship instead of balancing on the front. Still, it’s no fun as you’re sent out along with Roux, Beckman, and Yassop to finish latching down the top deck. None of them seem too concerned about it and their nonchalance balms your own nerves as you trudge through the downpour.
For them it’s routine, almost boring, while you remain on your toes. Maybe it’s that difference that allowed such a thing to happen.
You nearly miss the creaking of wood, the sharp snap as it splits, covered by the rumble of thunder that never seems to stop. The only reason you’re spared from its force is due to being crouched to tie a rope around the grates of the floor and secure the rigging as it’s pulled in. Yassop, who had been helping with the task, is not so lucky as he stands to move to the next.
The beam hits him across the head, his body jerking almost comically after him as he stumbles back, foot slipping on the slickened wood of the deck as he tumbled over the railing without even time to shout.
It’s like a bad dream, the whole incident muted by the storm and only known to you. None of the others are any the wiser, and it’s without thought when you react by jumping after him, errant rope you had been trying to tie down wrapped around your arm. To all eyes it appears as if the both of you have disappeared off the side of the ship and into the churning waters below.
For a moment you’re weightless, only the feeling of torrential downpour keeping you grounded as it pelts against your skin, until the rope around your arm tightens. You snap back with a cry, slammed into the hull as it bobs back up from the water to meet you. You feel more than hear a dull pop, arm going numb as the other is stinging where Yassop’s nails sink into your skin, though you're sure your own do just as much damage as you cling to one another.
Passively you curse his hearty appetite, wishing he had skipped a few meals as his weight threatens to pull you down. The sea punishes him as he’s dunked beneath the surface with hardly a chance to hold his breath, your own body submerged to the waist and the icy water brings a new pain as you gasp at the shock. Yassop’s under for only a few moments before surfacing, the ship flying above the wave before crashing down again and leaving you both a spluttering mess.
You hear the vague shouting of the others, though it’s hard to tell over the sound of the storm exactly what they’re saying, and can only hope that they noticed you go over and are coming to help. Otherwise you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on. Really you're not sure how you’re holding on even now. Any attempt to pull yourself up is met with failure as Yassop’s weight proves too much for you to do anything but hold on. Hopefully the rope sees fit to bear the weight and not snap even as it digs into your skin.
You dangle like fish on a line for what feels like eternity before the wood behind you shifts, scraping against your back as you're dragged slowly upward. Each jerk has you gritting your teeth as jolts of electricity travel from your shoulder to your toes. A darker part of your mind plays with the thought that the friction might be able to skin the mark branded on your back away and you could be finished with worrying about it.
Even after you feel a pair of hands grabbing you under your arms and slinging you onto the deck you don’t let go of Yassop, his grip remaining just as strong until Hongo appears to forcibly pry you apart. He flips Yassop onto his hands and knees, heaving up mouthfuls of water and some of his lunch that join the buckets still pouring from the sky. At least you don’t have to worry about cleaning, and you’re tempted to make a joke about seafood but can’t seem to find your voice, coughing up salty water yourself.
Hands roughly grip your arms, dragging you up to meet the face of one irritated first mate.
“Can you go five minutes without getting into trouble?!” Beckman shouts over the storm, eye twitching.
His anger is cut as your fingers claw at his hand, a pained cry escaping gritted teeth. It wasn’t how you normally reacted when he scruffed you like a misbehaving cat, a sullen steaming to your anger, but instead seems to be a genuine attempt to get him away from you. Desperate even, as you bite your lip bloody to stop the next scream that threatens to escape.
Hongo shoves the stunned first mate away, catching you before you can fall to the deck. He slings your good arm over his shoulder before hauling you with him towards the cabin, calling over his shoulder to bring Yassop as well. Beckman listens, helping the still coughing pirate across the deck and below, hot on Hongo’s trail.
In the halls you pass some of the others already on their way out, likely to take up your positions in getting the ship ready for the rest of the storm. They must have heard the yelling, and their eyes follow with a stunned curiosity before the door is slammed shut.
You get to the medical room and are eased onto the cot with Yassop deposited next to you, slumping over onto his shoulders as he does the same, holding one another up. He doesn’t seem to be too injured, which is a relief, though his legs sport a few gashes and his head has a sizable bump.
Hongo assesses him, checking for a concussion or any remaining water in his lungs. As he moves to deal with the wounds on his legs your vision is obscured by a towel thrown unceremoniously over your head.
You look to see Beckman kneeling beside you, already starting on getting your boots off drying your legs, squeezing the freezing water from the fabric as he goes and using the material to rub some warmth into the limbs. Your toes are numb just form the short exposure and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yassop is feeling as you shiver.
Hongos is finishing with Yassop when another jolt travels up your arm as the rocking of the ship has you bumping into him, hissing as you try to pull away. The doctor turns on you at the sound, batting your hand away from where you hold it protectively over the limb. He gently probes, each light touch feeling as if he’d struck you with a club as your teeth clench.
His eyes flick up to Beckman, nodding.
Before you can question it, brawny arms grab and turn you, back pinned to Beckman’s chest as one arm wraps around your uninjured shoulder while the other snakes around your waist to pull you even closer, legs now resting on the bed behind Yassop. It’s a startlingly intimate hold, the proximity taking your breath away and distracting you from the current situation. Your head cranes back to look at Beckman, freezing as a chin rested on your shoulder, arms squeezing even tighter as he kneels and leans back. Hongo grasps your injured arm in his, bending the elbow and only spared from being punched in the face as Beckman's hand tightens around your own, firmly holding you in place.
Before you can ask what the hell is going on Hongo swiftly pulls the limb in a singular smooth motion.
If you thought the pain from before had been bad it’s nothing in comparison to now, feeling as if he's actually tearing your arm from its socket as your back arches, body twisting in an attempt to get away. Your hand grips Beckman's in a bruising hold, your head jerking every which way and you hear him grunt as your skull connects with his chin. You’re almost positive that you bite him at some point, though the iron you taste could just as easily be your own and he doesn't say anything about it.
It’s over quicker than it feels, the timeless span only seconds. There’s a soft pop followed by a flood of relief, or maybe your body has finally become too overwhelmed and decided to shut everything out. Whichever the case it has you collapsing, vision blurry as you see Hongo get up to grab something else.
Becman’s clothes are still wet, squishing uncomfortably as you lull in and out, vaguely processing the feeling of a hand on your head in what seems to be a comforting gesture. You stay like that for a moment catching your breath, feeling the even rise and fall of the chest beneath you as you try to match its pace.
”I’ll need to take a look at your back.” Hongo’s words have you tensing, the action drawing a pained groan as Beckman sets you up.
He reaches for your shirt but before you can move to stop him Hongo intercepts, hand latching onto Beckman's. The two men stare each other down, the tension of the room rising as the two highest ranking men on board apart from the captain have a silent argument.
”Take Yasssop to his bed. Make sure he’s not lying on his back and don’t let him fall asleep.”
It’s the closest to a direct order you’ve heard him give as his tone slips into its familiar doctoral cadence. One that dares any to challenge him. Beckman might, judging from the way his face hardens, yet gives in the end. He casts one last look to you before moving to help Yasssop, the door shutting behind them with a bit more force than necessary.
Hongo turns back to you, bottle of antiseptic already in hand, and gestures for you to turn. Your body remains locked in place, jaw set.
“I can do it myself.” You try to grab the bottle from him but he holds it out of reach of your trembling hands.
“You need to be treated and you can't reach your back.” He grabs you by the uninjured shoulder, trying to forcefully turn you around. It turns into a bit of a scuffle, putting up a decent fight even one arm down.
“Oh, for the love of-” Hongo grabbed you by the face, forcing you to look at him. “I’ve already seen it! Why do you think I had Beckman leave? There’s no reason to put up such a fuss about hiding it.”
Fear grips you as your head whips to face him, seeing only exhaustion as he drags a hand down his face.
“How did you-”
“That night you snuck in here with Beckman. Your shirt got all twisted up while you were sleeping. Not to mention the way you were clinging to one another.” He scoffs. “I would say it serves you right for not listening to me.”
His words give you pause, skin heating at both the memory and the reveal that you had been caught, shoulders slumping as you allow him to finally have access to your back.
The hull had done a bit more damage than you originally thought but still less than it could have been if you hadn’t spent hours the previous week with Punch and Monster removing hundreds of barnicles. At the time it had been annoying but now you could see a bit more of the wisdom in it.
Hongo’s fingers trace over the dark mark, as if confirming its presence, quickly pulling back as you flinch and moves to care for the wounds. The sting of antiseptic hardly registers even as it burns your nose, touch light as he dabs away the blood, tossing the stained clothes into a bucket.
“Does Beckman know?“ You ask, voice barely a whisper.
You don't want to know, but you need to. If he was aware of the mark and still refused to acknowledge the fact it would only be confirmation of your original fears. Even worse, not deeming the topic important enough to outright reject you.
“No.” Hongo sighs as he wraps your back, pulling a bit tighter than necessary. “It's your business if you want to tell him.”
It takes you by surprise, having thought the crew to be thick as thieves. There were hardly any secrets among them, many you had to become privy to yourself just by being around them, slowly integrating into their ranks. Especially something of this caliber you would have thought he would be alerting the first mate as soon as possible.
“So even pirates have doctor-patient confidentiality, huh?” You joke in an attempt to ease the tension, slyly grinning over your shoulder. Hongo only rolls his eyes, tying the badges into a knot before flicking your ear.
“More like a friend who trusts you to do what's best. For the both of you.”
Friend.
The word makes your body hum, though that might only be the dulling buzz of adrenaline, even as foreign as it was to you.
Hongo had always been kind to you from the moment you met him, sans the first time you had woken on the ship though even then he hadn’t been a part of the chase. He was one of the only sane ones at times, and he welcomed you into his own private space to have your own.
“Thank you Hongo.” You grab his hands, interrupting him as he moves to fix your arm in a sling. “For everything. Honey is lucky to have you.”
He pauses, staring back with a light blush at your sudden sappy candor.
“And Beckman is lucky to have you, even if he doesn’t know it. I just don’t want to be there when he finds out you’ve been hiding this from him.”
“He won’t.”
The doctor doesn’t push any further, only sighing and getting up to go check on his other patient.
Outside the storm continues to rage, your own thoughts swirling with it.
_________________
Ever since that night, it seemed as if Beckman was cross with you for one reason or another. The others assured you it was fine and he just got in moods occasionally, but you weren’t having it.
Balancing two mugs in one hand- not as easily as he could with the mitts he called hands, but still better than if you had been wearing the sling Hongo had trapped you in- you knocked on the door to the map room. A grunt is all you receive in answer, taking it as good enough and pushing the door open with your hip.
You’re not doing this because he’s your soulmate, you tell yourself. You’re doing it so that everyone can go back to their day without worrying about a cranky first mate.
The man of the hour sits inside behind the table, bent over and examining a number of unrolled sheets. He does a double take seeing you standing in the door, the crease of his brows settling only momentarily before pinching back into place. He goes back to staring at his papers with a new focus as you roll your eyes.
Approaching the table you slam the mugs down, the contents spilling over the side and close enough to the documents that it has him pulling them back.
“You’re not supposed to have drinks in here.” He grumbles, looking the papers over carefully for any damage.
“I thought you could use something to drink since you’ve been locked in here for four hours.” You emphasize the last words. He had disappeared into the room midmorning and hadn’t even come out for lunch.
He says nothing, pointedly ignoring you as he scans the papers once again. A pile of cigarette butts lay stacked in a silver dish, his habit also having picked up recently to where it was almost impossible to find him without one clenched between his teeth.
“Why are you so cranky lately?”
The words were blunt, as was his answer.
“I’m not.”
“Oh really? Just like you’re not avoiding me?” You accuse. “And don’t even try to deny it. You literally turned around and walked the other way when you saw me at breakfast this morning.”
He sighs, fingers rubbing his temples as he fixes you with a scowl, scanning you in from head to toe, calculating. The intensity has you faltering, a chill traveling along your spine as for once you have trouble telling what he’s thinking.
“Stop getting yourself hurt.”
“What?” You blink at his words. That’s what he was in a mood about? “Kind of an occupational hazard if you haven't noticed. And besides, I'm plenty tough.”
To emphasize your point you flex your arm with a laugh.
While you may not have the raw strength of some of the crew you were nothing to disregard, knocking more than a few people out with a single punch. In fact, you would dare to say you had gotten much stronger while aboard the ship, pleased with your newfound strength with the constant toil and physicality of the life bringing back equal muscle and more to what had wasted away while imprisoned.
“No.” Beckman grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers, tilting your face every which way. “You're still far too squishy.”
“Everyone is squishy compared to you.” You grab at the arm of the hand holding you, feeling it flex beneath your touch. Even relaxed it feels like stone and you can’t but think about how unfair it is even as your stomach flutters nervously at the proximity.
“I guess I have to just keep getting stronger so I can keep standing by you then.” You hum. “Though you better watch yourself. I’ll beat you up one of these days.”
“Is that right?”
The raise of his brow is all the warning you get before his arm locks around your head, bringing you in close between his body and the crook of his elbow as his other hand muses your hair.
You very vocally protest the action, trying to tug your way out while spewing curses. Your hands attack his sides in light touches as a last ditch effort and he jolts. It was no great secret that the man was ticklish among the crew, though few hardly ever got close enough to try.
Muted laughs rolling from him at the action though his grip remains. It’s only when you concede and tap out that he lets you go, ducking when you turn to put him in your own hold.
Unfortunately for you, the greatest menace on the four seas chooses that moment to walk in, getting a great view of the both of you still close and panting from the grappling.
“Have you no shame?” Shanks gasps, hand to his chest. If he had pearls he may have clutched them. “Feeling each other up out in the open like this? I thought you had more manners than that.”
You only scoff, but still pull away from each other with haste.
Smoothing your hair, you push past the captain, growling at the impish smile he wears. A much better reaction than the scowl Beckman levels at him.
“Don’t be like that. We still need to find a port to get repairs for the ship done.” Shanks saunters over to the desk, looking over the papers spread out. They weren't too far away from a suitable stop and should be able to reach it by nightfall. It would only take a day, and they could be back on their merry way.
“You’ll have plenty of time to fool around with one another once we dock.”
A weaker man would have folded under the eyes of Beckman. Instead, Shanks leans forward to examine the table, a quirk to his lips.
———————————
The docks are crowded as always, though you would venture to guess there were more thieves and swindlers than actual merchants lined up as soon as you stepped off the wooden platform. It in of itself was well worn, the planks creaking under our weight and it was a wonder none of the others fell right through them.
Everything on the ship had been taken care of and you were technically free to do as you so wanted with your time, and that meant heading off to your favorite part of the ports.
The markets.
Places always guaranteed to be full of life and boasting its own items unique to the island, your mouth already watering at the thought of the food stalls. There’s a specific lobster breed in these waters that’s supposed to be heavenly.
Beckman had promised to go with you, but had been talking with the dockmaster for a good while already with no look as if it were going to end soon as they both hunched over the table, arguing over prices or something of the sort. At this rate you wouldn’t have time to do any shopping, especially disappointing given you’d just gotten your first payout and the coins were burning a hole in your pocket. He could always catch up later anyways, too busy to notice you sneak away, the others already gone to find their own entertainments.
The market stretched along the curve of the harbor like a ribbon stitched from color and noise. Awnings snapped in the salt-heavy wind, striped in faded colors while ropes of drying herbs and strings of tiny silver fish swayed overhead. Everywhere there was movement, the atmosphere restless as the sea. Hands exchanging coins, gulls diving low enough to steal scraps from unattended baskets, merchants calling over one another.
You wandered without purpose, letting the crowd carry you where it pleased. It was familiar, closing your eyes and letting the atmosphere sweep over. The further you walked, the narrower the paths became. Here the market lost some of its polish. The stalls leaned crookedly into one another, patched together with mismatched wood and rusting nails. Smoke curled from tiny grills where skewers of spiced fish crackled over open flame, making you think of your lobster once again, a keen eye looking for the flash of red shell. But with your hunger growing and the hour for lunch passing long ago you settled for a purchase of grilled fish and candied oranges.
Finding a spot on the ledge overlooking the sea you settled down to eat, savoring the way the crisp, salty skin of the fish contrasts the sweetness of the fruit. The oil stains the paper it lays on and coats your fingers, licked clean as you gaze out over the crowd, watching the endless bodies hustle by. The taste lingers on your tongue as you lean back, unconcerned with the gulls warily approaching in hopes of stealing any leftovers.
Your content to lull in the sun as the meal settles, eventually peeling yourself up and merging back into the crowd, heading back towards the other side of town where the others have likely gathered. Beckman hadn’t appeared so there was a chance he’d gone with them instead. It stung a bit, looking forward to spending time together, but he was under no obligation to stay with you even if he had promised to spend time at the market.
Of course, things never stayed peaceful even when you were away from the crew, the magnet for trouble you seemed to be.
Shouting drew your attention, turning just in time to see crates and fabrics alike go flying in the air, three people running through the chaos. Two in the lead holding hands and laughing, with the third remained in hot pursuit. The two seem utterly joyful while their pursuer is beet red and three times their size, barely able to keep up with the more nimble pair as they slip through the crowds in an attempt to lose him.
Troublemakers from the looks of it. Logic dictated you let them pass by and go about on your own way, but they looked to be only teens, and you knew without a doubt that you’d feel guilty not knowing if they had managed to get away or not. What was youth for if not getting into trouble? You’d gotten into your own fair share (and still did).
Waiting until they’re close enough, you grab the closest by the shoulder, kicking his feet from beneath him and using the momentum to toss him into the crate beside you. The struggle isn’t much considering he’s half a foot shorter and still all gangly teen. Nothing compared to your strength as he tried to get away. His companion skids to a stop, turning with fist raised and ready to attack, only to receive the same treatment, landing on the other without a chance to react before you’re slamming the lid back down.
Not a moment too soon it seemed, as their pursuer runs past, skidding to a stop as his head whips around, searching, before settling on you even as you do your best to look innocent.
“Where’d those brats go!” The man howled, grabbing you by the arm. Hygiene, it seemed, was not a major concern of his. Though that would be enough to tell just by looking at him, or to anyone who got within six feet.
The crate under you shook, but a swift kick got it to settle down. It seemed your aggressor was too concerned still looking about to notice, much to your relief. This was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon after all, and a fight wasn’t on your list.
Instead of snapping the hand that held you and starting a brawl in the middle of the street as you were inclined- there were far too many people around that could get hurt, practically turning into a pacifist at this point- you raise your hands in surrender and point in the opposite direction. The man releases you, stumbling as he goes charging through the streets like a bull, the entire world tinted red.
Once sure he wouldn’t be coming back you lift the lid of the crate. The two lanky teens shot out like springs, rubbing sore elbows and limbs at having been stuffed inside rather aggressively.
”Thanks for the help but couldn’t you have been a bit more gentle about it?”
”Nah, that costs extra.” You grin, laughing as he glares. His companion seems to have a bit more manners, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing himself forward.
“Thanks for the help.” He sticks his hand out, his grip firm. “My name is Kael, and this idiot here,” The boy next to him scoffs, crossing his arms. “Is Astra.”
“Anything to help some fellow troublemakers, though I would recommend going after someone your own size.”
More than a few budding thieves have had their carriers cut short, taking on a target they never should have marked and paying with their lives or hands. A brutal learning curve that only allowed the skilled to get through a little less than unscathed.
Astra scoffs. “He had it coming, strutting around here like he owns the place. He’s nothing but a bully.”
“Yeah, but you still shouldn’t have let him catch you taking his wallet.” Kael scolds, slapping him upside the head.
“It’s stolen money!”
You watch the exchange with quiet amusement, the corners of your mouth still tipped upward when your attention catches on the ink circling Kael’s neck. Two delicate rings wrapped around his throat, like a permanent necklace. As Astra shifts beside him, the collar of his shirt slips just enough to reveal the same mark etched into his skin.
Soulmates.
The realization hits you like a punch to the gut.
You find yourself even more grateful you stepped in earlier. They seem awfully young to have already found each other, luckier than most people ever get to be. Luckier than the ones who spend their lives searching. Luckier than the ones who never find theirs at all.
It’s obvious in the way they move around each other. The easy rhythm of it. The thoughtless synchronization buried beneath every argument and interruption, like they’ve long since learned the shape of one another. Even while bickering, they fit together seamlessly, playful familiarity threaded through every glance and shove and exasperated sigh. You can’t help but wonder how long they’ve known each other to become so effortlessly intertwined. Or maybe that’s how soulmates were supposed to be. Effortless. Not the stumbling mess you turned into around Beckman.
It makes something twist in you. Not jealousy, but a kind of sullen pull you don’t have a name for. It feels bitterly unfair, the ease with which they exist together. The needless back-and-forth teasing. The casual touches that happen without thought. The way affection bleeds through everything they do, so natural neither of them seems aware of it anymore, instinctive as breathing.
Something you would never be able to have.
“Hey!” You freeze, the increasingly familiar voice catching you by surprise as you slowly turn around, your new companions doing the same.
”Shit, it’s Garett!” Just as before they're off like a shot, except this time you’re hauled along.
Stalls blur into streaks of color as you push through the narrow aisles. Wooden crates tip as you shoulder past them. A vendor curses, grabbing for a basket of spilling oranges, the fruit bouncing and rolling across stone like dropped coins. Kael grabs your wrist hard enough to bruise, yanking you forward just before you collide with a passing cart.
You stumble, just for a moment, feet slipping on stone wet with humidity. Enough to allow another hand, this one much larger, to grab your wrist, pulling you up and face to face with Garrett. He’s pissed, the vein in his forehead looking as if it’s about to pop, his breath hot in your face as your nose wrinkles. A recommendation for a dentist didn’t seem the best option right now.
His grip tightens, threatening to break bone with your attempts to pull away useless as he grabs your other hand, ignoring the way your nails draw blood. A look of triumph flashes across his face, seeming to think he’s won the fight. It makes it all the more satisfying when your knee connects with his chin, eyes rolling back as his grip loosens just enough for you to slip away. The man goes down, the ground shaking under his fall, likely adding another concussion to his roster as his head hits the ground.
Your chest rises and falls as you pant, crouched with fingers flexing where his grip had been tight enough to leave bruises. The sting in your knee is sharp enough to ground you, but it doesn’t fully settle the adrenaline still screaming through your system.
You hear your name being called, head jerking to see Beckman standing just down the street, eyes wide like he’s been dropped there by bad timing itself.
He’s frozen, slightly hunched and hand gripping his rifle like he’s ready to aim and shoot. You do your best to give him a placating smile. Something that says that everything's alright even with the large man collapsed at your feet groaning. His eyes flick from you to Garett on the ground, then back again, as if he’s trying to make sense of a situation that keeps refusing to be reasonable. To quantify the trouble you managed to find yourself in the moment you go off by yourself.
Before you can move towards him Kael is back by your side, pulling you up and dragging you behind him.
“I’ll catch up with you later!” You shout over your shoulder to Beckman, with not even a chance to check if he’d heard.
Astra is waiting for you, already running before you reach him, dragging you to what looks like the edge of a cliff. It’s only too late that you realize their intentions, digging your heels into the ground as they drag you along with them over the edge. You drop, stomach left behind as you plummet towards the water.
Cold wraps around you like a second impact, sharper than the fall, dragging heat from your skin so fast it feels almost violent. The market is gone in an instant, replaced by green-blue depth and the muffled roar of the sea pressing in from every direction. Then instinct takes over, pushing you to kick your way back to air.
You break the surface with a sharp gasp that burns your throat, coughing as saltwater floods your mouth. The world snaps back in fragments, appreciating the fact that you’re still alive and there hadn’t been rocks at the bottom to greet you.
Astra is already splashing water at Kael, shouting about being reckless for going back for you.
“What, you think I should have just left her?”
“Yes!”
Rude, but you can’t completely blame him. Logic says to leave you, and you would have been fine after spotting Beckman, but you still can’t help but scowl as they argue. You should have just waited for him to be done, but your own impatience won out and now look where you are. Hopefully he got the message and didn’t feel the need to come after, finding you a sopping mess. Now that would be embarrassing.
You go to interrupt the arguing, only to jump as pain shoots through your foot, quickly grabbing at the limb as you duck underwater to see what had hurt you. It’s moments later that you come back up, treading water with one hand while the other holds the red crustacean high in triumph, carefully avoiding its snapping claws.
“So,” You say, panting. “Either of you know how to cook this?”
_________________________________________
“Are you kidding me?” You growl, glaring at the man before you. Shanks is unbothered, dangling the key in front of you like a man fishing for trouble.
You were gathered at the inn, eager to get to your rooms and tired from a day of perusing the markets. Apart from your brief run-in earlier with Beckman the rest of the day had gone by without seeing them. The day was spent exploring, the feeling of being on your own once more freeing. You appreciated the effort that was made to include you in everything, but it could be stifling even after months of trying to get used to it.
After shaking your pursers and parting with your partner in crime you wandered further to the edges of town. It was a bit off the path where you found a field of peonies, laying among the stems and leaves as the pink blooms sprouted tall, soaking in the sun as they did while watching the clouds pass overhead as you dozed in their sweet scent. They would make a good perfume if you could find a vendor. Until then the petals would have to be dried and preserved. Maybe you could even send some to Honey the next time you wrote.
It was peaceful. More so than you were used to, expecting to hear your name called at any moment for a chore that would leave you tired, or the constant sound of the waves. Only as the sun went down did you decide to head back and find the others, tired from your exploration.
Despite the size of the town, it didn’t take long to find them. They couldn’t get too wild tonight, having to set sail early the next morning, but that didn’t stop them from drinking at least a little.
“A man should taste whatever land he stumbles upon has to offer.” Shanks had once told you. An excuse if there was any, and you found yourself wondering exactly how much they contributed to the overall economy of the places they visited on a regular basis. While well stocked on the basics there were also a number of odd brews in the lower decks that they had found they favored, broken into more sparingly or when supplies were running low.
The rooms you were to stay in were found above, the keys already dispersed among the crew. But when you went to get your own you found yourself faced with your current predicament; while it was normal for everyone to double up, often kicking their bunk mate out if they found a companion for the night or going off and finding a room to pay for themself, Shanks had always received his own. Beckman had given up his single to you the last time you stayed in town. This time it seemed there was no room for that as everyone- even Shanks- was forced to double up. The town was busy and rooms were expensive if you wanted to go anywhere else.
In your mind it made sense that he and Beckman would share while you and Hongo would bunk together, already practically occupying the same space onboard. It was the doctor who had directed you to the captain when you asked for the key to the room to go settle in for the night.
“Shouldn’t be much of an issue. You’re over your little lovers spat aren’t you?” Shank teased, pulling the key to his own room away when you made a swipe for it. “Beckman doesn’t snore too loud and he sleeps like a rock. Unless there’s some other reason you’re so worried about sharing a room.”
His words give you pause, and you’re forced to take a deep breath to calm yourself. If you showed too much resistance they might begin to suspect something, and having Hongo know about it was already enough to make you on edge. While you trusted him, it was easy enough to let a secret slip without meaning to.
You’d already slept in the same room as the others when Beckman was sick so the argument of not wanting to be in the same room as another was moot unless you wanted to admit it was Beckman in particular you had issue with, and that would make their already incessant teasing even worse.
”We thought you’d gone off on your own romantic adventures. Beckman mentioned seeing you run around with some other miscreants in our place. While you were off gallivanting, he won the drinking game and the single.” Shanks words had your face burning, cursing yourself for not sticking around longer before wandering off as well as staying out so late. You were enjoying yourself exploring the area and they thought you were off getting laid.
“Fine.” You huff, trudging up the stairs, giving up on trying to win the argument while frankly being too tired. A number of the others had already gone up as well, eager to sleep on something that wasn’t rocking. The trek felt too short, finding yourself in front of the door with the number assigned to you all too soon.
Knocking, you hear the rustling of sheets and creaking of floorboards before the door cracks open to reveal Beckman, eyes half lidded and groggy. The sight of you seems to shake him awake, blinking away the dregs of sleep. His hair lays flat on one side while the other remains tousled, lines from the pillow imprinted on his skin.
”What are you doing here?” He grumbles, and it’s evident you had woken him.
”I’m here to sleep, obviously.” Taken aback by your words, he does nothing to stop you as you push past, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed and drift into dreamland as quickly as possible to avoid the situation. It’s three steps in that you realize why Beckman had been surprised by your appearance.
The room is simple yet comfortable. Enough to provide anyone traveling through a decent slumber with a plush mattress and pillows, the light of the moon coming in through a window sizable enough that you could climb out if need be in a hurry. You pause, slowly processing the sight. For a moment you debated going back down and throttling Shanks until you realized that there were indeed two beds, but that they had butted up to one another in order to make a larger entity.
”Singles don’t normally fit me.” You jump at the proximity, turning to see Beckman shutting the door and shuffling back.
”Captain said I’d have my own room. Thought you found somewhere else to stay for the night.”
You remember Shanks words, embarrassment flaring at the way he looked you over, as if he would be able to see evidence of some kind.
”No.” You cough, hoping the dark of the room hides your fluster. “I just got caught up exploring and making some new friends. No notable..escapades, to speak of.”
He seemed content at that, humming as he turned back towards the bed. Would it have been better for him to think you had gone on a tryst with someone? Maybe that would cut some of the tension and solidify the friends label you were desperately keeping stuck to your relationship even as it peeled at the edge.
”Guess I’ll take the floor then.”
Dropping your bag to the ground, you prepare yourself to sleep on the wood and just be grateful you don’t have to worry about rolling out of bed when hands grab your waist. Beckman tosses you onto the mattress, quickly climbing on after you.
”Beckman! There’s no room!” You protest. His only response is to plant a firm hand on your back as you attempt to push yourself up, forcing you back down as he settles onto his stomach. He turns his face to rest facing you, already half asleep once again as his nose nearly brushes your own. He must have had enough sense left in him to brush his teeth, lacking the scent of drink and instead replaced with a sharp mint.
”Do you really want to sleep on the floor?” He asks, hand retreating, tracing down your back and along your arm before sliding under the pillow, no doubt grasping the handle of a blade. He never slept without one on land, though you had also found one woven to the side of his hammock, scolding him about the possibility of stabbing himself in his sleep.
No. No you didn’t. Not when the soft pillows accepted your weight with open arms, the mattress forming like it was meant for you. Not with the way Beckman stared at you, a haze over his eyes and looking uncharacteristically soft as the moon spilled through the window. It’s cracked open to let the breeze in, ruffling his hair.
You shiver, and Beckman tugs the blanket higher until it rests beneath your chin. The movement is clumsy with exhaustion but careful all the same, not once looking away and you have to wonder if he’s all there or if he’ll even remember this in the morning. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him in steady waves, chasing away the cold that had settled deep into your bones the moment night overtook the city.
His eyes drift shut not long after.
Sleep takes him slowly, head dipping forward once before settling properly against the pillow, breathing evening out into soft, quiet snores. The tension in his face is smoothed, at complete ease. HIs skin is weathered from life at sea, so close now that you can see every line etched across it.
You hold on as long as possible, wanting to savor the moment of closeness, knowing you may never get to be near him like this again even as your eyes droop with exhaustion.
A few inches. That’s all the distance between you. Close enough that if you leaned forward just slightly, your lips would brush his. The thought arrives uninvited and immediate, curling warm and dangerous through your chest. For one terrible second, you almost give in to it. Somehow you manage to hold back. It wouldn’t mean anything like this. Not asleep. Not unaware. You refuse to steal something he didn’t choose to give.
Is this what it could be like, you wonder. If Beckman was willing to have a soulmate and if you weren’t such a coward afraid to admit the truth. If all the things left unsaid between you didn’t feel so impossible to cross in daylight. It would be easy to spend every night like this beside him and still never grow tired of it.
The expanse of his shoulders leaves you with just enough room to remain on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his back, your own mimicking him without realizing. Soon enough sleep overtakes you, lulled by his presence. The best sleep you would have of your life. No more nightmares of Marines, replaced only by the vision of smooth waves and the smell of tobacco as you slept.
Neither of you would wake to the sound of boots tiptoeing and whispers outside, the lock jimmied open as two pairs of eyes peered inside. Neither would you wake to the brief flash of light of a picture, resting too deeply as your bodies found one another in your sleep.
In the morning Beckman would wake to find you tangled together, clinging to him like an octopus and refusing to let go. Legs wound together as your arms wrapped around his waist, his own thrown over your shoulder and bringing you close as your cheek rests on his chest, a bit of drool escaping. You smelled of something floral, petals he assumed to be the culprit spilling from where you had tossed your bag. Of what kind they were he could only venture a guess, but all the same he committed their appearance to memory. Maybe if he ever saw them he could grab them for you, though he was turned off by the idea of flower hunting after his last blunder.
You looked ethereal, the rising sun giving you a halo in the nest of blankets bunches around you as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, half convinced he was still dreaming. He held you longer than he should have, the craving of you in his arms getting worse as each time it happened he swore would be the last. When he carried you to bed. When he dragged you away from the celebration to get a few selfish moments alone. When you sat with him as he lay in the medical room, feverish and aching head to toe from the very flowers he had tried to gather for you. It was like the first time he had smoked, burning his lungs and addicting all in the same breath, but the draw hitting him tenfold.
For him, being around you felt as natural as breathing, even if he did make a fool of himself more often than not.
His fingers trace feather-light across your skin, careful not to wake you but unable to quell the need to have you impossibly closer. They trace over the smile lines of your face, down to the scars that lace your shoulders. He knows every line that etches your skin, long ago committed to memory. HIs hands linger on your wrist, the most prominent of them all, and he feels his stomach turn at the memory of what they had once looked like, flesh worn down to the bone. You’d looked so broken then. Like one good wind would blow you away.
Beckman’s temper spikes at the memory, having to remind himself to calm down as you shift against him, lips brushing his collarbone in a way that has him choking, knowing he has to get up before he does something to wake you. A crime, considering the restless sleep you normally got in comparison to how peaceful you looked now. Would it be selfish to think it was because of him? That you knew you could sleep with ease, and nothing would get close without him getting in the way?
Beckman never considered himself particularly prideful. Confident, and admittedly a bit cocky at times, yes. But his chest swelled at the thought that you trusted him so. Like no other.
If only he had been born your soulmate instead of hanging on to the hope you would change your mind about finding them. It was only a small mercy your talk about it had lessened in recent months, only brought up when talking with Hongo about Honey- of whom you now regularly exchanged letters- and when Shanks was in a more teasing mood. It was like the captain was trying to rub it in his face at times as he asked what your ideal soulmate would be like, Beckman’s ears perked for the answer even as he rolled his eyes.
You would be embarrassed if you woke up like this. You always were when he got close no matter how you tried to hide it behind your blustering and jokes. It gave him hope he knew he shouldn’t have.
He should have known not to trust the others, taking the ‘single’ a bit too easily when Shanks should have been able to wipe the game. Still, he could enjoy this moment for as long as he allowed before untangling himself, pulling the covers back and being careful not to let any of the cold air in. Your brow furrows at his disappearance, blindly grabbing around until you find the pillow he’d been sleeping on and bringing it close, burying your face into generously stuffed square.
His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, so quiet he thought he’d imagined it. Were you dreaming about beating him up? You would often tell the crew about the dreams you had when they were featured, often nonsensical. Even if you were punching him in the face he could care less. As long as he was there, smug over the fact he even followed you into your dreams.
He’d like to see your soulmate do that.
Beckman can’t help it, the way he leans down, stopping just short as his lips hover over your skin. One kiss and he would be satisfied, he lies to himself. He was a pirate. Right hand man of one of the four Emperors. He could take almost anything he wanted.
But he didn’t want to take anything you weren’t willing to give.
Pulling away was more difficult than anything he’d done before. For a moment he stays there beside you, unmoving in the dim light filtering through the curtains, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing as sleep keeps you blissfully unaware of the war happening inside his head. Your face is softer like this, tension eased away entirely, and it makes something in his chest tighten dangerously. His hand lifts almost against his will, brushing a strand of hair back from your face with a gentleness that would embarrass him if anyone else were there to see it. That doesn’t stop him from tucking the blanket more securely around your shoulders, fingers lingering at the edge of the fabric.
It would be easy to stay.
That’s the problem.
The bed is still warm from where he’d been lying beside you and he can already picture exactly what would happen if he gave himself another minute. He’d climb right back under the covers, pull you against him, and damn the consequences later.
The hallway outside is cold compared to the room. Quiet too. None of the others are awake yet; the inn sits half-submerged in the pale gray stillness that comes before dawn properly arrives. Beckman exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face as if that might somehow steady him. He heads downstairs anyway, deciding he may as well put the time to use and get a head start on the departure. At least on the ship he wouldn’t be tortured by sharing a room with you, though he wouldn’t say he would rest any easier.
But unknown to Beckman, without his presence there, your body seems to sense something is missing and dragging you awake.
For one disorienting moment you remain half-asleep, still warm beneath the blankets and caught somewhere between dream and memory. The bed beside you is empty now, the sheets cool. Relief and disappointment hit at the exact same time. At least you’re spared the embarrassment of waking up tangled beside him, forced to confront the memory of how close you’d let yourself drift the night before. You don’t have to see whether he remembers any of it. Don’t have to wonder what expression would’ve been waiting for you if he’d still been there.
But the absence leaves something hollow behind all the same, the room feeling all the more cold without him.
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling while the lingering scent of him still clings faintly to the blankets. Evidence that he’d really been there. That you hadn’t imagined everything. Your fingers tighten slightly in the sheets in an attempt to hold on to the memory.
Just one night, and already it feels unfair to wake up alone again.
