Hey, Nour (•ө•)♡
Could I request a scenario/one-shot inspired on the second fluff prompt (from the list you’ve just published) for Brook, please?
Thank you in advance <3
Sweet pick! I haven't written for Brook yet, and I'm interested to see where this will go ~
Buckle up, anon🫵✨️
° 2nd Pov (gn reader)
° spoiler free
° sfw
sypnosis: Never being a morning person, you find yourself in quite a "fuzzy-nosed" predicament... yet all it takes is the sound of a violin and an endearing laugh to warm you up again.
Full masterlist here ✨️
" GUARDIAN OF THE DAWN "
There's a saying that states, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Well, at the moment... you wish you would just die. You wish the world would just burn into oblivion and take your life with it ,so that this agonizing ache in your body would disappear.
You groan at the thought, head stuffed in your pillow as you pray for your throbbing headache to leave in peace. But NO, it was quite persistent today.
It's 5:40 a.m., and your mind is racing with thoughts. For context, you had woken up with the worst nasal inflamation, aching joints, and a head that would just beg you to bang it against the wall.
'How pitiful', you think. And you were promised a dinner date, today. What will you tell him now? You both were excited about it and all...
'I'll cover it' the thought crosses your mind. 'Act normal till it goes away...'
Miraculously, you manage to pull yourself up out of bed. With a groan here and a wince there, you snatch your trademark shawl off the hanger, and trudge straight towards the deck outside.
The cold morning air cuts like a blade. Almost immediately, you try to contain the bubbling shiver inside, but something about it stirs a strange sense of aliveness. With an exhale, your eyes drift to catch the early colours of dawn.
The sight nearly makes you forget your misery—nearly. The cold wind sends a frosty wave that sways you, but you only burrow deeper into your shawl.
Somewhere across the Sunny, your ears were suddenly graced by the distant sound of a melody. A gentle, lilting violin drifts through the morning air, tender and teasing, like sunlight threading through the mist—Soft enough to soothe. Persistent enough to stir the soul.
A shot of warmth engulfs your very being, as the tunes cohere with the sway of the cane. You find your eyes instinctively closing, subtle hums escaping you as you'd recognise this music piece anywhere.
'Sonata No. 7 in G Minor, 'Dawn's Gentle Lantern''
The music almost feels like a requiem, haunting but strangely comforting. For a moment, she feels like she’s stepping into another world.
As if on cue, the melody halts, bow barely hovering above the strings as he catches your breeze, your presence, your wind.
It's as if, he knew it was you before he even turned around.
Subsequently, his iconic laugh rings in the air, snapping you of your thoughtless trance.
"Yohohoho~, my dear, it seems you are competing with me for sleepless nights!" He hops swiftly from the high floor, "May I ask to see your panties—ah, forgive me, a poor attempt at comedy."
Your eyes light up in amusement, your stare drifts back towards the reddish horizon. "That sentence has no schedule."
"Chances like these are timeless. Especially with a beautiful woman like you, my love."
A round of refined footsteps is soon followed with that prerestigious walk with the cane taps.
Although not visible on his face, but upon approaching you, his posture suddenly bends in worry.
"You look pale– Isn't it too cold for you here?"
You turn to face him, "And miss out on this beautiful morning view? No sir."
Brook exhales in exasperation. You've always been a stubborn one, in contrast to his much more cautious yet laid-back attitude.
He leans in slightly, just enough. “Ah. Forgive me,” he says quickly, lightening his tone. “I did not mean to interrogate you before breakfast. Force of habit. Yohoho—”
The laugh starts. It doesn’t finish.
Something about the way you shift your weight—too careful, too measured—draws his attention. The shawl is wrapped tighter now, knuckles pale where you grip the fabric. When you inhale, it’s shallow. Controlled.
Brook’s skull tilts.
“Well,” he continues smoothly, recovering the humor like a practiced musician sliding back into tempo, “if this is an attempt to steal my morning spotlight, I must admit—it is effective. Though I do wonder…”
His gaze lifts to your face, really looks this time. The pallor. The tightness around your eyes. The way you’re standing on willpower alone.
“…I see.”
A sudden shift.
"Brook-"
Wasting no time, he offers his coat—cartoonishly too big on you—making it almost swallow you whole. He adjusts it on your shoulders with a surprisingly delicate touch, his skeletal fingers oddly gentle.
"I find that you have forgotten I'm quite perceptive, my muse." He turns you around to face him, lowering himself slightly to match your sight. Subsequently, you grab his hand in reflex, a giddy smile tracing your lips.
"Brook, please. Don't bother yourself with me- I'm fine."
"I insist, Y/N-san. You already sound a little… bone-chilled." He perks up suddenly. "Yohohoho! Forgive the joke, but you know I worry for you."
The wind blows harder, breaking the cosy exchange. The musician shifts again, taking your tiny hand in his. He gestures towards a sheltered area on the deck, still overlooking the beautiful sunrise. "Staying out here will only worsen your cold, my muse~. Let's take cover."
Despite the lack of expression, the concern in his voice is quite evident, leaving no room for further discussion. You subtly nod back.
His fingers tighten around yours for just a moment, reassuring, before he leads you toward the more leeward side of the Sunny.
The breeze grows quieter there, but the sunrise remains just as radiant.
---
The mug he placed between your hands was warm—almost startlingly so against your chilled skin. Steam curled upward, dancing in the golden light of the rising sun.
You took a slow sip, and his eyes watched you with an unusual attentiveness.
OH- right... he doesn't have eyes.
The silence was comfortable, calming, but you had to clear your throat.
“You’re awfully dedicated for someone on watch duty. What are you now—the Sunny’s official dawn greeter?”
Brook straightened instantly.
With a dramatic flourish of his arm toward the horizon, coat tails swaying, he declared, “Indeed! I, Soul King Brook, stand as the noble guardian of both the morning… and the crew’s health!”
The wind caught his afro like a halo as he posed, one foot slightly lifted as if he were on stage instead of on deck.
You laughed, though it dissolved into a small cough.
He winced theatrically. "My muse, please do not applaud so hard. I may faint from the praise—though I suppose I cannot faint, as I have no blood! Yohohoho!”
Then his voice softened just a fraction.
“Besides,” he added lightly, tilting his skull toward you, “it is rare I get such beautiful company during my watch...”
The compliment hung there, casual but unmistakable.
You tried to hide the warmth rising to your cheeks by leaning against the railing.
Brook stepped beside you, towering effortlessly. Without thinking, he rested his long arm atop your head as though you were simply a convenient armrest.
There was a beat of silence.
He froze.
Then chuckled, retracting his arm. “Ah, forgive me, Y/N-san. I sometimes forget how tall I am without the sun to blind me into humility.”
You glanced up at him. From your angle, he seemed impossibly tall—an elegant skeleton framed by sunrise light, coat fluttering like a banner.
“Don’t let it get to your skull,” you muttered.
He gasped dramatically. “Such bone-chilling sass this early in the morning! I am wounded! Though-"
" -you have no flesh to wound! Yohuhuhu.."
you mimic playfully.
The laughter drifted easily between you, blending with the hush of the waves.
The sun rose higher, gold spilling across the deck. The sea shimmered like liquid glass.
Brook’s posture gradually shifted from theatrical to quiet. He leaned on his cane-sword and began to hum.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t showy.
Just a slow, gentle melody—soft notes that seemed to glide over the ocean and settle around you like another layer of warmth.
The vibration of it felt… steady. Grounding.
“Music is good medicine, Y/N-san,” he said between notes. “If you begin to feel worse, promise me you will rest.”
He tilted his skull toward you again, the empty eye sockets somehow carrying unmistakable concern.
“I can keep you company and tell you stories until you fall asleep… though I cannot tuck you in the way I’d like—no hands for blankets!”
You smiled faintly. “You just adjusted my cape five minutes ago.”
“Ah!” He lifted a finger proudly. “Then perhaps I am more skilled than I thought.”
The humming resumed, softer this time.
The warmth of the mug seeped into your fingers. The cape shielded you from the bite of the breeze. And somehow—despite the cold air—you didn’t feel quite as miserable as you had when you first stepped out.
Brook shifted slightly closer, subtle enough not to crowd you, but near enough that his tall frame blocked some of the wind.
He didn’t comment on it.
He just stayed.
When your breathing grew slower and your eyelids heavier, his humming eased into a barely audible whisper of melody.
The sun fully crested the horizon, bathing the deck in gold.
And as his gentle laughter—“Yohohoho…”—mingled with the sound of the waves, you realized something quietly powerful:
The morning air might have been cold.
But standing beside him, wrapped in his cape, listening to his music—
You felt warm.