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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?
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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.
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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.
—————————————————
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.
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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.
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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.
A/n: A birthday present for myself, for all of you, from myself. The only man who comes close to Beckman.
———————————————
“You have your snack bag?”
“Yes.”
“And the log pose for Sabaody?“
“Yes.”
“What about-“
Zoro grabs your shoulders, pulling you away from the heavy bag he carried. One you’d struggled to even drag and which he slung across his back with one arm, not stumbling the slightest under its weight.
“We’ve got everything. Stop your worrying.“
You sigh, feeling a bit embarrassed even as you subtly try to peak into the bag for one last check.
“Can you blame me? You lost your shoes twice last week.”
“That’s because you move them!” He tries to defend himself, growling as you ruffle his hair. Grabbing his arms, you force him to face you, schooling your face into something as stern as you can.
“I can’t tell you to be safe because I know where you’re going and I know you. But I can tell you to be strong and do your best.” Fixing the collar of the traveling coat, you smooth the fabric with a soft touch. He’d insisted he hadn’t needed it, but with the chilly breeze that brushed past as you stood on the dock made you glad to have wrestled him into the garment. He didn’t need to be getting sick now of all times.
“You’re going to do some amazing things. I just know it.”
Zoro’s scowl softens, a blush creeping up his neck as he ducks his head away. Giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek you turn to the second person boarding.
Persona has a number more bags than Zoro, though her journey is set to continue even further than his. Each one was jam packed, carefully filled to fit the maximum amount in the most efficient way possible. Her wardrobe never seemed to stop increasing, with a good number of the items made by yourself to fit her specifications.
“Promise me you’ll make sure he gets to his friends safe?”
“I never thought I’d see the day where a maid was making demands.” She crosses her arms, though her words lack any true indignance. Just as Zoro, she can’t seem to look you in the eye, seeming just as dejected as last night about your declined invitation to join her.
Pulling her down to your level from her floating perch, you place a kiss on her forehead before smoothing the bangs back into place.
“I know I don’t have to worry about you, but make sure you at least write once in a while.”
She pouts, her cheeks puffing out, but nods regardless. Satisfied, you bring them both into one last hug despite their complaints. They could get out if they really wanted to, and you’re grateful they allow you to hang on to this moment just a little longer.
“Don’t let that old man push you around. Let me know if he gets out of line.” Zoro says, Perona nodding in agreement. You can’t help but laugh.
“I think I shall be fine with him.”
You wave as the boat sails off, watching until it disappears from sight before turning around and making the trek back to the castle. It overcast, as seems to be the permanent weather on Kuraigaina apart from the occasional sunny day. Still, you take your time getting back, knowing you won’t be needed until noon.
Mihawk would be training on the far side of the island, least he accidentally destroy a section of the castle again. Though if he did you could only assume he would move somewhere else. The warlord certainly didn’t lack the funds or connections to get another isolated island if he wanted to.
A part of you wondered if he would leave you behind to fend for yourself or if he deemed you worthy enough to go through the trouble of taking you with him, but shook the thought away. While stern and lacking social tact, Mihawk wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself. At least you hoped you had built a better relationship in your time with him than that. Maybe it was a pit presumptuous, but you liked to think he considered you a friend, even if a silent part of you wished you could be more.
One of the things you had learned early in your life was to never fall for the people you served, having seen too many scorned and cast aside. Best case you were heartbroken. Worst? Well, the rich and strong had more than one way to get rid of things that annoyed them, and Mihawk was the strongest man you’d ever seen.
You could still remember the first time you met.
——————————————
“A little more to the left.”
“Yes, Lady Perona.” You shifted the parasol, blocking the light drizzle that fell from the grey skies in a con cadence.
Despite the weather, Perona was insistent on taking her afternoon walk, and of course who else to accompany her and make sure she was dry but yourself? Even if you were being drenched by the rain and chilled to the bone. Not when she had graciously taken you in after finding you washed up on the beach, out cold and injured. She’d even taken the liberties of bandaging your wounds, which ache alongside your arms as you hold the parasol. It would be easier if she actually walked instead of hovering above the ground but you didn’t dare voice the thought. Your last charge had been quick to deliver punishment if anything in opposition were spoken, and you were broken of the behavior early on in your career.
You were heading back to the castle, the flowers she had picked- preferring fresh ones every other day to be placed in her room- resting in the basket on your back. The pink petals contrasted the atmosphere and you couldn’t help but think they indeed helped to liven up the equally dreary interior of the castle.
It had only been just over a month since being taken into her service, Perona proudly declaring you her maid and putting you to work as soon as your wounds were healed enough to stand and move about. It certainly hurt, but you’d been injured and expected to work before, though your wounds were a bit more serious than any discipline you’d received.
It was just as you’d reached the front doors that you saw them coming in through the front gate. One with mossy hair, looking a bit worse for wear as he limped beside a rather tall man with a wide-brimmed hat. The feather was weighed down under the weight of the rain, but the hat did its job to keep a majority of the now downpour from reaching him.
The hem of his coat was soaked and spotted with mud but the materials shed water and kept him dry while the man next to him was just as just as drenched as you were.
Mihawk and Zoro you assumed. You weren’t completely unaware of the fact that others lived in the castle, Perona complaining about them often enough to clue in on the fact. Apparently they had gone to some distant island for training without a word of when they would be back, so you had served with the knowledge that there would be others to come, even if you didn’t know when.
Now appeared to be that time.
”Who the hell is this?” Zoro shouted as he got close, meeting you on the steps. He had a number of scrapes and bruises, though none seemed to deter him in the slightest.
”She’s my maid.”
“You kidnapped someone?”
“No you idiot!” Perona shouted, hitting him over the head. “I found her on the beach! Unlike some people, she knows how to thank someone when they save her life.”
Zoro glared, rubbing his head as his attention shifted to you. “So you wash up and decide to just stay here? With her?”
He narrowly dodges another strike, though not the ghost that creeps behind him.
“I was traveling with my previous master when our ship hit a rough storm and we capsized.” You swallow, trying not to think too much about the incident. The fear you’d felt upon realizing the ship was going down. The hopelessness as you were booted from the lifeboat to make room for your master's collection of oddities picked up at the market you were traveling back from. Clinging to an errant board of the busted ship as you watched him and the others row away, only to be swallowed in one gulp by a sea beast. “As far as I know I am the only survivor.”
You open the door, stepping aside and gesturing them in.
”I was unaware of your return today. Dinner will be slightly delayed, but should allow you to get dried and changed.” They walked past, Perona without a second glance, while Zoro recovered just enough to stumble in behind her.
Boots, polished by the rain and with flecks of grass and mud still clinging to the toe, clicked against stone. You kept your head bowed, expecting Mihawk to follow the two younger occupants, only to have them stop in front of you. Not turned in your direction, but paused.
You didn’t speak, only keeping your eyes on the way water ran down the leather in abstract patterns and hoping he wasn’t angered by your presence even as the very air around him seemed to crackle. Perona hadn’t exactly asked permission to keep you, and by all means he was the head of the house even if you had previously only served directly under her so far. One word from him and he could kick you out, left to the ruins of the island without even a ship to go anywhere else.
You sat in the silence with the handle in one hand while the other still held Perona’s parasol, waiting, braced, only for him to continue walking.
Relieved, you continued about business getting dinner prepared and setting the table. There was enough time to change your own clothes and make yourself look presentable, embarrassed at having met the other two members of the household in such a state.
When the clock struck seven the dinning room was occupied by only three of the four residents, Zoro nowhere to be found.
“I wouldn’t bother. He's probably asleep somewhere.” Perona huffed after you made to find him.
You nodded, deciding to make up a plate and deliver it to him later.
Having been spared of the rain, her outfit remained the same, though that couldn’t be said of Mihawk. He’d changed into a casual white shirt tucked into his pants, the cut traveling down to his waist and allowing a generous view of his chest. It somehow seemed even more scandalous than the complete lack of shirt he wore early.
Without the hat you got your first proper look at his face, the neatly trimmed facial hair just as sharp as the rest of him, matching the dark hair slicked back from his face. His eyes were the most notable feature with their concentric rings set like a bullseye, locking on to yours the moment you glanced his way. It took everything in you not to flinch back, years of discipline nearly breaking under the intensity.
Instead you move Perona’s chair out, gritting your teeth at the weight as the wound in your side twinged. Before you could do the same for Mihawk he’s already seated himself, arms crossed as he watches you move, placing trays from the cart on the table.
Dinner was simple. A roasted meat with spiced potatoes, and sauteed vegetables. Perona’s mug was already filled with a steaming hot chocolate, cool enough to drink but warm enough to last through dinner. You didn’t dare look at Mihawk as you poured his wine- picked from the shelves and already opened, telling that it may be a favorite as you noted the type- keeping your head down as you returned the bottle to the cart. Wordlessly, you took your normal position along the wall, nearly hidden by one of pillars and ready to step forward should they need anything.
Needing no further prompting, Perona dug into her meal, complaining to her dining companion about one thing or another that had happened while he was gone. Mihawk didn’t touch his food or give her a response. Instead his gaze once again found you.
“Are you not going to join us?”
The question took you by surprise, head tilting before you could stop it.
“I will have my meal after cleaning up later, sir.”
Only after you had delivered Zoro’s meal and ensured that the residents of the household were taken care of could you have your own dinner. Leftovers from whatever hadn’t been eaten. A bit cold but still more than flavorful, your cooking up to par with any chef.
“Sit.” Mihawk points to Zoro’s empty seat, everything already set up.
“I’m afraid I can’t sir.”
“Either sit eat or leave. I will not have someone lording over me as I eat.”
You hesitate, propriety waring with command. You couldn’t leave in case you were needed, but it was clear that Mihawk wouldn’t allow you to do so in the manner you were used to.
With light, slow steps you make your way to the chair, sliding in and portioning the smallest amount of each item on your plate. It wasn’t until you saw Mihawk start on his own food did you allow yourself to eat, careful to keep on eye on the other two.
Was this some kind of trick? Was he going to jump up at any moment and kick you to the ground, scolding on how you should have known better, that he wasn’t being serious?
Yet you were left alone, the perfectly cooked roast sticking to your throat like glue as you struggled to stomach even the smallest of bites.
It’s a mostly quiet affair, with Perona doing the majority of the talking. Mihawk doesn’t give much response apart from the occasional hum, glancing over to you as you try to make the least noticeable movements possible in an attempt to not attract attention. Each time he does so you freeze, unsure of what to do under his gaze. Like a field mouse hiding from predators.
As soon as Mihawk set his utensils down and folded his hands in his lap you took it as a signal that he was done, excusing yourself and getting everything cleaned up. The familiar burn of near scalding water acted as a balm on your nerves, unable to rid yourself of the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. It helps in trying to process what had just happened. Never in the fifteen years you’d been presenting dinner had you actually sat to dine with them. It was unnerving to say the least.
After everything was set and taken care of you checked with Perona for the last time of the night, collecting her clothes and adding them to the basket that would need to be washed tomorrow along with Zoro’s. The young man had been confused upon seeing you with a plate outside his door, and even more so when you asked for his clothes. He handed them over eventually, and that left only one person to visit before you could get some rest yourself.
Standing before the ornate wooden doors, your hand hovered, unable to bring yourself to knock. It was late at night and the thought of disturbing him had you shifting from one foot to the other, but there was nothing to be done. His wet clothes could not be allowed to sit and grow worse. That might only make him cross.
You needed to prove your competency. To show you could be here without being a burden and hope that he didn’t send you out the first chance he got.
The knock echoed into the next room, followed by a ringing silence. For a moment you feared he was sleeping, intending to turn around and come back in the morning, only to hear an ‘enter’ come through the wood.
Mihawk was seated at his desk when you walked in, everything on top neat and organized. One hand grips a pen while a number of papers sit before him, of which you recognize the insignia of the world government at the top of. Being gone for so long must have left some matters to be attended to. Perona had told you he liked to be bothered the least he could but it seemed even he couldn’t get away from the occasional dealing with bureaucracy as a Warlord.
He doesn’t say anything or get up from his desk, letting the silence between you grow as he only stares, a cold sweat breaking out along your back.
Would he be angry if you were to speak first? ‘Seen not heard’ as well as ‘speak only when spoken to’ were two golden rules of your previous house.
Thankfully he seems to take mercy on your quickly fraying nerves. The words are sharp and direct.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here for your clothes, sir.”
He shifts, chair creaking as Mihawk rests his chin on his hand.
“No. Why are you here. On this island. There is a supply ship that comes to deliver things every two weeks. If you wanted, you could easily go with them.”
You’d already met the small charter twice, run by a polite enough group that had offered to take you to the next island. They themselves knew of Mihawk’s aversion to others and seemed a bit concerned for your safety.
The offer had been politely rejected.
“I am here to serve. I owe Perona my life.”
“Is that all?” He asks, the words stabbing through your facade of calm, probing for any hint of a lie.
“I know how to do nothing else, and I will not be accepted back to my previous life.”
Your head tilts down, staring at your feet and waiting for dismissal.
The chair scrapes back, followed by the sound of heavy steps across stone as he rounds the desk. Mihawk’s approach has you begging to back away, to find some reprieve from his overwhelming presence as you hold your ground dutifully. You see him only by the shadow cast by the fire, stretching like a creature of the night looking for its next victim as he slowly circles, observing. The steps finally come to a stop in front of you and this time you can’t hold back the flinch that comes as his hand grabs your wrist.
Golden eyes inspect every inch with a stormy impassivity. Every callous and scar that decorates the skin, still red from the water. Them move to your arms, the muscle toned not with training and battle but years spent scrubbing floors and carrying the endless purchases of your employer. There are few marks across the skin considering some of the others you’ve seen, but enough to let you know you will never have the flawless complexion of the high-borns, who will never lift anything heavier than the weight of their overflowing cups.
Mihawk says nothing, only turning the limb back and forth, gaze flickering to yours before he drops it and turns on heel, settling himself at his desk once again.
“My coat is hung to the left. You may take the clothes beside it as well.” He says, gesturing towards the door to the side of the room.
It seems his bedroom is attached, though you don’t dare to peek around as you retrieve the garment, setting it on top of the half filled basket of others. At least he’s kind enough not to make you gather the clothes from all over the floor yourself. He doesn’t seem the messy type though, and when you’d first started the task of cleaning the massive castle you found that while things were dusty and unused, very few areas could be considered messy. In fact most of the place seemed rather sparse, a contrast to the way nobles normally decorated their houses with abundance to flaunt status and wealth.
Shivering, you note the low fire, adding a few more logs to bring both more heat and light to the room, as well as gathering an empty cup set on a side table. Mihawk remains silent, only the sound of his own scratching paper giving any indication he was still in the room.
“Is there anything else you require before I leave, sir?”
The scribbling stops, and from the way gooseflesh raises you can only assume he’s looking at you once again.
“No.”
You nod once more, taking your collection and heading back out. Only when you were down the hall and around the corner did you allow your knees to give in like they wanted to, holding yourself against the wall as you tried to calm your racing pulse. Not from fear, though that might have been a small part of it, but more so from overwhelming relief that you weren’t going to be dismissed and tossed onto the streets. Not that Mihawk couldn’t change his mind at any moment and deem you more trouble than you’re worth.
It’s with a sense of determination you stand, already forming a plan of everything that needs to be done in the morning. A plan to secure your position and prove your worth.
======================
As the door closed, Mihawk listened to the sound of your footsteps retreating, his hand slowing to a stop. A heavy sigh escapes him, rubbing his eyes.
The last thing he expected upon coming back was another stray to have showed up on his doorstep. Two was plenty enough for him. It would be a pain if people started to think they could show up whenever, and his first instinct was to send you on your way. Perona might be upset with him but he was not one to bend to the whims of a whining teen.
You were a pathetic sight, drenched to the bone like a cat caught in the rain. Despite your evident misery you didn’t complain, face impassive as you held the umbrella for Perona with shaking hands. It was only the fact of his own weariness from the return journey, and the fact you hadn’t shied away at first glance, that kept him from turning you out then and there.
Dinner was a surprise, the food more than palatable. While no chef, he could cook up his own meals just fine, but yours seemed even more flavorful despite being the same ingredients he used. Mihawk wondered if Perona had told you of his taste, or if you had picked up on his preferences already. He assumed the later, what with the way you flittered about, as if predicting the next need of them both.
You were competent in any case, and for that he was given one small mercy. If you’d been as stubborn as Zoro or chatty as Perona he might have truly lost his temper. Instead you seemed content to blend into the shadows. Something remembered only when needed, your presence lingering like an afterthought.
It was annoying. He hated weak people with no spine, finding no more interest in them than one would a bug on the side of the road. They offered nothing to him and would only get in the way.
But your body told a different story than what it first portrayed. It was not weak or pliant, but roughened and hard. A contrast to your demeanor. Marks that are not received from light house work that one would expect of a typical servant, nor would one accept such abuse without leaving under most circumstances. They were gained from years of abuse and use to the fullest extent. Mihawk had his own suspicions that you were either a slave or indentured servant, attributing the dismissal of your past, likely fearing you would be turned in. Many would, looking for some reward, but Mihawk didn’t care for such things.
While he didn’t care for the presence of others he also wasn’t so blind as to not recognize your use. At least you seemed to keep Perona entertained enough, and you weren’t a complete freeloader like the other two.
You could stay for now.
The thought pleased him more than it should have, and he attributed it to the fact there would be someone who would actually listen to him now.
———————————-
Serving at Kuraigaina castle marked a dramatic shift in your life. There were far less occupants for one thing, but that didn’t mean you had any less work to do.
Zoro was the most resistant to your efforts, jumping whenever you appeared and constantly trying to do everything himself.
“I’ve got two working hands don’t I?” He would always grumble, though he was more receptive to your efforts to help in the evenings when he came back bone-tired from training, especially when he didn’t have to do his own laundry. Oftentimes you would have to find him to deliver his food, both his internal clock and compass broken beyond repair.
Perona remained as she always was, one of the more familiar personalities you had learned to deal with from your previous service. She had all the attitude of someone brought up in an environment where they got what they wanted with no issues making demands. As time went on she seemed to soften the slightest bit, and while she still ordered you around like a normal, the occasional please and thank you made their way in.
Maybe it was due to the fact you were the only two women on the island, so some kind of bond was inevitably going to form. It was nice, as never before had you been able to relax and do the more girlish things in life. Meanwhile Perona radiated everything you wished you could have. Confident and assertive, but also indulging in her enjoyments without a care of what others thought. More than once you were roped into a ‘girls night’, as she called it. Staying up late and watching movies on the snail transponder, allowing her to do your nails and dress you up like a doll until she considered you acceptably ‘cute’.
Then there was Mihawk.
As the technical lord of the castle he had the most pull, and had no issue with making demands. He exuded the same aloof nature as many of the nobles and upper class you had met, while the air around him remained much more dangerous. There was no suggested threat of danger, but only the very real fact that being around him simply was. Yet he was never violent. Never was a hand raised to you. Orders were not barked, but given in a calm and collected tone that, while not kind, also held no anger or disgust.
He was simultaneously familiar and unknown.
At first the only times you saw him were meals and the occasional passing in the hall, to which you would step aside with a small bow. Sometimes he would stop for a moment, staring as he did the first time you met, before continuing without a word. That was another thing; Mihawk was not an avid talker. The biggest hurdle to overcome was to properly take care of his needs without them being spoken, and you were an excellent study. Years of perception for the smallest of body cues and behaviors allowed you to eventually fall into step with his silent needs.
Mihawk was both an early riser and late to bed, but preferred for his laundry to be collected and room cleaned in the morning. He didn’t eat breakfast, but took coffee as he sat on the balcony outside his room, keen eyes watching the distant horizon as he read the paper. For someone so intent on his own privacy he seemed adamant in remaining up to date on the events of the world.
You would wake Zoro- which was a challenge of it’s own right, never having met someone who could sleep so soundly- and he Mihawk would be off to train, stopping at noon for lunch.
It was terrifying the first time you saw them fighting, nearly blown off your feet by the force generated as their blades met. A slice through the stone next to you had you jumping, eyes wide at the split as Zoro called out, asking if you were okay whike Perona laughed at your disheveled state, sipping at her own tea not far off. Mihawk said nothing, his glare making you shrink in fear of having interrupted. Still he accepted the food, sitting down with the others to eat.
Once again you were ordered to join.
It was one of the many peculiar things he would insist upon, feeling too casual. It was precisely his lack of standing on ceremony that you blamed on the eventual slip of your etiquette, not helped by the casual manner in which the other two treated you as well.
The first instant you realized was at dinner upon pouring Mihawk’s drink, the man watching the liquid pool in the glass. A crystalline white with a light orange hue.
“This is not what I requested.”
“No sir.” You say as you move the glass closer. He had a preference for reds- so sweet it was almost comical in comparison to his demeanor- and his collection only contained a few of the lighter bottles. “As seafood is being served you’ll find a white will go better.”
The moment the words leave your lips you stiffen, realizing it could be interpreted as lecturing. Acting as if you knew better than him. It certain seems that way, not aided by the sharp laugh Perona lets out.
You’re ready to apologize and grab his requested selection when Mihawk grabs the glass with an almost delicate hold, swirling the liquid for a moment before tipping it back. He seems to consider for a moment, eyes closed as you watch, trembling, before nodding and dismissing you with a wave of his hand. You eagerly retreat, taking your seat beside Perona and using her as a shield between you for the rest of the night.
It was the first block to tumble, but certainly not the last.
It’s late afternoon and you’re taking down the linens from the line- ever cautious of the constant chance of rain- folding them and placing them in a basket to be prepared for bedding changes tomorrow. Dinner was over and Perona had gone to bed early while Zoro and Mihawk headed out for a late training. The sky had shifted from dove to iron grey as the sun sets, hardly able to see as you work. It would have been better to bring a lamp with you to see but feared singing the fabric when carrying it back in.
Instead you set out with the determination to get things done quickly, though the efforts were hampered by the wind pulling the lines just out of reach. It was already a struggle, the beds of the castle both wide and long, all of them seemingly king sized, and the lines in turn had to be put up higher to avoid the sheets dragging on the ground.
With a triumphant grin, you grab hold of the pin, releasing it and allowing the sheet to fall, only for you to have the same fate as a figure is revealed behind it. You're only saved by their quick reflexes, grabbing you by the arm and keeping you upright.
“Sir?” Your question comes out louder than intended, the surprise of seeing Mihawk there more startling than anything.
“You’re out late.” He says, dropping his grip, through he doesn’t step away. “I could see you from my room.”
Ah, so that was the reason. You must have been making quite the noise to draw him out.
“Apologies. I’ll make sure to do the laundry earlier in the day as to avoid bothering you.”
”You should not be out this late on your own. The humandrills are not the only threat on this island.”
Of course you knew. Venomous snakes and wandering mammals you’d only ever seen the gleaming eyes of also liked to wander at night, as well as bats nearly half as tall as you. They never came close to the castle however. Likely Mihawk had already taught them what happened when they did.
”I’ll head in now sir.” You reach for your basket of laundry, already dreading the weight of the heavy fabrics required to keep the chill of the island at night away, only to have it snatched away as Mihawk grabs the basket with one hand.
”Oh, please sir, I can take that.” You attempt to take the basket only for him to hold it above his head out of reach like it was nothing. Your first instinct is to grab it, and you do try, one hand on his arm as you jump to reach. Only as you feel his hand on your own shoulder holding you back do you realize you’ve touched him, drawing back as if burned.
”I do not favor you dumping the whole thing into the dirt.” Is all he says before heading back towards the castle, leaving you to follow.
Two days later, now early afternoon when you head out to grab the laundry, you discover Zoro gathering it from the line already. Orders from Mihawk apparently. If he has so many dirty clothes then he’s not moving swiftly enough to avoid staining them, so he can gather the laundry to remind him of how slow he is. Even as you try to help the man materializes seemingly out of thin air, not having to say a thing as he glares, following the entire way until you’re back in the castle.
His peculiarities only grew from there.
In your spare time you liked to visit the library. Something yo had been a bit surprised at the first time you stummmbled upon it.
While none of the shelves seem to contain anything written in the past five years, it was still enjoyable to read through the old romance novels that were tucked away in the corner. It was particularly useful when you found yourself unable to sleep at night, sneaking through the empty halls to get a few chapters in.
It all went fine and well until you discovered Mihawk in there one night, perched in front of the fireplace with a book balanced on one knee, his head resting in his hand perched on the armrest.
He looks up as you enter, unable to get away without notice. Stalling, you debate your options, clutching your robe tighter to your chest. What a sight you must make, hair messed and clothes wrinkled from tossing and turning. Yet he makes no comment on your appearance even as he scan you from head to toe.
”Do not leave on my account.”
The nicety sounded more akin to an order, drawing you further into the room after a moment of hesitation. Mihawk returns to his book, leaving you free to make your way over to the section you were looking for in the corner. The weight of the pages feels heavier than normal, unsure as to what to do now. Could you just take it back to your room and read? Or would that be impolite? He’d told you not to leave after all.
Taking a seat in your normal spot across from him, you resist the urge to tuck your knees underneath, spine stiff as if fused to the chair back. It’s plush and luxurious, as most thing were in the castle. While there weren’t many furnishings the ones that could be found were nice.
You sit in silence, only the occasional flicking of the page. When the fire gets low you move to add more wood, careful to avoid even the smallest of sparks in the fire hazard of a room.
“You come here often.”
Of course it wouldn’t escape his notice. Nothing did it seemed, those golden eyes catching everything even which they didn’t see. Like he had a sixth sense.
“Yes sir. When I can’t sleep.”
His head tilts forward, pressing for more.
“I’m used to a much heavier work load.” You confess, settling down in the chair once again. “Many of my duties have been reduced, and I find myself restless at night.”
Mihawk’s eyes flicker to the book on your lap, fingers having unconsciously begun running along the edge. He reads the title, brow raising almost microscopically, and if you didn’t know any better you would say his lips twitched.
Of course he would find your choice silly when he held what looked to be something about fighting, elegant swords crossed over the cover.
You go back to reading, desperate to escape the conversation where neither of you were fans of small talk in the first place. The silence was neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but rather charged with an energy that had you on edge. Like anticipation of something.
Once an acceptable time was reached you excused yourself, quickly rushing back to your room where you would spend the rest of the night awake, unable to get the interaction out of your head.
Not long after, a few more novels were added to the collection of the library, and the romance section grew just large enough to start encroaching on the other shelves.
Neither of you said anything about it.
From then on, once or twice a week when you went to the library you would find him waiting there. It soon became routine, the familiarization of his presence only continuing to weaken the rigid, self-imposed constraints that had guided your survival in the world of the upper class.
Now when he walked by in the hall you no longer bowed your head, but instead would offer a polite nod- of which he would return- and ask if there was anything he needed. Most of the time there was nothing, as it seemed he preferred to do most things himself, but once in a while he would command your presence as he did one thing or another. Sometimes it was tending to the small vineyard he kept, while others it was accompanying him as he walked the island. For security reasons, he explained.
There were even times he had you sit in the same room as him just in case he needed something, claiming it was too much trouble to find you for every little thing, yet refusing to use the bell system that had been rigged through the castle and would have you running at the first chime.
Your favorite thing to do by far was watch Zoro and Mihawk train. The strength they wielded was astonishing, and it was no wonder their bounties were so high. Even if it was often more of a thrashing on Zoro’s end, you were glad to be there to bandage any wounds.
“I look like a mummy.” The young swordsman growled one day, arms crossed as you wrapped an ice pack to his head in an effort to combat the rising bump, courtesy of Mihawk. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but the mental image of him shuffling around covered in bandages wouldn’t leave, and the laugh escaped before you could stop it.
“You think that’s funny?!”
Yes. And it was only made more so at his indignation and the fact that Perona was now teasing him about how he’d look much better if he covered his face, chasing the girl around the clearing that served as a training ground.
You couldn’t help it, bent over laughing while watching them run about, sides cramping. When was the last time you had laughed, let alone like this? It was like every nerve was alight, filled with a giddiness that wouldn’t go away.
It was only as you were wiping your tears away, trying to catch your breath, did you notice Mihawk standing a dozen feet away. His eyes watched with a keen intensity that had your hair on end, sobering as you schooled your composure once more even as the occasional hiccup shook your shoulders.
As the duo raced by you grabbed Perona, guiding her back to the waiting chairs you’d previously been sitting in to observe.
With a click of his tongue Mihawk called Zoro back, easily sliding into a fighting stance, though his eyes flickered over the younger man’s shoulder to where you sat.
Zoro took the distraction to try and get the upper hand, only to have his weapon batted away without Mihawk ever looking at him.
You watched them fight, eyes tracking them the best you could with the speed at which they moved, though your attention tended to linger more on the teacher.
Oblivious to her observation, Perona looked between you. From the way Mihawk seemed to angle his attacks to give where you both sat a wide berth, to the way you seemed almost dreamy watching. It wasn’t the first time she had caught you doing so either. While she could be self-absorbed, she wasn’t blind.
”You like him, don’t you?”
”What?” You nearly choke on your drink, covering your mouth as you try to clear your lungs, much to your companions amusement.
”I don’t know what you see in him. He’s so old and grumpy.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It would be very inappropriate to have a-a crush, on him.”
”What, because he’s you boss or something?”
Exactly. Even if he were normal it would be inappropriate, but this was Mihawk; world’s greatest swordsman and a Warlord. You were just somebody who had washed up on his island by chance. In terms of power and importance everyone on the island ranked above you, even the humandrills arguably, If you were going by strength that is.
Perona just waved her hand, leaning back further in her seat as one of her ghost snuck up on Zoro, diving through his back and leaving him to drop to the ground, susceptible to a kick from Mihawk that sent him flying, much to the girl’s amusement.
”Don’t worry, he looks at you too.”
You can only gape at her, unable to press any further upon spotting Mihawk making his way over. Apparently training was done for the day, and you quickly scurried off to retrieve Zoro from where he’d landed and help him back to his room.
Definitely not because you were trying to avoid Mihawk.
It was to your relief that Perona didn’t bring the subject up again, though you did note the grin she would sport whenever she found the two of you together, doing something as innocent as gathering papers from him that needed to be sent out as part of his Warlord duties.
———————————-
Voices had a tendency to carry through the halls, the lack of adornments only allowing them to echoe further. You took special care not to wake anyone in the late hours of the night when you ventured from your room to read or get something form the kitchen. Unfortunately some other occupants didn’t have the same courtesy.
”What are you two doing up?” You question, standing in the doorway, hands on your hips. They could have at least have had the sense to have the conversation in one of their own rooms.
They both jumped, moving quickly to hide whatever it was they had behind their back. It was of little use, the object much to long to be covered, and your eyes widened, nearly dropping the light you held upon spotting the gleam of metal, the curve too familiar.
Maybe it was too generous of you to assume they had any common sense. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t be holding Yoru. Or at least what you hoped was an impeccable replica. Judging from their wide eyes it didn’t seem to be the case.
”It’s his fault!” Perona points her finger, putting distance between herself and Zoro.
”My fault? You’re the one who took it!” Zoro barks.
”But you’re the one who said you wondered what it was like to hold it and put the idea in my head! That’s practically asking me to take it!”
”No it’s not!”
They argued back and forth about who is to blame as you rub your eyes, tempted to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen anything. But when they got caught it was certain you would be roped in somehow to lessen the blame.
How had they even gotten he thing in the first place? Mihawk kept it in his room and he wasn’t a heavy sleeper, though it was questionable if he even slept at all. Any time you got out of bed at night for something even as quick as a glass of water he seemed to find you, making you jump each time he emerged from the shadows.
”You have to put it back!”
”Me? You’re the one who took it! He’ll skin whoever he catches!”
”Yes, which is why it should be you!”
”Enough!” You snap, taking them both by surprise. It was the closest to anger you’d ever spoken to either of them, as well as the loudest. “Give it to me.”
If you were going to be used as a scape goat, you could at least face the problem head on and actually do what you were going to get in trouble for. And in any case, if the arguing continued it would certainly wake Mihawk before an attempt to put the sword back could be made.
The weapon was much heavier than expected. With the way Mihawk swung it around you would have thought it to be lighter. Yet the weight almost pulls you down, clutching the sword to your chest as you fix them both with a stern gaze.
”Both of you are to return to your rooms at once, and I better not hear a peep from either of you until sunrise.”
They nodded, mutely shuffling out the door without argument. Maybe it was the fact it was the first time you’d given them an order, or their own fear of being caught by Mihawk and glad to be rid of the incriminating evidence. Whichever the case, you set out alone back towards the residential wing.
Mihawk’s room, as well as your own, was located on one end while Perona and Zoro were on the other. If you had heard them arguing it was a surprise Mihawk hadn’t, though there seemed to be more troubles than normal burdening him. He would never voice it but you could tell, a skill gained from years of service and learning to read the smallest of changes or risk being caught in a flare of anger, by the way his eyes tightened more than normal as he looked out over the horizon, or how he seemed to swing just a bit harder during training.
”Are you alright sir?” You had finally worked up the courage to ask, gathering the mail that needed to be sent out and delivering what had been brought that morning.
His head tilted, expression remaining flat as keen eyes fixed you in place. The silence of the room stretched further than was comfortable, but then again, when had Mihawk been particularly concerned about he comfort of others? You were ready to apologize, already cursing your presumption that you could ask such a thing, when he spoke.
”Nothing that you can do anything about.” The words are sharp and final.
”Of course sir. I would never presume to be able to do anything about what troubles you, far above my strength. If there is anything I can do to help make the rest of your day easier, please let me know.”
Mihawk seems to hesitate for a moment, just enough that you think he might actually say something, before dismissing you with a wave of his hand. Of which, of course, you listen.
But while he says nothing you make an extra effort in the following weeks; cooking food more suited to his taste than the groups, ensuring he has a change of clothes warmed by the fire when he returns at night, making sure Perona and Zoro are on their best behavior (or as much as you can). It may be your own ego talking but you like to think that he seemed to become a little less tense. In any case Zoro didn’t seem to be suffering so many injuries.
You could only hope that you managed to get in and out without notice to avoid worsening his mood once more, and on likelyhood he did wake up hope that he wasn’t in a foul mood.
The room was empty as you crept in, fire long ago extinguished as only low embers burned, keeping the space just above freezing.
Yoru was normally left just inside his door, ready to be grabbed first thing in the morning on his way out. You didn’t even have to go all the way in. Just crack the door and slip it through onto its stand, though that plan is quickly tossed as you hold the weapon in your arms, barely able to lift it with two hands let alone one, and silently at that.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly turn the handle leading to the bedroom, flinching at the soft click as the tumblr moves. You pause, waiting for the door to be ripped open, listening for the faintest sound of movement. Though the odds of hearing anything are slim, your own pulse pounding so loud it might give you away by itself. When nothing happens you carefully push, making an opening just wide enough to slip through. It’s a blessing that the fire’s out, making one less thing to worry about waking Mihawk.
Yoru is heavy as you creep in, eye’s wide as you take in the dark room, the lack of moon outside making it that much more difficult. But through the darkness you can make out the figure of Mihawk, still as stone and lying flat on his back, little more than a bump in the blankets, had sunk into the soft pillows that litter the mattress. He has refined taste despite his aggressive nature, and you’ve often found yourself envious of the fluffy adornment whenever you were changing the pillowcases.
His position only adds to your anxiety, expecting at any moment to see him jolt upright like some sort of horror move. But Yoru’s stand sits close by, waitng for its weapon.
It’s on tiptoes you move, not daring to breathe as you’re forced to turn your back on the sleeping man in order to put it back. Your hands shake, praying that the stand doesn't tip over as you gently rest the sword in its place, momentarily panicking about which way it should be facing. Handle to the door made the most sense, but who knows. Maybe there was some swordsman use against it that you didn’t know about. In your defense, of all the times you’ve cleaned Mihawk’s room he’s always been out and had the weapon with him, leaving no chance of being able to have any reference.
As soon as the sword is back in place and stable you’re back out the door and in the main area once again, your legs feeling like jelly as you catch yourself on the wall.
But you’d done it. Yoru was back in place, Zoro and Perona were in their rooms, and you could go back to your own and pretend like none of this happened in the morning. Hopefully Mihawk wouldn’t be able to pick up on all the nervous energy, or if he did not say any thing about it.
“What are you doing in here?”
Your heart leaps to your throat as your stomach plummets to your toes, spinning around to see the door to the bedroom now opened, silently, and Mihawk just beyond.
He stands leaned against the frame, hair tousled from sleep and clothes slightly askew, the short sleeves allowing you to see the well defined muscle of his forearms which sat crossed. Golden eyes burned without a hint of sleep, as if he had been awake for hours.
“It’s getting colder out and the fire is low. Would you like me to add more wood sir?” You ask. The first thing that pops into your head. A blatant avoidance that has even you cringing. Mihawk merely lifts a brow, chin titled as his eyes scan you from head to toe.
“You’re no good at lying.”
”I’m not lying!” You say, too loud, clamping your hands over your mouth as the proclamation echoes through the room.
”You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer, and that is because you know I can tell when you lie because you’re a bad liar.”
You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to say as he’d already seen through you.
“So tell me; what business do you have sneaking around with Yoru?” Your pulse spikes at the mention of the sword, all hope lost as you're smacked with the fact he knew why you were there. Preservation tells you to get out of there as quickly as possible but it’s uncertain if your legs could even move, let alone carry you fast enough to get away from Mihawk. The thought of telling him about coming upon the other two squabbling over it crosses your mind but you can’t bring yourself to give them up, but neither can you lie to your master.
To Mihawk.
The thought alone is enough to have your stomach churning, especially as he pushes off the wall.
Each step is silent, bare feet padding across the stone with little fanfare in contrast to the click of boots he normally wore. One second he’s across the room and the next he’s in front of you, breaking the bubble of personal space as he towers above. You can’t bring yourself to meet him in the eye, hands gripping the hem of your shirt as you keep your head tilted down, though it doesn’t remain that way for long.
A strong hand grips your hair by the roots, tugging just enough to force you to look up. It’s not violent, but the simmering anger that swims in his eyes promises that it could quickly change. His gaze flickers between your own as you thickly swallow the begging plea that threatens to escape.
Of course he would be enraged by the fact that his prized sword was touched, you just weren’t expecting it like this. A cool, simmering rage so unlike the explosive episodes you were accustom to in your previous service. There was no yelling, hitting or throwing things. Only a silent promise of retribution.
The heat of Mihawk’s body is nearly overwhelming, sleep shirt unbuttoned and allowing warmth to roll off him in waves. Your knuckles brush the exposed skin from where they remain clenched tightly in front of you, both of you jumping at the contact. The movement has Mihawk’s grip pulling just a bit tighter, a small whimper escaping before you can stop it.
You both freeze at the sound, Mihawk taking a deep breath to compose himself, his jaw flexing while pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath in and out. He seems to come to a conclusion, molten gold eyes once again fixing you under his gaze.
“Was it the two brats?”
Your eyes widen before you can stop them. It wasn’t the most outlandish guess but was more so surprising that it had been the first one.
What one could guess to be a smirk curling at the very edges of Mihawk’s lips at your reaction, the ghost of a smile scaring you more than anything else from the man could have. The only answer he needed, and all without you having to say anything.
Then, without another word, he lets you go, giving your head a gentle pat as he smoothes your hair back into place. You can’t find it in yourself to say anything, voice stolen as you watch him calmly head out the door to the hall beyond. He turns left towards the end of the hall housing the only other two occupants of the castle, still silent as a ghost.
All the while you sit on the floor, legs giving out the moment he was out of sight and barely able to believe your luck.
You were alive.
Mihawk caught you and somehow you were still alive.
Pulse racing and feeling as if you were about to faint yes, but a practically ideal ending given the situation. It takes another moment to muster the strength to get to your feet, stumbling back down the hall to your own room while you can just barely make out a surprised shout from Zoro. Hopefully he can forgive you. It’s not like you actually ratted them out, though you still feel guilty.
Just as you shut your door there’s a rumble of what sounds like stone breaking- of which you would discover in the morning was indeed an entire wall being brought down- prompting you to curl up under your blankets and hide from the world.
———————————-
You wouldn’t exactly call what you had a family, but something akin to it. Nothing like the initial relationship you had.
Things were not demanded or ordered but requested-apart from Perona who treated everyone as if they served her, though even her treatment had softened- and you found yourself working not just as it was expected, but because you wanted to, growing shy under their thanks. Not that there was much else to do on the island, but with each thanks for food and hand received to help clean the endless halls of the castle, you felt as if you grew a bit taller, smiling easier, and scolded about making a mess without fearing punishment.
But of course all good things come to an end.
Two years had passed before you knew it, and the time for Zoro to meet up with his friends approached. While you insisted he had a bit more time before he had to leave, a month at least, he was insistent that he knew the correct date. Perona decided to follow him, apparently having had enough of the island and looking for something more exciting, in search of her former companions.
The castle would certainly be a lot quieter, and you found yourself just a bit more attached to them.
Their last night you made an extra special dinner. All of their favorites, feeling the need to indulge them one last time. Who knew when- not if, as you knew both were too stubborn and skilled to be killed or captured before you could see them again- you would see them next.
Of course they were excited. Perona chattering on about all the places she thought of where her former crew could be, her ghost weaving in the air above her, while Zoro wondered about his own. Even through his complaints you could tell he was excited, looking forward to seeing them after so long and showing how much they’d all grown.
Mihawk was silent as always, though a dark cloud seemed to hang over him. His shoulders which normally laid straight and flat against the chair back curled ever so slightly, giving him the slightest look as if he were slouching to your keen eye. To any other he may seem indifferent. Was they’re leaving really that big of a deal? You would have thought he was looking forward to the day to have his peace back, though it may be the fact that he’d no longer have Zoro as a sparing partner. They were still many levels apart but the young man showed great promise even to your limited knowledge of swordsmanship.
“You could at least act like you’re going to miss us.” Perona huffed.
“I’m sure he will. Being alone on this island can’t be fun.” You said, trying to assure her.
At your words Mihawk seemed to go rigid, his eyes darting over only to go back to focusing on his plate.
Had you offended him somehow? Maybe just the lone wolf image he always seemed to be trying to project. It would be presumptuous of you to assume that he kept any of you around for something as silly as being lonely. He wouldn’t have moved here in the first place if he didn’t want to be alone.
It seemed your statement only sparked a feud between the two young adults, arguing over who Mihawk would be more glad to be rid of as you served dessert.
“There’s still a lot of packing to do.” You say, standing and clearing the dishes. “I’ll be by later to make sure everyone has everything they need. It’ll be a long time before you see it again if you leave it.”
Zoro and Perona stack their plates on the cart, still arguing as they head out. You fondly watch them go, laughing as you see Perona slap the man upside the head before running off, Zoro hot on her heels. The sight has you laughing, warmth bubbling in your chest as you gather the last of the plates.
Turning to take them to the kitchen, you run straight into Mihawk who had been standing right behind. You hadn’t even heard him approach, the plates dropping from your hold as you stumble back.
Deft hands grab the glass plates before they can hit the ground.
”I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there sir!”
You panic, the previous contentment replaced by panic He was already in a sour mood, and there was no reason to make it worse! But why had he been there in the first place? The path from his chair to the door shouldn’t have brought him anywhere close, and he normally preferred to retreat to the greenhouse after dinner.
It seemed gardening helped him unwind from the day, at ease among the sprawling vines. The atmosphere was positively cozy in comparison to the rest of the castle, the structure clearly something that had been added on after his arrival.
You often joined him, clearing away any trimmed leaves or branches- not to mention the endless amount of glass that composed the structure needed to be cleaned at least once a week- content in the lack of conversation as a radio snail played gentle music. The station never changed, the music memorized long ago. Often you found yourself humming along as you worked, the tune following you through the rest of your routine.
”Do you like music?” Mihawk had asked one night. Apparently you had been humming a bit too loud, though he didn’t seem angry, just curious. It was difficult to see him as the intimidating man you knew, covered in dirt and hair a bit out of place from the humidity.
”I’ve never had much chance to listen to it sir.” You admit, feeling a bit uncultured. “But I like the music you play.”
The sweeping melodies were lovely, though Perno often complained that it was old people music. It was easy to get caught up in the sway of the notes, your oft moving slightly with the rhythm.
”I was taken to galas at times, though I never got close to the dancing. My mother said it was fun, though I think I’d make a fool of myself if I tried.” You had heard people talking about them. All the opulent decorations and outfits, costing more than you would ever make in a lifetime. It was tempting to ask Mihawk if he had ever been to one. Being a warlord he was likely invited to at least one gathering or another, but you couldn’t imagine him going if he had a choice, and certainly not being around the upper echelon with his intolerance for foolishness.
A branch cracked, nearly scaring you off your ladder as you looked to see Mihawk standing near the bottom rung. His face held an odd look. One you had only seen a few times before when he seemed to be deeply thinking about something.
”Is there something you need sir?”
His eyes, which had been staring almost far off, focused once again. He stood there a moment longer before shaking his head and waving you off, already heading back into the rows of grapevines as you quickly lost sight of him.
But the look stayed stuck in your head, pondering what he could be thinking.
It was the same look he gave you now, equally as confused as to what he could be thinking as he remained still, silently staring down at you.
Hesitantly, you reached out to grab the plates. Your fingers brush his by accident, just the lightest touch, unable to look away from his piercing stare.
At the contact he seemed to snap out of whatever thought had hold of him, giving a small shake of his head as he stepped back. He spun, pace swift as he exited the room and leaving you stunned, wondering what that had been about.
In any case, you needed to get the dishes done and move on to help in the other two pack. You could deal with whatever Mihawk needed tommorow after they had left.
————————————
Arriving back at the castle, you head for your room to change, chilled from the morning mist. Mihawk would likely retreat to the library when he got back, and you made a mental note to make sure there was firewood stocked to keep the place cozy. It was only a shame that Zoro wasn’t here anymore to help you chop the wood, your back already aching in protest.
The room itself was dimly lit, barely able to make out the outlines of the furniture in the dull grey light of the morning as the sun rose behind the clouds. Still an upgrade from the room you’d first been staying in, which would be in the proper servants quarters. While the beds there were small and cramped, the setup familiar, it was closer to the kitchen and laundry room. You’d come back from picking up a new shipment of fabrics for Perona to discover everything had been moved to the residential wing. With so many empty rooms you still had your own space but the walk to the others was much shorter, not to mention this part of the house was much warmer.
‘More convenient.’ Is all Mihawk had said when you gently broached the subject, not even looking up from his paper.
You could have lit a candle but felt you wouldn’t be there long enough, instead opting to walk with your hands just in front of you, toes curled in fear of stubbing them.
Making it to the drawers that held your clothes, it’s only by chance that you glance up, going rigid as you spot a distinctly human figure on your bed through the mirror setting on top. For as much as you’ve gotten used to the eerie island this is an entirely new experience.
For a moment you think someone’s broken in but the thought is quickly banished. Who would be stupid enough to do that? And with Perona and Zoro now gone, the two young adults having no concept of personal space, that only left one person.
You spin, now facing Mihawk who lay reclined casually in your bed, feet kicked off to the side. At least he had the decency to not put his boots on the comforter.
“Sir? Did you need something?” It was the only reason you could think of for him to be here. Maybe the weather deterred him, though that never seemed to be an issue before. The normal coat and hat that accompany him are gone, as well as Yoru. Instead he’s dressed in his sleepwear, as if he had no intention of going out at all even though it was far past the time he was normally up and about.
“I thought you would be going with them.”
You stall, head tilting. Did he mean Perona and Zoro? Where in the world had he gotten that idea from? Sure you had helped a great deal with the packing and hadn’t had much of a chance to see him lately, but that was because Perona would want to take much and if it were up to Zoro he would have gone with nothing but the clothes on his back and the swords on his hip.
“Why would I be going with them? They have their own adventures. My place is here.”
“Here on the island,” Mihawk’s chin tilts, eyes seeming to glow in the dark. “Or here with me?”
Swallowing thickly, you mull over what he could possibly mean. Was there a reason for you to be here without him? Maybe it was his way of telling you that you were no longer needed. With the other two gone, Mihawk himself had seemed to be getting by just fine before your arrival, even if the place was a bit more dusty than one might prefer.
Or maybe, like the others, he was moving on to something else. But there was nowhere else for you to go. You had no connections anywhere else, and you couldn’t return back to your previous employer with the death of the patriarch hanging above your head. You would for sure pay with your life, and had been one of the contributing factors of staying on the island in the first place, the fear of being discovered alive.
It wasn’t so much the fact of being abandoned, but being abandoned by Mihawk that made your eyes burn.
Of course you had developed a crush on the Warlord. He was handsome, yes, even if his personality could be prickly at times, but he had never been unkind to you. In fact he was downright considerate most of the time, actions speaking more for him than he ever did with words. It was impossible to snub out the growing feelings despite your best efforts, combined you had lychee on to the first person to treat you with respect and mistake it for something more.
“With you of course, sir.”
At your answer he stands, crossing the room in long strides. You’re unable to get away in time, too shock to move as he corners you, back pressed to the dresser as you stare up at him.
“Sir?” You hesitate to ask, wondering if it was the wrong answer. Apparently so, as his eyes tighten a fraction more.
“Why do you call me that? I thought by now you would have dropped it as you did with the two brats.”
Perona and Zoro were just that to you. Perona and Zoro. All formalities dropped somewhere along the line as your relationship grew. It made them feel more familiar. Closer. Something you couldn’t do with Mihawk without fear of falling even deeper into your emotions than you already had.
“It’s only proper, sir. You are my boss.”
“And if I wasn’t? If we were equal, would you call me by my name?”
Maybe. Maybe if you had met him traveling in the road, or eating dinner at a resultant. In the cozy isles of a bookstore or a chance encounter on the street. But you hadn’t. He was still a Warlord and you were his maid.
What a pipe dream. As if you could even imagine reaching a station such as his. The oceans would sooner dry up then such a thing to happen.
“I don’t see how that’s possible s-“
“I can offer you another job and stable life on a peaceful island of the East Blue. There is no obligation for you to stay if you do not wish to. But if you do,” For the first time in all that you’ve known him you see Mihawk hesitate. Almost as if he fears to say the words, though you can hardly associate the words with him even as his jaw clenched, brows drawing tight.
“You will always have a place at my side.”
His hand grips your chin, tilting your head up and forcing your eyes to meet his. Eyes that never failed to send a shiver up your spine from the first time you saw them until now, though the reasonings have changed.
“Will you stay with me?”
The question is loaded with more than what it appears to mean, hanging heavy in the air between you. He must be able to feel the way your pulse spikes, his own breath catching.
It’s an out. All you have to do is say no and he’ll leave it be.
You can think of nothing worse.
It is not out of service or duty you speak, but the well of affection that finally overflows the walls that have been built around it with all the grace of a seabeast.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
The word hangs at the end, searching. With how close he is it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking, clawing past the final line in the sand you swore to never cross.
“Yes, Mihawk.”
Before you even finish speaking, his name little more than a whisper, his lips are on yours.
It’s not aggressive, yet no less commanding than his normal bravado. Mihawk does not hesitate or bother with gentle exploration, nor would you expect it to be. It’s confident and assured, like a sailor stepping onto a ship.
He takes the lead- something you’re grateful for given your inexperience in the matter apart from some of your younger years, before work got in the way of having any meaningful relationship- his hand never leaving your face as he tilts your head for a better angle, the other finding its place instead on your hip and drawing you closer.
When he finally lets up, pulling away just enough so that your lips are barely touching, his nose skimming your cheek, you’re both panting. A first you’ve seen from him despite the many practice fights and feats you’ve seen him perform.
“Say it again.” He whispers.
“Mihawk.”
His name is spoken breathlessly, almost inaudible, yet it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact it only seems to ignite something further in him, spinning and guiding you back towards that bed until your legs hit the edge of the mattress.
You tumble back, Mihawk following as he leans over, knees tucked on either side of yours. One hand remains on your waist while the other braces above you.
The dampness of your clothes sinks into the sheets and you squirm, the feeling uncomfortably jarring in comparison to the rest of the situation but unwilling to break the moment. But, as always, it seems Mihawk knows what you’re thinking without a word spoken.
“Do not worry.” He says against your neck, breaking away for just a moment to allow you both to breathe. Something that was becoming decreasingly important.
“They won’t be a problem for long.”
Sturdy fingers grasp at the fabric, threatening to tear it away with the strength of its grip, but instead skillfully move to undo the first button. He carefully watches for any sign of hesitation, the smallest flinch of sound, but reveals none. In fact you arch even further into his touch, your own hands traveling to his shirt, chest already exposed and inviting you to explore.
How many times had you imagined this? No less than a dozen, tempted each time you wear him sparing or even just relaxing, that cursed shirt of his giving ample view of the muscle that lay beneath.
His jaw tightens a fraction as you pull the fabric, body trembling. Not from fear, but anticipation, carefully held back with a practiced discipline. But as your own shirt falls away and his hand brushes the sensitive skin of your torso his name leaves you in a gasp, and whatever restraint he’d shown was broken as he once again descends upon you.
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine.” You insist, attempting to sidestep the man. Equally as stubborn, he moves himself in the way once again in an awkward dance.
“Nonsense.”
Hands take the load of boxes you were carrying before you could stop them, relieving you of the weight and leaving you to watch as the man falters. He stumbles down the gangplank, moving with the others who had descended upon docking. At first you had thought it was an angry mob intent on driving the pirates back, knowing they would have no chance and even feeling a bit unease about the prospect of having to fight those who were a good deal weaker. However, the shouts were not of anger, but excitement. There were no scowls or tears, but instead bright smiles and cheerful greetings that called out in welcome.
“Shank’s territory covers this island.” Beckman had explained upon seeing your confusion. There was no need for a restock on supplies and this area wasn’t a trading port or anything of the sort so you had assumed you were looking for something specific. Something the people of the island might not be as eager to give up. “They get protection both from the government and other pirates.”
Huh. You had never thought about the possibility of pirates being something people looked forward to. But with the excitement they showed it was hard to come to any other conclusion. It made sense, you suppose. You certainly wouldn’t want to deal with an angry Shanks. He was already difficult enough when he was in a good mood.
After docking and pleasantries were exchanged you moved to finish getting everything set for the night, as had become your job while the others went ahead, only to discover some of the local workers had come to help. They didn’t seem the least bit put off by your presence, striking up conversation as they worked and in fact seeming excited to talk. It felt almost mundane, their presence much less domineering than the ones you were used to as they moved about with efficiency. So caught up with talking that you hadn’t noticed the others slipping away towards the town, attention finally pulled away when Beckman called your name.
“I’ll just finish up here!” You called back, feeling a bit guilty about leaving them to complete the work.
“Nah, we got it from here. Go relax. Have some fun. The others sure are.” One of the men-and if you remember correctly, a rather handsome young man who was the son of one of the fishermen-put a hand on your shoulder, prompting you towards where Beckman waited with arms crossed.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I know how these guys run. I’m sure they’ve been all too glad to offload a good chunk of their work on you.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” You roll your eyes as he laughs, bidding farewell as you jog towards the others. Beckman watches your approach, eyes lingering behind you in a glare that could just as well be him squinting against the sun. What reason would he have to be in a bad mood after all?
“Already getting chummy with the locals I see.” He says, a sharp edge to his tone as he rests his elbow on your shoulder as you walk. You know better than to try and push him away at this point, having more success in trying to move a wall, even as the action makes your stomach flip.
“Well at least some people know how to still be a gentleman.” You scoff as he raises a brow.
“So that would make you a pretty lady?” He looks down at your appearance. Rough hewn shirt already fraying at the edges with dirt staining the cuff of your pants to an ombré. Your shoes were a far cry from any delicate heel, rough textured soles to keep you from sliding on the deck and laced tight.
His words, while holding the same airy nature they always did when he meant to tease, slice like a knife between the ribs. Is that why he was able to treat you so casually? He didn’t even see you as such, holding no appeal to him whatsoever, just another one of the guys? True, you wished to be seen as a friend, but were you really so unattractive that he could even say you had a bit of aesthetic appeal even just in appreciation?
People often used to say you look like your father. Same nose and mouth, with even the shape of your face similar. It was only your mannerisms that you seemed to inherit from your mother. She had always called him handsome, as well as fending off wandering eyes wherever you went, and in so you had always taken the comparison as a compliment. Now you had to wonder if it was such. If you resembled your father a bit too closely.
“You don’t think a woman is on unless she’s attractive?” You question, unable to keep the creeping venom out as you duck from beneath his arm and retreat into the gathering group, leaving him in the dust.
“Aw, you hurt her feelings.” Snake laughs, pinching your cheek as you elbow him in the stomach.
Lime is next to ruffle your hair even as you bat him away. “Don’t worry, I think you’re pretty.”
“You’d kiss a fishman if they caught you at the right time.” You grumble, attempting to keep the hurt from showing.
Hongo looks about ready to step in, sending his own glare to Beckman, but stops short as his ears perk. In fact his entire body seems to freeze as if he’s been struck by lightning.
Confused, it’s only a moment later you hear his name being called from a distance, quickly growing in volume. You hardly have time to process before a blur passes you by, nearly running you over as the others had the sense to take a step back from the doctor before he’s tackled. Instead of throwing the would-be attacker away as you’d seen him do before, he instead embraces them, lessening the recoil as he spins them around in his arms before pulling them close, lips locked in a way that makes you feel out of place in the intimate moment. Your cheeks burn, Punch coughing loudly to break the tension. It seems with great reluctance they pull away from each other, Hongo’s arms still looped around her waist as she looks to the rest of the crew.
His soulmate you assume, based on the way they latch together like velcro, flushed and giddy. It must be hard for them to be away from each other for so long. You’d asked Hongo about it once before and he admitted he looked forward to the day he could slow down a bit and spend more time, but they were both happy with their lives as they were. He couldn’t just leave the crew and she was not the type of person who would take on the life of a pirate. A glass worker, and a successful one from the sounds of it. It had been how they had originally met when he had needed to acquire some vials that wouldn’t spill even when knocked over on the rolling ship and from there it was history. A number of small glass trinkets dotted the shelves of the medical room, each skillfully crafted even to your a mature eye.
She seemed just as vibrant as he had described her, the apron and gloves she wore dyed bright colors that nearly hurt your eyes. It seemed she hadn’t even taken the time to remove her gloves before rushing over here.
“It’s wonderful to see you all again! I’m thankful you’ve brought him back to me in one piece.”
She’s quite the beautiful woman, not for any particular aspect but rather the way her eyes sparkling with a pure excitement, the glow of someone truly at ease in her own skin. Those same eyes scan the crowd, searching, before landing on you.
Her eyes flick over your shoulder and a glance tells you Beckman has joined. You turn pointedly away and focus your attention back on the woman, a glint of amusement now curving her mouth.
“You must be the new crewman! Hongo has told me so much about you already!” Before you can stop her you’re recovering a similar treatment, the air crushed from your lungs as you’re picked up off your feet in a tight embrace. By the time she sets you down, your ribs ache, almost positive one of them had cracked.
“You can call me Honey.” She says brightly.
You stare at Hongo over her shoulder to which he only offers a shrug, his face dusted with a light blush.
When she finally lets you go he whisks her away, the rest of the gathered crowd whistling after him.
“Well I won’t expect to be seeing them until tomorrow.” Shanks laughs, making his way further into town. It seemed they stopped her on a semi-regular basis as they greet some of the people they meet by name, stopping to chat every so often. It takes a bit of time but you make it to the inn you’ll be staying at. A fair amount nicer than what you’re used to. You don’t touch both walls when you stand and put your arms out for a start, and the view from the window looks out over the entire town.
It's late enough into the afternoon and you decided to head in early even as the others are still rearing to go, the bed blissfully soft as you toss your bag in the corner. It feels a bit odd to hang round them when everyone else seems to already be so comfortable, shying away from the curious eyes and thinking you must seem sorely out of place.
‘I should invest in some better blankets’ you decide as the sheets form a cocoon of warmth, thinking back to Beckman's collection and missing their softness. It was tempting to sneak one the last time you were doing laundry, considering it payment for the pruny fingers and lightly burned hands that would ache for the next few hours. The memory of your time spent sleeping in them was now distant, relegated to your own plain sheets with little hope of having them again. Shanks would become even worse than he was now if he found out, though you had your own sneaking suspicion about the man. Maybe he did have a sixth sense for soulmates, as his shifting eyes seemed to watch each interaction between you with interest, making you even more cautious in your interactions. Regardless, these still do the job even if they lack the essential quality to make them perfect, curled beneath as you dance on the cusp of sleep.
The sound of knocking brings you back to awareness, the light outside now all but gone and replaced with an inky sky of stars, startled as the door sounds off again as you rub the sleep from your eyes. It must be one of the others looking for you. Surely it couldn’t be anything urgent? You debate if you should ignore them or answer on the off chance it’s something important, but the decision is made for you as the low timber of Beckman's voice floats through the wood. Still fuming over his earlier remark, you continue to lay in bed, waiting for him to leave so you could once again be at peace. He finally gives up after an annoying amount of time, the shadow of his feet pausing outside the doorway as he sets something down before leaving.
Curious, you wait another few minutes to make sure he’s gone and not waiting to spring a trap like a cat before you creep to the door, noting you’d accidentally left it unlocked. He could have some in if he really wanted to, though you doubt a simple lock would be enough to keep him out in any case. He’d knocked the supply room door down with one kick after a broom had fallen down and jammed it closed.
Outside sits a plate of food and a drink. Nothing fancy, though the fresh fruit is a bit of a treat, and you note with a bit of annoyance that it's all things that you like down to the type of bread and the way it’s cut.
A singular flower sits on the edge of the plate, blossoms clustered together with teals so vividly a violet that it almost hurts to look at. Helio-something, you vaguely register, though the full name escapes you. You’d briefly seen them growing along some of the fields as the ship pulled in, amazed at their abundance even if they neglected to grow in the more rocky terrain of the town.
Is this another attempt to mock you? Punch and monster had led the others in teasing you about the small collection of pots that lay on the shelf by your bed, and which brought you joy to look at between stretches of land and whenever you found yourself restless at night. Of course they had never let you hear the end of it even as you claimed it was to get rid of the smell they permeated the ship with. Beckman got in on it, asking if there was a favorite of the bunch, seeming all too invested in the answer for someone who didn’t have something planned up their sleeve and making you fear for the plant’s safety.
Despite your anger, you can’t deny the hunger that gnaws at your stomach at having missed dinner, quickly bringing the plate into your room. It’s still warm, fresh from the kitchen with a trace of steam coming off the cut of meat.
Settling on the windowsill, you watch the lights of the town as shadows weave between them, a tangible excitement in the air even at night. A part of you wonders if it's any of the crew as you hear the giggles of two lovers sneaking about below through the alley. Wouldn’t be the first time they had done their bit of wooing when on land and you were grateful you wouldn’t be sent to find them in the morning this time. You had been scarred enough after getting a full frontal flash from Snake- a clear view of the soulmark that rested high on the inside of his thigh- after he didn’t bother hiding himself from either you or the paramour he was tangled with on the beach before getting up.
‘Maybe it could be Beckman.’
The intrusive thought hits you before you can stop it, jealously burning in a low simmer that has the food tasting like sand.
He would have every right to. You were nothing to each other but friend and crewmates, soulmate status that he was still unaware of left your own little secret. You’d never had the displeasure of seeing him creeping back in at the early hours of the morning from a night of escapades, though you did delude yourself that they didn’t happen and you were simply unaware. You were just thankful you didn’t have to witness it or else you may well and truly explode. Or maybe he didn’t after all. From what you had seen, Shanks kept him busy enough, and any flirtation attempts you had seen before were brushed off, seeming either to prefer his own company or that of those in the crew. Women that even you took note of, stunning and beautiful in each of their own ways. You couldn't say you blamed them. Beckman was an attractive man, the slow greying of his hair and deep lines that crossed his face only adding to his allure. And who wouldn’t take note of those shoulders? Of course unlike them you had the pleasure of actually seeing them without a shirt and-
You cut yourself off before going further, treacherous mind brining to front the same picture of him below deck that you desperately tried to forget. Ashamed, you bury your face into your pillow hoping to fall back asleep or suffocate. Anything was better than facing the reality that your attraction to the man was there to stay no matter how much you tried to squash it.
You should have been a bit more careful with your words.
As you drifted back to sleep the image of Beckman was indeed replaced, only this time by tall figures in Marine uniforms as you were shoved back to the day your waking nightmare had started.
You could see them both, standing oblivious on stone steps, arm in arm as they chatted away, unaware of the uniform that converged on them. You tried to scream, to cry out a warning of any kind, even throw yourself at the towering figure to stop them, yet you remained in place, chained to the wall and left to watch the scene unfold before you just as it had many times before. The stain of crimson blood still fresh and wet on stone is no less vibrant as their bodies fall, heads bouncing down the steps and rolling to a stop at your feet. Eyes, once so full of life, now stare back dully as mouth stretches open in a soundless scream.
If you had been strong enough, fast enough, you could have helped. Done something. Instead you ran like a coward. Ran and never stopped. As if you could get away from the problem with distance and death. Yet no matter how many Marines you killed the dreams never stopped even with the bloody penance.
Even now the figure turns from the headless bodies towards you, fingers morphing into claws that peirce skin as they close around you, drawing you down into the floor which has shifted from wood to water, into the darkness below as your screams become muffled. Helpless as you shout, unsure as to what even for. For help, or simply out of anger?
You wake with a start as your yells follow you from dream to the waking world, jolting upright in bed. Your breathing comes in gasps, hands clenching the sheets in an effort to ground yourself, yet it does nothing to ease the transition from nightmare to reality.
‘It wasn’t real.’ you assure yourself. Even knowing logically so didn’t make it feel any less, your hands rubbing at the scars branded around your wrist in a permanent reminder. They had begun fading though you had doubts they would ever disappear completely. A fitting punishment for your inadequacies.
“Everything alright in here?” You startle, looking up to see Shanks sitting on the windowsill. While his presence is a surprise enough- more so focusing on the fact that your room is on the third floor, and you knew he hadn’t come through the door as you always made sure to lock it- it’s not entirely unwelcome.
The man himself doesn’t seem concerned, lounging on the sill lazily. He was already dressed for the day and that fact alone was a bit concerning as the man was known to sleep until the late hours of the morning if you let him, leaving you to wonder what time it was.
You rub at your eyes, tossing your feet over the side of the bed and thanking your past self for being too tired to bother doing anything more than taking your shoes off.
“We’re all gathering for lunch just down the street if you care to join us.” He hums, resting his head on his knee while his other leg swings casually out the window.
You nod, not having the energy to scold him as you might normally and reaching for your shoes, quickly lacing them up with fumbling fingers, still bleary from sleep. Shanks follows you out the door- which was still locked- leading the way to a small restaurant on the corner with even more of a pep to his step than normal. The streets seem to bustle with a similar energy, many practically running about. Not with panic, but a tangible sense of excitement.
The rest of the crew is already gathered inside, their energy a contrast to how you currently feel, still trying to chase the last of the sleep from your mind even as they tease you for finally being the one to sleep in so late. Something you were constantly getting after them about.
You haven’t even sat down before a mug is being shoved into your hands, steam curling up with a bitter tang. You don’t bother opening your eyes, already knowing who it was by the way smoke mixes with the smell of coffee.
Beckman. The only one who could make a proper cup, even if you did find it a bit weak at times.
It’s only after the first sip that you spare him a look, wishing you hadn’t as you catch Shanks leaning down and whispering something into his ear. You don’t hear it over the general murmur of the space but you can take a good guess based on the way his eyes flicker over to meet yours with a trace of pity. You hate it when people look at you like that. Especially Beckman. He was the only one who had openly addressed your nightmares.
You were sure the rest had heard you at one point or another- the walls on the ship not as thick as one may think and if you could hear them snoring down the hall there was no doubt they could as well- yet they neglected to mention it, much to your relief. Yassop once alluded to having a rough night of sleep but dropped the topic when you asked, with a tone that cut like steel, why it would be rough. Hongo offhandedly mentioned a sleeping aid that he left on his desk, refilling the box when he noticed it was low.
You weren’t the only ones with nightmares. The rest of the crew had seen and experienced their own fair share of things while traveling that still rolled in their heads even when they wished them away. It seemed more justified for them and you could only imagine some of the things they’d seen. What they had done to earn themselves such a reputation.
It was after you couldn’t get back to sleep that you ran into Beckman as he sat on night watch. It had been a fruitless endeavor to try and sneak away before he noticed, calling out to you before you could even make it back to the cabin. He didn’t ask about the red eyes or the way you rubbed your wrists raw. He only offered a sip from his flask, the drink burning away the tremble of your hands. You sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, until the sun began to rise, touches of warmth burning away the terrors of the night and bringing to light your own feeling of foolishness.
Weren’t bad things supposed to mark you stronger on the other side? You didn’t feel very strong. Only like the shattered pieces left had been hastily shoved back together and fused under the pressure of having to continue on in spite of it, everything there but not quite right and leaving you as a misshapen amalgamation of what once was.
He didn’t ask about your nightmares then, just as he didn’t now, those stormy eyes of his doing more to wake you than the coffee, though you pointedly ignored the attention as you stole a biscuit from Snake’s tray. There were murmurs about a celebration of some kind and the timing of your visit began to make a bit more sense. Of course they would find any excuse to drink and laugh, though you couldn’t deny your own budding excitement about the event.
It was only after you finished eating- a rather indulgent lunch full of things that didn’t store well on the ship- that you quickly excused yourself, skillfully dodging the other patrons and pretending not to hear Beckman calling after you.
The village wasn’t the most expansive yet everything seemed tightly packed together creating a buzzing atmosphere. You walked without much direction, the explicit intention of getting lost.
It’s not so much sight you follow but rather sound, turning whichever way draws attention the most until you find yourself standing before a small square. Nothing like the center of town but enough to allow people to gather, as well as to stand without being in the way of those passing by. Such as one young lady is doing. She sits with a familiar stringed instrument tucked in front of her, brows furrowed in concentration as her fingers move deftly over the strings. A few passersby stop to listen, tossing an odd coin into the open case.
”You should’nt really hold it like that.” You speak before you can stop yourself. The girl pauses in her actions, as if startled that someone was acknowledging her.
”What?”
”Your hand.” You gesture to the hand at the top of the instrument. “You shouldn’t have it at such a sharp angle. If you tilt it a bit lower you could reach the notes easier and more quickly.” Stepping closer, you sit on the bench beside her.
”May I?” You ask, gesturing to the instrument. She hesitates, not that you blame her. The community seems rather close, and a stranger must be a bit more of an odd sight here. Its better to be cautious than careless. One may cost you friends, but the other could be your life.
You offer your name, to which she meekly responds with her own.Octavia. The name itself brings an amused set to your face.
“I promise I’m not going to break it. It’s just something that’s easier show.”
She mulls your words for a minute before handing the instrument over. It’s lighter than you remember, possibly made of a different wood. Hopefully it wouldn’t play too differently and you briefly have a moment of panic wondering if you’re about to make a fool of yourself. Yet as soon as you get into proper position it feels as if you’ve slipped into a well worn pair of shoes once forgotten in the back of the closet.
You strike a simple chord, noting the way the woven strings no longer dig into the flesh of your fingers. Callouses from you working aboard the ship now protect them, more expansive than any musicians are in lack of the precise areas that the strings would hit. Octavia herself has them, though slightly off center from where they would normally be.
”I’m assuming you learned how to play from a book?”
Octavia nods, eyes focused on the way your fingers sit, the positioning unfamiliar. Instead of holding your fingers at a rigid angle the wrist remains relaxed, almost pointing upward.
”You play?”
”Not much, especially in recent times, but my father was very skilled. He tried to teach me but it didn’t hold my attention much. Still, it was a good way for me to spend more time with him.”
The paint is a different color and the strings a finer material, but the familiar thrum through the wood soothes an unknown ache.
”On the island this instrument originates from the people have longer ring and index fingers than normal.” You begin playing a simple tune, one meant to more familiarize new users with the instrument than anything complex, but beautiful to your own ears all the same.
“If you don’t have the same genetics then it can be difficult to play, especially as someone self taught from a book. It would show you the proper way to play instead of what’s best suited for you.”
You slip from one note to another, speed picking up as your hands loosen, the rust of the motions quickly ground away.
Octavi’s eyes widen as you pluck the strings in quick succession, more complex and with a level of difficulty that gives even you a bit of a stumble from being out of practice. Yet she doesn’t seem to notice, transfixed by the movements. It’s a song you know well even if you haven’t played it too many times, having heard it more than the number of days there were in a year.
You finish, handing the instrument back with a reverent care. It takes a bit but Octavia gets the hand placement down, a small gasp at the way her fingers glide easily as it slides between the notes.
“Have you been playing for long?”
“Only a few years.” She seems almost embarrassed.
She plays once more, allowing you to lean back, eyes closed to fully listen. You hadn’t heard the sound of such an instrument in years, rare outside its origins. The same songs could be played yet it felt almost a mockery of what you knew it could be. It wasn’t perfect by any means, a wrong note reaching your ears, yet sounded better than anything you had ever accomplished. Maybe there was some truth that some things could only be experienced passively to reach their full enjoyment. How could one take in the full beauty of a song when countless thoughts flew through your head just to achieve it?
“I would think much longer. You play quite well.” Octavia flushes under your praise, hiding behind the neck of the instrument as she continues to play.
‘You can tell when a musician puts their love into their music.’ your father had told you, reverently cleaning every inch of the wood before putting it away each night. He may not have loved the instrument as much as some, but he loved what he played for. Or rather who he played for. An eccentric man such as himself couldn’t pick a normal instrument. Only the most lovely for the most beautiful performer.
For a moment you expected them to be there, the image crystal clear in your mind. Your mother would spin and jump with her melodic voice that never failed to captivate, more acrobatic than you could ever hope to be, while your father plucked away. His music was unique on its own, shifting and changing to match her pace, perfectly in tune with one another as if they shared one mind.
There’s no one left to remember them the way you do. To know the sound of their voices or the way your mothers voice hitched before delivering a punchline, already laughing at her own joke. The way your father would scatter breadcrumbs to attract birds to the balcony just so you could listen to them singing in the morning when you woke, their songs drifting through the early morning light.
If only you could dance with them once more. To feel at peace. At home.
“Are you okay?” Octavia’s voice startles you, jolting as her hand hovers over your shoulder. Wet tracks trace down your face, hastily scrubbed away as you force a small breath that sounds akin to a laugh.
“Yes, just a bit sentimental that’s all.”
She clasps your hand in hers. “You must see me play at the celebration tonight.”
Her forwardness takes you by surprise, a new fire burning in her eyes. Her smile is bright, full of hope that only persists in youth. The heaviness that had plagued you since waking lifted just a bit.
“Of course. I’ll make sure to wear my dancing shoes.”
The moment is broken as you hear your name being called. Not the normal low tones of the crew but something distinctively feminine. You had just enough time to look up and see an increasingly familiar blur of colors speeding towards you.
Honey, you realize, just as she nearly slams full force into you, sliding to a stop. She doesn’t stop to explain as an arm hooks through yours dragging you away before anyone can stop her, only able to shout a hasty goodbye to Octavia before you're pulled away.
It’s a struggle to keep up, pulled along until you reach a house. The walls are the same crème color as the others, pops of color coming in at the doors and windows, painted with bright colors. Rose bushes line the exterior in full bloom, casting a delicate scent through the air. It’s simple. A single story with one main room of a kitchen that blends into the living room and two doors that you assume lead to the bedroom and bathroom. There’s small glass fixtures scattered throughout, from the hanging light covered with a swirling shade of blue to the small half wall- dotted with delicate sculptures and vases filled with flowers- that creates a bit more division within the space. A well-worn couch is pushed against one wall while a number of pictures hang on the wall. It’s homey in a way you’ve only heard described by others. You’d always been on the move even with your parents, practically nomadic. The lifestyle had its own draw but you could see the appeal of something a bit more stable. Something more secure to be able to settle roots in.
Peeking out the stained-glass window-boasting images of ships and swirling waves- you can see another building standing just to the side, the open door giving view to a number of tools and a box that emits a bright orange light. Her workshop if you had to guess.
“You can hop in the shower. I left a new towel in there for.” Honey bustled around the house, settling a kettle on the stovetop before looking at you over her shoulder.
“Oh, there’s a shower at the inn. I can take one tonight.” You shift on your feet, unsure of if you’re being rude or not while also remaining confused. Had she stolen you away just for a shower?
“Hongo told me you don’t have any clothes for the festival.” She explained as if it should be obvious, her nose wrinkling as she leans in to take a whiff of you. “It wouldn’t do to put you in new ones while you’re all sweaty and dirty.”
“What? What’s wrong with my clothes?”
You look down at your current attire; rough hewn pants rolled halfway up your calves and shoes that were quickly being worn out, the same inky tone as the shirt you wore. Beckman’s that had been tailored, the breathable fabric preferable to the cheap, stifling linens that made up the majority of your own wardrobe. You weren’t going to a gala but it wasn’t as rough as some of the others on the crew. There were no holes or stains, and the material hadn’t even begun fraying on the edges despite the frequent wear.
“I just thought it might be fun to have something a bit more special for the occasion.”
Honey seemed a bit dejected and a twinge of guilt hit you. She was obviously excited about the prospect, and it would be nice to wear something different even for the night. Your mind flashes back to Beckman's words from the day before, just as stabbing as when he first said them.
You sigh, Honey taking the action as an admission of defeat and pushing you towards the bathroom, calling to come out when you’re done.
The shower was relaxing you had to admit. The water was warmer than any inn’s got, the soaps scented with florals and fruity flavors. Nice ones too. Not the cheapest you could get that would still do the job as you were used to.
Every inch of skin was scrubbed as the water ran a dove tone, cringing at the sight. Were you really that dirty without noticing? You didn’t feel that gross, having bathed not even a full two days ago. Maybe that’s what you get for spending so much time around men, you conclude, making a mental note to shower more often even if they did complain about using more of the soap.
Drying off, you slip your undergarments back on, giving your hair a brief run over with the towel to get the initial dampness from it, feeling as if you’d taken too long in the shower and not wanting to make your host wait any longer. She’d said to take all the time needed, but the bright, delicate nature of the bathroom was a shock compared to the quick scrubs you were used to. The ceramic of the tub was a lot more slippery than the wooden basin and more than once you found yourself almost slipping.
Stepping out with the towel wrapped firmly around, you find the house is empty. Honey must have gone out to grab something you assume when your brief search comes up empty. Likely she thought you would take a bit longer in the bathroom.
After a few awkward minutes of standing around and getting progressively more chilled, a frame- centered on the wall among all the others- catches your attention. It features Hongo with his face squished against Honey’s, looking utterly pleased with himself even as her smile greatly outshined his own. They look to be in bed, a blanket stretched around their shoulder and hair still tousled as her arm extends out of frame to capture the shot. No matter how serious he acted it was easy to see he cared deeply, especially for his soulmate.
It's hard to picture Beckman ever doing anything of the sort. Though his bounty poster does him well, getting his good side; looking as nonchalant as he had the right to be, cigarette in one hand as his eyes glared at the photographer, a hazy trail of smoke between them. He looked devastatingly handsome, and it was completely unfair.
So focused you are on the photo that you nearly slip, glancing down to notice the puddle of water that’s accumulated. Without thinking you unwrap the towel and begin to mop up the mess, trying to do so before she comes back and has a chance to get upset about water on hardwood floors. You’re nearly done when the front door bursts open once again and you jump, quickly spinning to cover your back as your host enters.
“Sorry about that. Someone is proposing tonight and they wanted a glass box for the ring so I met them out at the shop.”
Her tone is bright but casual as she passes, leaving you to wonder if she’d seen the soulmark on your back. She says nothing, only passing you a bundle of clothing to put on and heading back into her room for more supplies, allowing you to catch sight of what looks like a lopsided bed. It looks like one of the legs are broken, leaving it tilted despite the books stacked underneath. She catches you staring, quickly shutting the door with an embarrassed laugh as she scratches her neck. At least someone had a good night.
“Shanks got those for you.” She mentions as she pours you a cup from the kettle. Her words have you eyeing the wrappings with a new suspicion, hardly wanting to imagine what the lecherous man had sent, Honey finding amusement in your expression. After learning about Shanks peeping-though the man still denied any devious intentions- Beckman had installed a heavy latch on the door to the medical room from the inside that would take a decent amount of force to open. He’d done it wordlessly, coming back from training with Yassop to wash the discomfort of sweat away and discovering you no longer needed to slide a chair under the handle. You hadn’t even known it was him until Limejuice had complained that they weren’t total miscreants.
“We all know better than to try.” He grumbled, receiving a swat upside the head.
Despite any misgiving, the clothes are a surprisingly good fit, easily tailored in places that they don’t hang quite right. You still wear pants but they’re much more theatrical than your normal practical pair. Three times the amount of fabric shining a comforting green- like the fancy olives Roux hid in the top cabinet- as it hangs loosely around your legs to give the impression of a skirt. You’d been offered a number of bracelets and necklaces but declined, the feeling of them proving to be too much after the first had been clipped on. You’d once worn a number of them yourself to match with your mother, metals and stones mixed without much care for coordination, but those days were far behind you now. Honey still insisted you needed something, as would be expected at the festival with everyone else wearing whatever they could to elicit the chiming. Instead, a number of small bells were clipped to your clothes, the sound drawing a wry smile as you gave your foot an experimental stomp.
The top is cut low in the back, the loose white fabric showing much of your skin in a way that has you nervous for more than one reason. While you work on stitching the fabric together to bring it at least below your shoulder blades, Honey runs a hand over your worn and folded clothes, taking careful note of the stitches that run along the back from being taken in.
“So, you and Beckman?”
You whip around as she rifles through a sizable box, the sound of metal clinking together as the once cozy room turns to freezing in a fraction of a second. Before you can even attempt a protest she's waving you off.
“Don’t even try to deny it. I see the way he looks at you, and your reaction now is enough.” She laughs, leaving out the fact that Hongo had also confirmed last night but swore her to secrecy. It was also made apparent that Shanks was the only other one who knew and her empathy extended to you. She remembered when he had taken it upon himself to get her and Hongo together.
“If you don’t want to be so obvious," she adds, her eyes crinkling. "Then try to stop acting like you're committing a crime. You looked like you saw a ghost when I came in earlier.”
Honey guides you to a chair, her hands working to tame your hair that remained stubborn even after the salt had been scrubbed from it, much more relaxed than you felt.
“I’m not going to tell him.” She assures you, taking your hands in hers, thumbs brushing carefully over the marks accumulated both from before and after your joining of the crew. Not pitying or unease as you’d come to expect when others saw them, but more so thoughtful. She suddenly seems far away, back in her own memories as she hums. “He’s a good man, all things considered. There are few I would trust more.”
“He thinks soulmates are dumb.” You mumble, unable to look her in the eye. If you had, you would've caught the flicker of confusion before it was quickly smoothed away.
Beckman was one of the crew she knew the best. Levelheaded and someone Hongo had told her to turn to if anything were to ever happen to him. While he never expressed any desire to meet his soulmate he had never been extremely vocal about any opposition. He still scoffed when she and Hongo got too lovey, but so did many who hadn’t found theirs. It was simply an indescribable feeling that you could understand until you experienced it. She couldn’t even acutely describe it herself even now.
“I think you should just tell him.”
You jolted as if burned, only held in place by her firm grip. She sure was stronger than she seemed.
“I’m fine just having him around, really.” You insisted, pulling your hands away in favor of wrapping them around your waist, nails digging into your sides. “I don’t think I could handle the rejection and it’s better than losing him completely.”
Honey sighed, rubbing her temples. It was obvious you were in love with each other, yet he had for some forsaken reason decided to act in such a way that made you scared to admit it to him. She could wring his neck and had half a mind to give him an earful but that would only expose the secret you seemed so desperate to hide.
Beckman could toss himself overboard for all she cared at the moment. It was clear that you needed more comfort than the stubborn pirate.
“Forget about him for the night.” She finally said, turning you around to the mirror. The person who stares back is hardly recognizable. The same features are all there but hardened, sharpened with the edge of experience. Would anyone who knew you three years ago even recognize you? You hardly even recognize yourself.
Honey pulls your attention, rustling about in her bag and pulling out an array of indulgent items one would be hard pressed to find on a pirate ship. You eye the bottle of perfume, the amber glass catching the light.
“You and I are going to have our own fun.”
—————————-——-
Beckman sits next to Shanks, listening as one of the heads of the island fills them in on everything that's happened in their absence. Despite knowing the importance of staying up to date on all the going-on of Shanks territory Beckman can’t focus on whatever he's saying, his mind elsewhere. You’d darted away rather suddenly after lunch before he could stop you, and it had been hours since he’d seen you. At first he had thought you’d simply gone back to your room for the night once more despite your excitement about the festival but a few of the others had mentioned seeing you around.
As long as you were having fun he told himself. Just because you were on the crew didn’t mean you had to be around them constantly. While he found joy in being around his friends and crewmates he also found himself wishing for a bit more privacy at times, taking a moment to himself just to think whenever he got the chance. A bit of breathing room could be good, even if he did find himself missing your presence. It would be much more enjoyable is he could be alone with you.
Hongo sits with them. An abnormal occurrence, as whenever they’re on the island it seems as if they can’t pull him from Honey's side. Always touching each other in one way or another, nearly attached at the hip. despite the time spent away it seemed as if Hongo had never left, the two falling into step as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Would you act like that if you ever found your soulmate? The thought curled his stomach, food no longer appetizing. Hongo hadn’t eve touched his, a goofy look on his face as he stared towards the crowd that had gathered, dancing the night away to music that started just before sunset. He didn’t have to look to see what the doctor was staring at yet found himself doing so anyway, curious as to why Hongo hadn’t joined. The man had never been shy about sweeping her off her feet before.
Looking over, he saw that she was indeed dancing. The skirt she wore for the night flowed around her with a mind of its own as she stepped in time with the music, occasionally bumping into those around her who only brushed it off with a laugh. Not as often as she might with the hands that guide her- much more skilled than Hongo's- pulling and twirling her around much to her amusement. Beckman was surprised that Hongo wasn’t storming over to steal her away, a teasing remark already on his tongue that was stopped before it could escape.
It was the hands that gave it away, the marks nearly indistinguishable in the low light of the lanterns lit around the area. Hands he often watched skillfully tying knots in rigging with a delicate precision, of which he also had seen deliver a strike so hard it could crack a person’s jaw. Which brushed his as they handed him pages from the paper once done reading.
There you were, a wild smile splitting your face, all teeth and laughs he could feel more than hear, the sound long ago committed to memory. You wore clothing of flowing silks instead of heavy cotton and canvas that was normally favored. While you lacked any ostentatious adornments Beckman couldn’t help but think it would almost tarnish the image, distracting from yourself, which could be no more perfect than you already were.
As you spun he caught a glimpse of your upper back, the scars that laced the skin visible even at this distance. He had always assumed you were self-conscious about them, always careful to cover your back and refusing to get into anything that would allow a bit more relief from the heat as you kept the garment firmly tucked into our pants. But it seemed you didn’t care in the moment, shoulders lax as you twisted momentarily out of his view, standing to catch sight of you once again.
You moved with a flowing elegance, no less competent than the light footing you maintained in a fighting. It seemed the skill was transferable as you grabbed Honey and twirled her, the gauzy fabric looped loosely around your arms, flowing with each motion. In the low light of the night, you looked like a flower in bloom, petals unfurling as you spun turn. His gaze wasn't unlike that of Hongo’s, and while his lips parted and eyes widened, Shanks could only grin.
”She’s quite beautiful isn’t she. Turns out our little rat is quite the jewel. I heard a couple of the locals talking about her.” Indeed he had, though many were too intimidated to approach. His words still produced the desired effect, Beckman’s fist tightening around his drink, the awe of his gaze hardening.
Shanks caught the eye of the musicians, sending them a wink that had the music changing to something different. A cheer from the crowd picking up as they recognized the notes and began pairing off. Hongo moved quickly from his seat, long strides eating the distance like nothing. You saw him coming over Honey's shoulder, spinning her from your arms and into his own as the three of you laughed.
You drift to the edge of the crowd, watching the dancers move, content to sit this one out even if you looked a bit disappointed. Beckman spots a man approaching. The one who had made you laugh, who had gotten a bit too close for his liking, and now was making his way over through the crowd as you remained oblivious.
“You should stop him before he gets to her.” Shanks goads, nudging his friend.
“She can dance with whoever she likes.” The words are growled. Of course others would want to dance with you. Who wouldn’t? You could spin the whole night away in the arms of strangers and he would be left to watch with no right to step in. A simmering burn low in his stomach, threatening to spill out and feeling as if he'd drunk nothing but pure spirits fit only for cleaning and wiping the mind of any memories.
Beckman’s wallowing was interrupted as he’s shoved forward, sent stumbling in your direction before he could get his feet under himself. He has half a mind to throw the offender into the sea when he notices the man from before about to call your attention, his eyes too hopeful for Beckman's liking. You stand back from the crowd, watching as the joyous atmosphere seeps into every inch of the area. You would have to see how often celebrations like this occurred, the most fun you’d had in a long while, the feeling nearly as intoxicating as any drink. It would be worth it to stop by this island more often, and you doubted Hongo would have any qualms about it.
Honey had indeed kept her promise of fun with not a moment of rest as she lead you from one place to another, introducing you to anyone who lingered a moment too long and pulling you into the crowd as the music had started with hardly a moment to breathe. You’ll sleep well tomorrow even if your feet hurt in the morning, the shoes just a size too big but not enough to care. For now you’re content as you watch Hongo and HS twirl through the crowd, a bit impressed with how the man moves. He gazes at her as if she were the only thing there, eyes not wandering for a moment as his hands remain firmly around hers. He leans down, whispering something in her ear that makes her blush and pull away even as she laughs.
A part of you still wants to continue but the dance was clearly intended for pairs, and as many people as you had met not one name had stuck enough for you to feel comfortable enough to ask, names and faces quickly blending together. Through the outskirts of the crowd you spot a familiar face heading towards you, one of the few you do recognize. The man from the ship earlier. He catches your eye, face lighting up as he waves.
“Hey, would you-“
Before he can finish a set of hands lock around your waist, making you jump as you pull back into the fray of moving bodies. Instinct dictates action, fist shooting to deliver a nasty blow to the person brave enough to just grab you. The action is cut short as a much larger hand grabs your own, redirecting the forced and tossing the limb over his shoulder.
“Beckman?”
The first mate stands opposite of you, moving with a surprising ease while leading you through steps you’re not quite familiar with, though he seems to have no trouble. Did everyone on the crew know how to dance like this? It would make sense if they stopped by the island often enough, but they’d never alluded to anything beyond their jarring movement when they drank and were merry. A far cry from the way he picks you up into the air as you had been doing with Honey, butterflies in your stomach as he does so. His hands feel warm through the thin fabric, sturdy as they tighten with the movement.
“Haven’t seen you wear this before.” He leans in close as he speaks over the noise of the crowd, breath ghosting over your skin and eliciting chills despite the warmth from dancing and the lanterns that are lit plenty around. You lean away, trying to gather your thoughts as you clear your throat.
“Apparently Shanks thought I needed some new clothes and Honey agreed. It feels a bit of a waste though. I have no idea where I would wear this.” You glance down at the fabric as it flows with the movement of your body. A shame, as it really was nice. You wouldn’t have though your captain to be the most fashionable of people, wondering how much of a hand HS had in picking the pieces.
The deviation from your normal wardrobe had you feeling nervous. No for the clothes themselves but for the company in which you wore them in. It seemed some of the crew had taken it upon themselves to dress up even if their main interest lay in the food and drinks.
Beckman himself was wearing an outfit of similar colors, his own shirt loose where his normal attire was more fitted. It did little to hide his wide shoulders, but succeeded in doing so with his arms, keeping the thick limbs from view. It would have been more disappointing if the deep cut going down his front didn’t allow a rather generous view of his chest. There was a rather aggressive tan line that told of where the collar of his shirt normally sat and it might have been amusing if it didn’t take so much effort to keep your eyes from wandering lower. The image would undoubtedly be cataloged along with all the others that tormented you at night.
“I didn’t think you knew how to dance.” You raise a brow as he nearly steps on your toes, earning a grin from the man as you push him back a step.
“Shanks likes us to take part in the festivities, and everyone already has a partner. Besides, you’ve seen me dance before.”
“Hah!” You laugh, slapping his arm. “I would call that more stumbling and jumping around.”
HIs only response is sticking a foot behind your own and causing you to trip, forced to latch onto his shoulders for support.
“Who’s stumbling now?”
While you had originally attributed his new floral scent to the being forced into bathing as well, his hair with a new shine and looking particularly soft, you detect a hint of brew on his breath. Not enough to be overpowering but reminding you what allows his hands to hold you in such a familiar way. Loving even, as your own sit on his shoulders. It overpowers the scent of smoke that normally clings to him, and you find yourself missing it.
The song ends and you feel Beckman go to pull away as the crowd merges together once again, yet it’s your own hands that refuse to let go, clinging to him like a vice. You knew you should let him go. To let this foolish little hope that had sparked in you fizzle, stomping out the ashes before they could rise to a blaze if left unattended. But it couldn’t hurt to warm yourself by them for just a moment longer before plunging back into the freeze of solitude.
And so, you pulled him along with you, taking the lead as you guided him through dance after dance, feeling the music rather than hearing it, allowing the melody to cloud your thoughts and judgment even if just for a night. You caught a glimpse of Honey grinning at you from where she now sat with the others, perched comfortable on Hongo's lap. Shanks's face is nearly identical, you and Beckman both giving each of the two their own looks of warning, begging them not to ruin the moment you both so desperately wished to stretch out, not knowing when the other might allow such a closeness again. You could blame it on the drinks and excitement of the night in the morning, swiping away the lingering touches as thinking more into than you should.
It was only when you stumbled on aching feet did Beckman pull you away for a break. Not towards any of the tables piled with food and drink but in the direction of the beach where things were a bit more quiet. Less crowded. Nobody stopped you, though plenty of eyes followed.
Still panting, Beckman took a swig of the canteen attached to his hip, offering the container to you. Your initial instinct was to refuse, the hard liquor he normally kept there too burning for your taste, but the scent was not the rubbing alcohol equivalent you had come to know. Instead, it was something a bit sweeter that prompted your curiosity enough to accept. A small sip told you it was wine, though you wouldn’t be able to give the specific type. Something red was the best you could guess. Shanks mentioned he had a friend who made his own so maybe it was from him.
You drank once again, a bit deeper and thankful to quench your thirst. Water would have been better but it seemed too much effort to go and find some right now.
Beckman watched you drink, your body relaxed as you sat down in the sand. One hand sat braced behind you while the other clutched the container. He had switched the contents a few weeks ago, noting the way your nose wrinkled whenever he unscrewed the lid and you happened to get a whiff. It was sweeter than he would have thought he would prefer though it seemed to be perfectly to your taste, tongue peeking out to clean the corners of your mouth before handing it back as he sat beside you.
The cool breeze from the ocean felt blissful on your heated skin, chilling the light sweat that had gathered from all the excitement. You sat in silence, passing the canteen between you and trying not to think about how your lips were touching the same spot.
“It’s nice here.” You finally said, both to yourself and company, voice touched with a tinge of longing. Cicadas buzzed in the low grass, dulling the chatter of the celebration and offering a buffer of privacy. The whole place was rather idealistic. Almost too good to be true. Good food, good weather, and above all good people. With the protection of Shanks, it seemed they lived without much worry that many on the grand line did.
“My father grew up in a place like this. He used to tell me stories all the time.”
He always called it lovely. Not perfect, but good, like it mattered more than its flaws. The sound of gulls in the morning, the way the light hit the water just before sunset, the crooked little houses leaning into each other like they shared secrets. Said the air always smelled faintly of salt and sun-warmed wood, that the streets curved like they had somewhere better to be. He never went back. Just carried it around in stories, polishing it a little more each time he recalled.
“Would you like to stay?” Beckman asks after a pause, curiosity overriding everything else. Shanks would let you without much fuss, even if the thought didn’t sit right with him. Your presence would always haunt the ship, and he wasn’t the kind of man who could wait so long to see you like Hongo. Then again, you weren’t lovers, were you? Was it too much to hope that you would still stay for the crew? For him?
“Stay? No.” You laugh, part in surprise and part just to tease him. What a ridiculous thought to even have. “I've got too much of my mother’s blood in me. I could never stay in one place, no matter how lovely it is. My father was the homely one.”
It doesn’t hurt to talk about them as much as it should, especially with your dream the previous night. Maybe it’s the wine dulling your sense or maybe just the company, unearthing your feelings to your soulmate even if you couldn’t share the ones you truly wanted to. It could even be the haunting sound of his instrument you could hear playing even now from the stage, Octavia no doubt plucking away at the strings. I had been impossible to get to her with everything going on, relegated to a wave after catching each other through the crowd. She seemed to truly shine on stage. A far cry from the shy girl you'd met earlier.
“He was a scholar you know. He liked to learn things. I could ask a question about nearly anything and he would have an answer, though he did have a particular love for botany.” You leaned a bit more, shoulder now brushing against Beckman's. He was practically steaming, already a human furnace and the dancing doing nothing to cool him as the temperature continued to drop.
“He would bring my mother flowers all the time. All kinds of shapes and colors, each bouquet with their own meaning. She didn’t have much care for what they meant, and much to his distress she always loved Cyclamen. He’d give them to her even if he was upset about it.” You laugh, the wine hazing your mind in a pleasant buzz. The bells attached to your sleeves chime as you lean back to lay in the soft sand, staring up at the stars which seem to dance above.
“She was soft for him, and he was strong for her. They both went against everything their lives demanded from them to be together. I think they would both give me an earful for my current situation though.”
A pirate, Beckman surmised. Likely they had wanted a better future for you. Something safer, more secure. A life of comfort that you deserved. But it was hard to see you as anything but the person you were now, your restless spirit burning bright.
A coward, you thought to yourself. To have your soulmate within reach and not take them. Your mothers voice practically screamed in your head, much in the way she had forced you to get your own toys back when they were stolen.
‘Things are not given to you. You have to work and take them.’
But what right did you have to take this?
You still miss them, that much is evident. You’ll never be able to replace them. They had been worried about you being on your own, and for the longest time you had been. Some days the hole in your chest feels so empty you wonder if there’s anything there at all, and if they were to crack you open there would be nothing but an endless void. If whatever was truly you was left behind with them and now just a walking husk.
Then Yassop would slap you upside the head for not paying attention, or Roux would give a lecture on the importance of food for a growing body. The moments of debilitating silence were far in few between with the rowdy crew, always keeping you on your toes. Not enough to fill the void, but soothing in a way. And Beckman was there to keep it all together with his dry humor and overwhelming presence that may stifle some but lay only as a presence of comfort on your own shoulders, tying everything together and refusing to let it fall.
“I think they would be happy that I found you.”
“Me?” Beckman's words should come with a prickling tease to get under your skin yet are only spoken with question. A Freudian slip that has you jolting.
“Yeah. You and the crew.” The correction is swift, a surprising ease of words as your heavy eyes shoot open. Beckman seems a bit less tense at the assurance and you relax, content with believing it relief as opposed to the hope that sparked within him.
“I’ll wait eternity to have a fraction of what they did.” Your eyes drift close, appreciating the cool air and the sounds of joy that drifted through the air, laced over the gentle pull of the waves washing on the shore just inches away. “Instead I have been condemned to love without love.”
Beckman may never love you as you do him, but you could wait forever if needed. His care and companionship was all you needed, or so you tell yourself. The same lie every night as you try not to think of what it would be like to have him next to you. A practical thing. You never had nightmares when he was around, often falling asleep talking with him on the deck and waking more well rested than any other day.
“Forever is a long time.” Beckman says.
Why not now? Is what he wants to ask, the words slipping out before he can stop them. The wine is strong and loosens his own tongue. He's ready to cover his slip with a comment that’ll have you punching him in the shoulder and scolding. Yet when he looks over he finds you asleep, head falling to the side as a light snore escapes. Your lips curl just a bit, the crease of your brows smooth.
"Sleep till noon and now off to bed early." He sighs, tossing his coat over you to stave off the night. Carrying back to the room could wait. Maybe you'd wake up on your own and want to go back to the celebration. His eyes slip back to the moon that hangs full above, the only witness to your conversation.
A traveling storyteller he often listened to as a child once told how the spirits of the passed lived in the moon, and that the stars were their gift to help guide the living. He wondered if your parents were up there. If they would approve of his love or cursed him for getting in the way of finding your soulmate. Not that they could tell him now. All he could do was sit beside you, listening to the distant sounds of the celebration, as he made a promise to the moon and feeling utterly ridiculous as he did so.
A promise that he wouldn’t leave your side until you found what you were looking for, whatever that may be.
A/N: a little blurb for Shanks as I get more into the groove for the longer fic of his that will come out after I finish If Not Fate, Then This.
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Everyone who knew Shanks knew him to be a joyous man with a smart-mouth tolerated only by the skill he brought with it. Easy on the eyes but with seemingly little interest in those who attempted to persuade him. His flings were few and far between. It was an odd thing for a man who seemed so keen to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, but then again it was also said he had perculiar taste. Maybe he was just waiting for the right person, though who that was not even Shanks himself knew.
It was all the more surprising when he ended up with you, his days of indifference grinding to a halt with the proclamation that you were the only one for him. And while that wasn’t odd enough it would have instead made more sense of you were a bit more like him. Easygoing and good natured, able to appreciate the small and large things of life alike without worry. In reality you were almost the opposite, a cool head on your shoulders that approached everything with an analytical practicality, if not reluctant indifference. Never malicious, but with an air of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to handle things if it came to down to it. It had taken him weeks to get you to agree to come with them and even long to get you to agree to a date.
By no means were you uptight, but it was more rare to see you at ease; something which only the red-haired captain seemed to entice out, and maybe is why you worked so well together, perfectly balancing one another. Or maybe Shanks had chosen you based on an aching familiarity. One could only assume as much with the view currently before him.
You sat next to Beckman, lounging on the deck of the anchored ship. A table sat between you, both with part of the weekly paper in hand, passing the pages back and forth as you finished them. In sync you reached for your cups, sipping the coffee- of which you both took the same way- before setting them back with tandem thumps. A shout from one of the others drew your attention, heads turning in sync as your brows drew together at whatever was seen. Your sigh of exasperation was only differentiated by the fact that Beckman’s was two octaves deeper, roughened by the cigarettes he smoked while you wrinkled your nose at the smell of them. Instead the white stick jutting from your lips was instead a sucker, weak for all things sweet and to which the captain was all too eager to indulge. Maybe that’s how Shanks had finally wooed you with his honed words and gestures. Loyalty ran like a rod molded to your spine, keeping you upright even as the world tried to batter you down. As unflinching in your beliefs as the man beside you.
Even your posture was the same, ankle crossed over a knee and head tilted as you scan the page. Your rifles, nearly the same model just a few years off, were both leaning against your chairs.
“You two are really creepy. It’s like you’re the same person.” Hongo said as he climbed the steps. As if to prove his point your heads tilt in confusion, only making the doctor grimace and shiver.
“It makes sense if you think about it.” You start, folding the paper.
“Who else could handle our captain so well.” Beckman adds, his tone delivering the words in the same exact way. Shanks frowned from where he sat comfortably on his hammock, not quite sure if he liked what ‘handled’ implied. He was a Yonko! Not a child!
“God now you’re even finishing each other’s sentences. Might as well start dressing the same.”Hongo groans, drawing a scowl from you while Beckman only goes back to his paper. It’s clear his words are bothersome, Shanks’s keen eye picking up the way you pout even if to others it may seem more like a glare.
Shanks calls out, getting your attention and gesturing for you to come over. Once close enough he grabs your waist and pulls you down onto the hammock with him, easily maneuvering your body even with one hand. The position isn’t unfamiliar. While reluctant to initiate physical contact- just as the steely-eyed first mate- you by no means rejected it, curling up into his side and resting your head on his chest. One of the biggest differentiating factors between you. A single tally of defense on the list while the side of comparison ran three times as long.
“I’m not a copy of Beckman.” The words are absolute, confident, spoken with the utmost belief in their truth and uncaring if others agree. Just like another aboard the ship. But like that man, Shanks knows it would be a loosing battle to try and change your mind. Lying would be worse and seen through almost immediately, so instead he choses to focus on what’s true.
“Not at all. You’re much more good looking, and much nicer.” The words draw a grunt from said man, getting up and leaving you alone with no word of goodbye, taking the paper with him even though you hadn’t finished.
“I think you hurt his feelings.”
“Well it’s not him I have in my bed every night, is it?” Shanks said as his hand trails along your skin, gooseflesh erupting in its wake.
“You could have for all I know. Bet he would be a good lover as well. At least that’s what I gather from the sounds of it.”
True, as much as the crew complained when you kept them up at night- to the point Beckman himself had intervened and placed padding on the headboard even after you made a valiant effort to keep the noise down, practically smothering Shanks with a pillow out of consideration for the others- the first mate himself was worse. It got to the point he wasn’t allowed to bring anyone on the ship and his escapades were relegated to inn rooms and invitations to the homes of his paramours.
“Careful love, I might get jealous.” Shanks’s lips skim your forehead as he speaks, warning mixed into his words. An odd thing, in your opinion, as you speak only from observation.
“What? You’re not one to be shy about that sort of thing. You practically had your tongue down my throat the other day when he walked in, and kept me in your lap the entire time he gave his report on Marine activity along the territory boarder.” You hum in thought.
Of all the crew Beckman was the one to catch you in the most compromising positions and situations. In fact it seemed Shanks often grew more devious and excited whenever he noticed the man’s presence. Was it simply the fact of claiming you so publicly and the thrill of being watched, or did he have some other thoughts behind his friend’s proximity? Shanks had never brought it up and you’d never asked.
“I mean if you really wanted to invite him in one night I-“
Before you can finish the stretch of fabric you lay in jolts, nearly tossing you as the world spins, finding Shanks now over you, one leg steadying the sway of the hammock with a steady purchase on the deck while the other brackets a knee by your hip. He’s considerate enough not to rest all of his weight on you, but still enough to let you know it’ll be a fight to get up.
“Have you forgotten?” He captures your lips with his, a possessive claiming as his hand roughly grasp your jaw, holding you in place as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He tastes of mint and lemon, the empty cup sitting next to his foot after you had forced it upon him with a lecture about scurvy. Even as you run out of air and try to pull away he doesn’t let you, keeping his lips firmly locked with your own. It’s an unknown amount of time when he finally draws back, lips still hovering close enough to brush together as his panting breath mixes with your own. This close you can see the way his eyes are blow wide, crinkled in the corners as he grins wolfishly.
“I’m a pirate. Greedy and selfish. And I definitely don’t share what’s mine.”
“Yours?” You raise a brow, hand brushing over his shoulder and up his neck until it threads into his hair. Lightly tugging at the fiery strands from the root has him groaning, his weight sinking further down until he’s nearly crushing you. Not only that, but the telltale tingle of Haki in the air also works to drive the air from your body.
“Shanks!” It’s hard to get his name out as your vision starts to darken. Just as you start to fade air comes rushing back in all at once, a floating feeling of lightheadedness accompanying it.
“I would say Beckman knows how to listen better.”
His words are punctuate with a bite to your collarbone, his pawing hand more greedy and it’s a small mercy the others aren’t here to see it. Though they never stayed away for long.
“If you want to continue further we should go somewhere more private.”
Getting caught once in the same position had been enough for you, unable to look Yassop in the eye for weeks afterward and Shanks also upset as you placed a no touching ban for two weeks as punishment, having ignored your warnings that someone was going to see and assuring that it was alright.
“Fine.” He sighs, pausing in his mission of leaving as many marks as he pleases along your skin. His lips curl as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, too mischievous for his own good.
“But just so you know, you really did sound like Beckman there.”
Shanks has the intention of throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you below deck, but his plans are thwarted as his back meets wood. He blinks, stunned, and watching your retreating figure. You look back at him over your shoulder, eyes once again hard even if your lips betray your amusement.
“Go find him then.”
Shanks scrambles after you, tripping over his own feet before breaking out into a run.
I know I have a bunch of other things to finish but I also can’t get Shanks x Brothel Manager Reader out of my head. Like, he’s so obsessed with her and she just doesn’t care but can’t really do anything because he’s a Yonko, and the actual owner would have her head if they found out she was outright disrespectful towards him. Shanks comes all the time and she gets mad that he isn’t paying for time with any of the girls (this is a classy place. They don’t let just anyone in. You’ve gotta have a bit of money to be here and Shanks isn’t the best to portray that image when he’s lounging around with his shirt unbuttoned and still looking scruffy from the sea) so he starts paying just to be around her and taking her time. Maybe he takes over territory that her island is in and he originally comes to her because he knows where the most secrets are spilled. He likes to stay informed ya know?
Definitely going to write my Mihawk oneshot first (I’ve also got the DragonNobunaga and AlphaAizawa fics to finish), but this will probably be the next longer fic I work on after the Beckman soulmate AU is done.
Okay, so as of now I have a 20 chapter outline done, and while they may be broken up a bit if I decide too much is going on in one chapter I think that’s a good length for what I have planned. Generally what I like to do with fics like this is write them out completely and then go back and edit as I post them to avoid getting into later chapters and wishing I had changed a plot line. So you can expect the first chapter in a few months (depending on how long I decide to make each chapter). The fics I post on here might be a bit shorter than normal for a little while, and there’ll be more drabbles than full-length fics, but I’m really going to try and keep a weekly posting schedule. Also a reminder that my ask box is open!
Hope y’all are still eager to read when I finally get it out!
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The sun in this area of the Grand Line was nothing to sneeze at, leaving its lingering heat on everything within reach. Still, the almost painfully scorching sand didn’t stop the Red Hair pirates from having a good time. Little could.
Laughter carries easily across the beach where several of the men have cleared out a rough circle in the sand made of rocks and driftwood, though you would be more tempted to call it an egg with its wobbly shape. It does well enough to serve its purpose for entertainment.
Punch gets thrown down with a shout, sand spraying and ground shaking as Snake stands in the ring, victorious. The others' cheers only seem to spur him on, taking a victory lap.
You had only been watching at first, content to lounge in your own hammock a short distance away, feet buried in the warm sand, book in one hand and drink in the other- Roux being kind enough to relinquish a bottle of wine that you preferred, even if it was a bit dry. Shanks offered a plate of cheese and while it might have paired nicely the snickers of the others made you realize the joke afoot.
“You know it’s mice that like cheese.” You grit out, shoving the plate away.
”Aw, I wouldn’t go so far as to insult you like that. Mice are too sweet. They would never survive on a ship like ours.” Shanks says, tossing one of the slices in the air and catching in his mouth. “You my dear, are much more spirited.”
”Yeah, and I’ve got the marks to prove it!” Limejuice buts in, waving his scared hand in the air and earning a laugh all around.
Trying your best to ignore them, you find a bit of peace in the shade of the trees, intent on not getting a painful sunburn. The book was enjoyable, if not a bit dry. Something from Beckman's small collection, to which the others weren’t allowed in. Didn’t know how to treat nice things, or so he claimed. It was funny to discover his love of literature, the hobby unusual for a pirate of his reputation- though it shouldn’t have been too surprising given the weekly paper he ensured he got no matter what sea you were in, excused from your morning chores as you worked on the crossword printed in the back- but you were more than happy to have something to talk about him with. Even if reading had never been much of a hobbit no matter how much your father tried to get you into it. Though the history of naval warfare left much to be desired you could follow along enough to have a decent conversation about whichever section you were on, bonding over the stupidity of those in the past as well as occasionally recognizing some of the outlined information in the way the ship operated.
Your peace had lasted a few dozen pages, your own amusement making you a target once you laughed just a bit too loud while watching their antics out of the corner of your eye.
Now you’re standing in the middle of the circle, already feeling overheated under the sun, sand sticking to your clothes while Snake cracks his knuckles across from you with a grin.
“You sure about this?” he asks. Grappling wasn’t exactly your forte, but who were you to back down from a challenge? Besides, it was about getting your opponent out of the ring, not pinning them in submission.
You raise your chin, ready with your own goading response. Snake lunges forward before you can speak like the cheat he is, only for you to twist sideways, slipping under his arm the way Yasopp had been drilling into you. Sand shifts beneath your feet as you shove him off balance, ducking low and hooking a leg behind him.
He goes down with a surprised grunt, upper half falling outside the ring as he’s heckled over the loss.
Snake groans dramatically from the sand, arm thrown over his face. “I let you have that.”
“Sure you did.”
You turn with a smug grin toward the rest of the crew, ready to head back to your seat and be left in peace, only to see Beckman standing near the edge of the circle, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with that calm, unimpressed expression of his. It seemed he had come back from whatever little escapade he had been on.
You hadn’t spoken to each other since last night, a tension to your interactions as you all emerged from your rooms to find a way to spend the off day. The moment at your door replays in your head as you try to decide if you had done the right thing, resisting the urge to pull him closer and bare everything, consequences be damned. Thankful you had a moment of clarity in the morning that didn’t require dealing with an awkward bedroom guest. Even now you still wanted to kiss him, watching the way his tongue runs between his teeth in contemplation.
Hongo snorts from where he’s sitting nearby, taking your staring contest as a challenge. “Careful, Beckman. Keep staring like that and you’ll be next.”
The crew immediately perks up. Before you can even realize what’s about to happen, Beckman sighs and pushes off the tree he’d been leaning against. A predator casually approaching prey it knows can’t escape.
You blink, stepping back as your previous bravado is quickly deflated.
“H-hold on!”
Too late.
The men are already shouting encouragement as Beckman rolls his ridiculously wide shoulders, stepping onto the sand and snubbing his cigarette underfoot. How considerate. He leaves his rifle behind, completely at ease as he approaches. You place your hands on your hips, trying to appear more confident than the anxiety churning in your stomach.
“How are you going to fight without your gun?” you tease. “Seems like a disadvantage.”
His brow lifts slightly, pointedly looking you up and down. He had a good foot on you at least, not even coming up to his shoulder. The fact that he still seemed stable enough on his feet despite the indulgent day drinking wasn’t a big confidence booster either.
“Don’t worry,” he says, widening his stance. “I’ll manage.”
The match begins and it is immediately obvious you are very outmatched not only in size but skill. Not that you had been expecting anything else, but it was still a bit embarrassing the seeming lack of effort he puts in.
Beckman barely moves at first, simply shifting aside when you swing for him, your momentum carrying you past before you twist back around and try again. You do your best to avoid him as he follows you around the outskirts of the ring, taking a few dives to avoid his grasp.
“Come on, stop scurrying about Little Rat.”
The nickname strikes a nerve-normally used by Shanks in a way he assures is loving- and you manage to get a jab into his side, satisfied at the grunt he lets out. His hand is just as quick as your own, darting out to grab you. It should have been easy to avoid given the position you were at but the sand is fickle, giving way underfoot as you try to dodge and he catches your wrist easily, turning your arm just enough to pull you off balance.
You twist hard trying to break free but his grip is solid as iron and only tightens as you struggle, feet swept from under you as your back hits the ground. He pins you easily, down on one knee as he holds your hands together. You’re panting, out of breath from the near constant running since the start while he seems barely effected, only a light sheen of sweat from the heat of the day.
“Getting predictable.” he murmurs as he bends down, ponytail falling over his shoulder, close enough that it tickles your nose.
“Oh yeah?”
Instead of pulling away you lean closer, pulling yourself up as far as you can manage. Close enough that your lips brush his ear. For the first time all match Beckman hesitates. A small flicker across his face as your breath hits his ear, leaning just a bit closer to hear what you have to say. It’s enough to take him off guard.
You drive your knee upward toward his groin, a tried-and-true method that you feel a bit guilty about using but seeing no other way to unbalance him. That guilt is cut short when he almost effortlessly stops it.
His thighs clamp around your leg mid-swing, not even looking. Your eyes widen, meeting his, which he seems all too smug with. The sun shines brightly overhead, casting his face in shadow and giving him a halo of light that seems too soft for the current situation as you feel your stomach flip, breathing catching on your throat.
“That move,” he says, a conflicting hint of amusement to his words. “won’t work twice on me.”
The circle erupts in laughter and you face heats. A few catcalls ring out, as well as the insistence to get a room. Beckman glances up, likely to chastise them or beat back with his own sharp remark. But with his attention focused elsewhere you feel his grip relax just a fraction. Enough to slip from and dart out from under his arm, rolling across the sand to put distance between you even at the cost of swallowing a mouthful of the tiny grains. Before he can grab you again, already getting to his feet, you sprint out of the ring much to the complaint of the others. A disqualification that you gladly take.
You spin around a safe distance away, sticking your tongue out. Beckman watches you for a moment, keen eyes appraising in a way that verges on prying, then shakes his head with a chuckle.
“You’re getting better. Might have to watch out for you sometime in the future.”
You pause, hand halfway to your book. The compliment lands heavier than the match itself, curling in your mind like a cat in a window, utterly pleased. You were used to the casual teasing and banter you participated in with the others, even ribbing Beckman himself more than you likely ought to. It would be impolite not to include him. But the way he says it, lacking it’s normal observational tone and instead said with an air of pride, makes you feel as if you’ve been sent freefalling.
“I think that’ll be sooner than you like. Then I’ll be second mate and can boss you around.” you say, casting a grin over your shoulder. His mouth lifts at the corner, nearly microscopic as his head tilts in challenge.
You return to your spot, warm from more than just the little fight both inside and out. At least the sun could be blamed. Shanks sits not far away, reclined back in his own chair. He didn’t often participate in the little challenges of the crew, seeming to find more joy in watching than anything. If he did, there was little doubt there would be any competition at all.
“You know if you want to feel him up you don’t have to kick him every time?” He smirks as you stumble. “I’m sure he would be more than happy to let you.”
Trying to show a bit of respect for your captain, instead of throwing your book at him you simply sit back down, opening back to where you left off. A riveting chapter about the use of reverse currents along the edges of the Line caused by the temperature changes coming from the Calm Belt.
“I don’t think I’m quite his type.” Is all you say, focusing on a dated drawing of the current flows.
He only responds with a non-committal hum. Eyes drifting over the page, reading without processing, the thought of strangling him in his slip briefly crosses your mind.
________________________________________
The medical room was in need for once, and you found yourself kicked from its haven as it was turned into the quarantine zone. Nobody in or out on Hongo’s orders. You were slowly being driven mad, though not from having to bunk with the others for once even if the smell was less than desirable. They had even been kind enough to give you Beckman's spot, the hammock piled with blankets and pillows to the point the woven net acting as the main body couldn't even be felt. A surprising luxury for someone like him. It was large enough to accommodate his size easily so it left you with plenty of room, almost feeling dwarfed among the objects. Begrudgingly you could admit it might even be better than your own bed.
The sheets had already been stripped and washed even though he hadn’t had the chance to sleep on them before coming down with his illness. Even then the material seemed to carry a hint of smoke if you focused hard enough. It was easy to imagine him laying here, staring at the ceiling as it rocked back and forth with the ship. It was located on the far end of the cabin, giving a bit more space from the others.
You tried not to think about it too much. Not when he was likely suffering in your own bed. You didn’t know much about what had happened after the rest of the crew finished preparing the ship to set off. Just what Shanks had told you as the both of them came stumbling back, mumbling something about the local plants being hostile. Upon examination there seemed to be a rash spreading from his hands and Hongo lectured them both about touching things on an island they didn’t know what they were. Apparently, their stems secreted an irritant to ward away predators and touching it- while not fatal- would cause a plethora of symptoms.
Feaver, muscle pain, exhaustion, and headaches were all par for the course. A cocktail of misfortune that the first mate found himself subject to while the captain only had to deal with the itchy redness on his arms. Different levels of exposure it seemed. Nothing contagious as long as you didn’t touch the same irritant. Hongo still locked him in the infirmary after they both received a thorough scrubbing just to be on the safe side, Shanks quarantined to his own room. It had been quite the sight to see the normally towering man collapse on your bed. A haze covered his eyes, sweat pouring down his skin as he curled into the sheets, pressing his face into them as a shiver wracked his body.
You wanted nothing more than to stay by his side and help him through, feeling as if your insides were being wrung by the sight of him like this. Hongo had taken charge in the absence of both the men. He kept you busy enough that it was difficult to find time to sneak away, though you were beginning to assume it was on purpose. Your endless questions about his current health didn’t help convince him either.
The sun had long ago set, and the blanket of night descended upon the ship to tuck in the excitement, now subjected to the full impact of multiple sources of snoring so loud you couldn’t even think about sleep. It’s like they were talking to each other in their own coded language, one stopping just for another to start up. Even the few moments you were able to catch were fitful, mind running rampant until you conceded. It wouldn’t do any good to wake them with your own shouts should you manage to fall asleep but also into the clutches of the nightmares that came with it.
Slipping out of the room, blanket in one hand and pillow in the other, you were determined to find a place to at least get a bit of rest before the sun rose. There were other reasons for your restlessness as well. Ones you could fix to hopefully quiet your mind.
Your feet took you to the door of the medical room on instinct, knowing you would get a verbal lashing from Hongo if he caught you, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself as you slowly cracked the door open. Peering inside you were met with an eerie stillness, an uncanny feeling to seeing someone occupy your bed in the stillness of the room. Was this what people saw if they looked in while you were sleeping? You shudder, deciding not to linger on the thought.
Beckman seemed to have recovered a small amount, breathing no longer as labored as before. He shifted, making you freeze in fear that you had woken him, before settling down again. It was a bit hard to see even as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the light from the hall only doing so much as you kept the door closed to keep it from disturbing, a thin ambiance seeping around the edges.
In your approach you noticed the way he filled the bed. On your own you could spray out over the top comfortably, while his own feet threatened to hang off the edge if he were a few inches taller.
A quick look, you had told yourself. Just to make sure he was alright. It only dawned on you as you looked upon him that this was the first time you had ever seen Beckman sleeping, and for the longest while you had assumed the man went without. One of the last to bed and up before you could ever catch him. Like this some of the tension seemed to ease from his features, looking a few years younger despite the gray streak that flecked his inky hair.
You moved unconsciously, pushing the loose strands from his face, stuck by the thin layer of sweat that still clung to him. The locks were still soft despite the sea air, the salt never seeming to affect him one bit in a way that made you jealous as you struggled to keep your own from drying out. He felt warm. Not the kind that had you leaning closer on cold days as you often did, but the kind that made you swallow thickly with concern.
Ever so carefully you removed the towel from his forehead, turning and wringing it out, running it under the sink with cool water before returning to carefully put it back in place. Hopefully it would be enough to help a bit, a guilt settling into your stomach as you watched the way shivers racked his body despite his burning skin.
He would pull through this. Hongo had assured you of the fact many times himself to the point you could tell it was annoying. Still, he looked so uncomfortable. Would he be hungry if he woke? Thirsty? Surely water would be easy enough to stomach.
You're quick to fill your own cup that you keep on the chest beside the bed, doing your best to move in silence, pausing as he shifts. You think you’ve gotten away with it until you hear him groan, spinning around to see his eyes cracked open. His voice is hoarse as your name is whispered into the dark between you, prompting you to return to his side so quickly you nearly spill the cup.
”How are you feeling?” You whisper, kneeling beside him. It's a relief to see him awake- alive- even if his condition concerns you.
He doesn't respond, only attempting to sit up. It’s only due to his current state that you’re able to keep him down, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back.
”You’ll be alright, but you need to rest.”
Adjusting the towel from where it had slipped he simply watches, eyes still half open as you wonder how conscious he really is. Hongo had given him some medication that would calm his pain but keep him drowsy. Apparently not strong enough to keep him down.
His eyes flick to the cup you hold, swallowing dryly as his tongue drags out to lick his lips. Wordlessly you help him sit up just a bit, supporting his head with one are while the other bears the weight of the cup. His hand ghosts over your, guiding as they lay gently. The cup is steadily drained, all the while you watch the way his throat bobs with each sip, worried he may choke. When he’s done you set it aside, gently laying him back fully.
”We’re you worried about me?” He asks. It lacks the teasing it should, instead replaced by a breathlessness that doesn't suit him, stripped of their normal certainty and so unlike him it catches you off guard. You can’t tell him the truth. How you had hardly been able to eat even at the insistence of Roux, every bite tasting like ash, worrying yourself into a frenzy. The very reason you were walking around at night being that you couldn’t get him from your mind for even a moment. How the thought of his pain, his death, was more terrifying than anything, the thought making your stomach twist.
”Of course.”
He grins. Weakly, but his lips curl in a way that is distinctly him.
”Didn’t know you cared so much.”
”I-“
‘I love you’ is what you want to say. It dances on the tip of your tongue, begging to come out even as you bite your cheek. A need to speak the words that have bounced around in your head for weeks, echoing every time you see him and slowly driving you insane. When had it turned from like to love, you wondered.
”I would be very distraught to lose you Beckman.” A half-truth, though none of it is a lie. If he were to be removed so suddenly from your life you would be losing the only identifiable anchor you had. As callous as it sounded, the rest of the crew would be a weak balm to the wound his absence would leave. An undoing that could never be fixed.
Despite yourself- and Hongo’s warnings- your hand comes to gently rest on his face, thumb tracing the lines of his cheeks drawing a hum as he turns his head further into the touch. It makes you feel a bit better to be able to provide him with a minuscule amount of comfort.
He seems content, eyes drifting back shut as he sighs. His breathing evens back out, chest rising and falling beneath the blankets in a steady cadence that brings comfort. Your blankets.
You make to get up, to leave him to sleep in peace after having disturbed him for long enough, when his hand catches you with surprising speed. For someone so sick as to not be able to get out of bed he still retains a surprising strength when you try to pull away.
”Did you need something? I can get Hongo.”
You mentally prepare yourself for the grumpy mood you would find him in, especially when he learns you snuck into the medical room, but Beckman only shakes his head.
“No, just..stay here.”
You don’t argue, letting him pull you back down. Reaching for the forgotten blanket and pillow you settle yourself on the floor next to the bed, leaning back against the wall as your shoulder rests against the frame and ignoring the way the wood digs, close enough that should he shift you would feel it. The smell of smoke that persisted in his own bedding now emanates from the source and you recognize with disappointment that it’ll be washed from your sheets before you can properly enjoy it. Tobacco, sea salt, and gunpowder now sunk into the fabric. At this point you might as well be a smoker yourself for the way the smell itches your brain and calms your nerves. It mixed with the medicinal scent of whatever balm Hongo had applied to his hands and arms. The tackiness stuck to your skin like glue, your excuse for why you don’t let go as your hand remains in his. Your thumb tracing along his knuckles, something you had seen others do to help soothe, the skin both rough and warm. His hand twitches and you almost pull back until he tightens his grip. Warm, alive, and a silent ask to stay.
Your head rests on the edge of the mattress as you listen to the familiar creaking of the ship. So close that you can feel the ghost of his breath against your face. He stares unabashedly back, drowsy and half out of it. He has to be with the way he smiles, delirious and out of his mind from fever.
Like a fool in love.
Your fool, but not in love with you.
What you wouldn’t give for him to look at you like that every night.
“Goodnight.” You whisper, drawing the blanket to your chin, lulled by his presence.
As Hongo made his rounds in the morning, ready to check on his patient and deal with the headache the rest of the crew was, he was stopped short upon seeing you in there as well.
“For the love of-” He steps in, intending to give you a piece of his mind about quarantine breaches and a blatant disregard for his orders. Halfway there he notices your shirt has ridden up while you slept, blanket now down around your waist and giving him a view of your lower back as your body turns towards the bed. Towards Beckman.
It’s not fully visible but he can see the lines of ink peaking out. The familiarity of it stops him short, eyes narrowed as he tries to remember where he’s seen it before. Your skin had been too bruised before for him to get a good look at the ink, and thankfully you had managed to avoid such injuries again despite your penchant for getting hurt.
Beckman shifts in his sleep, hand falling along your back and fingers digging into your shirt as if to try and drag you closer.
The medics eyes widen, a strangled sound escaping as he’s yanked back by his collar before he can say anything.
“Ah, let's not disturb the lovebirds.” Shanks shuts the door, sneaking one last glance inside before turning to Hongo. The medic recognizes the familiar gleam in his eyes.
“You’re playing matchmaker again.” He groans, remembering the shenanigans when he had found his own soulmate and Shanks had insisted on getting them together. There’s no stopping their captain when he gets something in his head. He can only hope it doesn’t end in a town being burnt to the ground this time.
_______________________
The next stop is unscheduled but needed, Hongo’s supplies running low from the treatment of Beckman and Shanks as well as a series of unfortunate events that had dwindled the doctor’s supplies. You couldn’t get a papercut let alone a stabbing and have it treated in a way that was promising. This island wasn’t too far off the way but enough to take you out of Shank’s territory that the ship had been skirting along the edge of. Not as friendly to pirates as others so docking on the far side of the island was your only option.
It would take a day’s trip to get to the town for more supplies and you were eager to volunteer. It was tempting to spend the day relaxing on deck with Roux-who had promised to teach you how to identify fish just from their shadows- but a sense of restlessness had gripped you, wanting to get a breather away from the others after having spent the past few nights in their room. Beckman and Shanks had recovered from their exposure, and you had been in the middle of gathering the sheets from Beckman’s hammock to wash them when he had stopped you, assuring you it was fine and that there was no reason to waste the soap. You had conceded even if you did think it was a bit odd, quickly sliding from the room. Ever since the night you had snuck into the medical room it was like you couldn’t turn a corner without him being there. Rather inconvenient as just his presence made you jumpy and prone to doing embarrassing things, such as allowing a cannonball to fall on your foot as well as nearly tumbling off the rigging when he had appeared from behind the sail you were climbing beside.
Hongo had been the one originally supposed to go with you as the one who requested the supplies yet upon finally finishing setting anchor you discovered Beckman talking with the Hongo and Shanks, a list in his hands and a pouch of coin on his hip.
“There’s been some Marines spotted in the area, so I thought it best to send Beckman in case anything happened.” Shanks explained, clapping said man on the back and pushing him closer to you. “Hongo and I have some things to discuss before we get to the next island.”
Marines. Your pulse quickens at the words, a mix of emotions running through you. It was the same anger and adrenaline you were used to but with something new in the mix. Something very recent.
Fear.
Your hands shook, tightening around the straps of your bag even as you scolded yourself. You were a Marine hunter. You should be delighted at the opportunity, and you were, yet another part of you remembered the last interaction. How it had ended rather poorly for you. Chains and starvation paired with weeks of abuse. If they managed to catch you again it would likely be worse, having already sunk one war ship. Maybe they’d even just kill you on the spot.
But that wouldn’t happen again, you vowed to yourself. Just because they got the slip on you once didn’t mean they would again, and you would show them why you had a bounty poster worth the berries printed below your name.
“Don’t get too eager.” Shanks continued, eyeing the tension that seized your body. “We’re not here looking for any fights. Keep things quiet, though if anything does happen then I’m more than confident that the two of you will be able to handle it.” He looked to Beckman, as if to confirm the order. The man nodded though his eyes drifted to you, taking your reaction in a different way, noting how you seemed not to swell but shrink into yourself a fraction. Almost hesitant, though not a word he would often ascribe to you. He mentioned none of his thoughts, only turning to head out and leaving you to follow. He was kind enough to take up rowing duty and allowing you to watch the way the water passes by, watching the shadows below dart by and lamenting the fact you don’t know what specific kinds they were.
You don’t speak the entire ride, nor when you finally get to shore and find a place to hide the boat, pushing from the back with Beckman pulling until it was hidden under some foliage. The trek through the forest has no trail, leaving you to make your own as you follow the compass strapped to your wrist. A gift from Yassop, who had relieved the previous owner of it only to discover it was too small. As such you were the one leading the way, trying to keep in mind not to go too slow even as the tricky terrain threatened every step with a twisted ankle. You were just glad Beckman wasn’t the one setting the pace. With his long legs you would have to be jogging nearly the entire time just to keep up.
Coming upon a tall wall of stone, you’re just about to make a grab to climb it when you feel yourself being picked up and tossed, the surprise nearly having you missing grabbing the edge to pull yourself up.
“You could have at least warned me.” You scold, reaching down to help Beckman up the same way. His hand is large compared to yours and it nearly brings you back over the edge when you try to pull him, coming face to face with his smug expression.
“You’re too stubborn. You would have tried to climb up yourself anyway.”
Scoffing, you let go of his hand with the intention of letting him fall even as you know his words to be true, only to be annoyed when he easily grasps the ledge of the wall and pulls himself up behind you.
The sun is high now, having set off when it was still peaking over the horizon and the temperature had increased along with its elevation, the cool mist quickly turning into a muggy humidity, sweat beading along your skin and through your clothes. It’s at Beckman’s word that you stop a moment to rest, finding a nearby river to drink from in favor of draining your canteens.
The water is clear and bristling with a cold that is delightfully sharp as you drink, crouching down and cupping your hands to bring the water to your lips. It would be nice if you had enough time to take a quick bath, though you can’t imagine your companion approving.
Beckman is a few feet away doing the same, though his eyes wander away and to where you are. A natural habit at this point for him, watching the way the muscles of your arm flex with newly acquired muscle as you reach the small distance from the edge to where the water runs. Thanks to the plentiful food and exercise you get on the ship your body has been hardened at sea, ready to take on a challenge both from friends and foe alike. He had long ago memorized the way you would flip the others over your shoulder, a favorite move of yours. Sometimes he would let you flip him, if only to see the way your face lit up as you stood over him, seconds from having your feet swept from under you in retribution.
Beckman found himself admiring the full view of you, now free to give himself a moment longer with none of the others around to catch and tease him while his eyes wandered further along to your legs and ass. He felt dirty for it, ogling like a common miscreant and actively doing what he had threatened the others against, but couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered, wishing to feel the way it would feel with you sat atop of him. A fantasy he often had to himself at night, trying to brush the image away even as it came back again and again. It didn’t help that he had to be faced with the sight of you on your hands and knees whetstone the deck almost every day, doing his best to remain anywhere else while you were doing so to preserve both your dignity.
But now he had a bit more of a chance to appreciate the healthy glow that only seemed brighter with the light sweat that coated your skin. A chance that distracted him so much he didn’t notice the stones loosening underfoot until they fell away leaving him to follow as he tumbled into the water.
The sound caught your attention, jerking up to see the man thrashing under the moderate flow. It wasn’t enough to drown him unless he happened to hit his head, but plenty enough to leave him soaked as he sloshed back upshore, you right there to help him up.
“Are you alright?” You ask, hardly able to contain laughter as he bends to wring the water from the bottoms of his pants while kicking his boots off in annoyance, socks completely soaked. You try not to be too obvious in your staring, the soaked fabric clinging to every inch of him in a way that makes your mouth dry despite the copious amount of water you had already consumed. He reaches for the wrap of fabric around his waist, freeing himself of the weight of the soaked item. He’s surprised when you hold your hand out for the item though gives it without much struggle, working on the rest of his clothes while you wring it out.
“The sun should be able to do the rest.” You weigh the fabric in your hands, now significantly lighter, before handing it back. He doesn’t put it on right away, instead attaching it to the bag strapped across his back to dry more quickly.
“Well, if you’re done swimming we should head out.”
“Oh, think I was having a leisurely dip?” His tone is edged with a promise and you barely evade his grasp, saving yourself a drenched fate as you escape into the woods, Beckman not far behind as you laugh. The last leg of your journey seems to move more quickly as you spend most of the time evading him, a casual game of cat and mouse to pass the time. By the time you reach the edge of town you’re out of breath, Beckman breaking through the tree line just a few moments later.
“Well,” he pants, stretching and giving a view of the v of his hips peeking from his shirt without the wrap currently still drying, and you have to look away or risk being caught. Instead you look upon the buildings below as the sound of the populace floats up to you.
“We should be able to find everything. At least the list didn’t smear too much.” You peak over at the paper, unsure of how he’s able to read the spelling when Hongo’s handwriting is barely legible on a good day. Maybe he had already memorized it. In any case Beckman makes for the main road as if he already knows where to go, likely having been here at some point before. It makes you wonder just how many islands he’s visited.
The streets are busy and you worry about being separated until Beckman’s hand finds your back, pushing you forward as the crowd parts like water around a stone for his intimidating figure. You eye the marina as you pass, noting the lack of Marine ships and feeling a bit of relief. You wouldn’t have to face them today, but you had to get over yourself soon enough.
An hour into your search he turns and can’t find you. For a moment he thinks he’s lost you, either slipping away to cause trouble or trouble found you as it often seems to, only to find you standing at a storefront, peering inside at the display. He’s none too happy about your wander, ready to tie you to him like a wayward child, only to pause as he sees what you’re looking at.
Soulstones. Little rocks with different engravings and symbols on them that were supposed to tell you about them. Things they liked, where they might be, what they were feeling.
He scoffs, the sound drawing your attention.
“What?” You spare him a glance before turning back to the storefront. “You’re not curious?”
“Why would I have any interest in my soulmate? I already have everything I need without them.” Not many were the most ecstatic about their soulmate being a pirate, and in any case why would he need them? Ever since you came into his life everything felt complete in a way where he didn’t know it had been missing before. Plenty of people, more than not he would venture, found partners outside their soulmates. It was ridiculous to think that the majority would happen to find them unless specifically looking.
“Right.” He misses the way you grit your teeth, knuckles white. “What a ridiculous thought.”
The bag Beckman carries fills quickly and it’s not long before you find yourself burdened with your own load. Mostly metal tools and bags of herbs. Nothing breakable, and you can’t help but pout a bit. You weren’t the most graceful but surely he didn’t think you that clumsy? He wouldn’t even let you talk with the vendors after you flirted with the apothecary to get a better price.
“I’m fresh out of antiseptic, but why don’t you try the shop by the residential district.” The vendor points off in the distance, the buildings further out of the way then either of you wished to walk on already sore feet.
“I can run and grab it real quick.” You offer when you notice the way he sighs, wanting to feel a bit more useful than just hauling the things Beckman didn’t want to carry. He seems hesitant, almost reluctant to have you leave his side, before digging in his pouch and passing you a few coins.
“Come right back. I’ll meet you halfway if I can and then we can head out.”
“Aye aye sir!” You give him a mock solute, scampering away before he could change his mind.
Quickly weaving through the market, you try to not think about the walk back ahead of you. Maybe if you asked nicely you could find a room for the night, though it would likely have to come out of your nearly nonexistent funds, the coin pouch already looking light from the purchases. Even then you’d likely have to share a room with Beckman, and the thought dismisses the possibility from your mind. You were barely managing to hold together now. In such an enclosed space, alone, you could hardly stand to think of how you might embarrass yourself.
The shop is easy to find after asking for directions, even cheaper than the stall you had been at earlier, pocketing the difference. Hazard pay, you told yourself, exiting the shop and ready to head back. If you were quick enough you could get there before he had the chance to come and find you and you could have something to hold over his head, ribbing him on the way back.
Distracted while thinking of all the possible jabs it should have been expected you would run into someone, nearly tumbling over and spilling your bag if not for the hand that steadies you.
“Easy there.” The person says, their voice light and filled with a curious worry. “Are you alright?”
Recovering quickly, you feel rather embarrassed at having been caught off guard.
“Ah, yeah. Thanks for that.” Turning, your words stall as you spot navy blue, stark against crisp white. His skin is tanned from work, arms bare and sunburnt. His face is saved from the same fate only by the cap sitting slightly crooked, proudly proclaiming the word ‘MARINE’ across the front. A bag much like your own is tossed over his shoulder, though looking marginally less heavy.
“Make sure you’re careful where you walk, the markets are busy today.” He calls over his shoulder as he swiftly leaves.
You’re moving before you process it, acting on instinct rather than thought. A numbness has taken over your mind and body alike, more phantom than anything else as you slip between the crowd, following the signature blue that stands out like a bullseye.
He doesn’t look back once. Not even as he stops to admire a few bracelets on display. The typical arrogance of a Marine that makes your stomach curl. Any earlier apprehension is quickly snubbed out, replaced by a curling hunger that feels all too familiar as he turns down an alley, unaware of you hot on his trail.
It’s darker now, the sun setting as golden hour takes hold. You time your footsteps carefully with his own, hand finding the small blade you kept tucked in your waistband. It was almost too easy. He was only one man. One against the dozens, if not hundreds, who had fallen at your hand already.
He pauses at the top of a set of stairs, pulling a transponder snail from his pocket. The person on the other end doesn’t pick up it seams, as he calls twice more before giving up. Instead he leans against the railing, humming a tune you recognize as a march. One you had heard many times while chained in the deepest, darkest part of the hull, whistled and sung at all odd hours of the day as they worked above you. As your tormentors casually walked past, eyeing you as if you were the scum of the earth.
It’s almost pathetic how close you are while he remains oblivious, swallowing thickly as your bloodlust heightens, a buzzing overtaking your body, hands steady despite the way your stomach flutters.
Reaching the end of the alleyway, you make to move, already picturing how his blood would stain the steps. A message to all others who aligned with a corrupt government. Who are willing to stand by as others are hurt.
The blade closes in, a perfect killing strike to the throat. Honed and practiced through repetition and time.
“Dad!”
The voice hits you harder than any punch, your grip faltering as panic seizes your body at the pitched tone. A child. One who runs towards the man on the receiving end of your ire, shoes slapping the pavement and arms thrown wide, a woman standing just a few yards away as he scoops her up in his arms.
They laugh, the sound jarring to the emotions currently guiding your hand. It’s only thanks to the shadows that you remain hidden, frozen. Your stomach twists, the previous coil of determination unraveling to something that makes you feel sick, hands trembling and nearly dropping the blade as you back away.
You don’t make it far, feet stumbling over on another on uneven stone as the world tilts, slumping against the wall as your legs give out, every muscle too tense to listen to reason. Your body hits the ground with a thud, sliding down the wall as the rough stone tears at your skin. The blade clatters to the ground beside you, forgotten in favor of your hands weaving into your hair, pulling the strands from the root and chasing the pain. For distraction or punishment, it's impossible to tell which.
You can still hear them, their voices and laughter echoing down the alley. It's light and carefree in a way that has your chest twisting. The sound of unblemished youth, when the world doesn’t seem so hopeless.
“Mom….Dad.” The words leave you in a cracked whimper, burying your face further into your arms.
The day they died you promised to have no mercy for the organization that allowed those with cruelty to rise, keeping that promise for years. Never hesitating even once as you destroyed countless bases and ships. And now you couldn’t even kill one man. Not for the fact that he was stronger, but simply the presence of another who wouldn’t be able to stop you. An obstacle. A child who had run towards him without hesitation, seeing her father instead of a monster while her mother watched on.
You failed them.
The thought sits heavy in your chest, strangling your lungs as you gasp for breath, trying to muffle the sounds threatening to escape.
Years of running and rage, telling yourself that all the pain and heartache meant something. Now you couldn’t even continue what you started. You want to hide. To crawl away into the nearest dark hole and allow yourself to rot in the shadows like the useless thing you’ve become.
Who would miss you? The crew would move on quickly enough. They got on just fine before and you doubt it would bother them that much afterwards. The sea didn’t have time for grief and neither did their work allow for it. It was a weakness, and no pirate worth their gold could be weak. Another empty bunk, one less mouth to feed as duty rotations were rearranged. Maybe a drink poured over the railing if they were feeling sentimental enough. The sails would rise with the wind, and their lives would continue on. Not even your soulmate would miss you, the thought only wracking your body further. Even with the person you were meant for you couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t properly love him as soulmates did neither could you gather enough courage to leave him to live his life in peace. Even without knowing you he hated you and you couldn’t help but think that he had every right to.
Sometimes you thought about what it would be like if he discovered your secret. The look that would cross his face, a mixture of disgust and resentment. Maybe even pity. For who could love someone like you? And still, you long for the arms of someone who didn’t even want to hold you. Still cried out his name, as if he would come running like some knight in shining armor.
”Beckman.”
You wanted him. Wanted him to hold you and tell you everything was alright. To allow you the closeness you craved but couldn’t imagine with anyone else but him. That you were wanted. Needed.
You craved it so much that your body moved from imagination to full on tangible hallucinations, the scent of smoke-a blend of gunpowder and cigarettes- filling your senses. the familiar weight of his hand on your shoulder just as when he squeezed by in the galley. It was only when the pressure increased, another hand worming its way under your arms and forcing you to look up did you realize it wasn't just your mind playing tricks on you, offering comfort when there was none to be found from the one you sought it from the most.
The familiar timber of his voice grounded you, the haze of your mind receding just a bit as he called your name, brows drawn tightly together. He knelt in front of you, nearly invisible in the dimming light. You must have made for quite the sight, though embarrassment was a weakest of emotions you could process, an encompassing numbness overtaking all.
”I’m supposed to be strong.” You mumble, voice hiccupping. His hand brushes away tears you hadn’t felt, the gesture gentle despite the callouses of his hand. “I should be stronger. You said I would get stronger. But I can’t even kill him.”
Head tilting back towards your failure, Beckman followed your gaze and saw a man in a clearly marked Marine uniform, listening intently but with a smile nearly bigger than any he had seen as a young girl showed him a small trinket while what he assumed was her mother stood shoulder to shoulder with the man. An idealistic family unit.
What was he supposed to say? That you should have killed the man? Admonish you for trying to do so when he himself had the blood of many Marines on his own hands? His allows the silence to stretch for too long as he searches for something to say that doesn’t sound hollow, hesitant to speak in case he only made the situation worse. Each tear felt like acid burning his skin even as he continued to wipe them away.
”Best you didn’t.” He finally settles on, hand running over your arm awkwardly. Comfort had never been a particular talent of his. Not the loud type that was better suited for moments like these. He had never considered it a fault until now, his lack of PDA skills biting him in the ass. “Shanks would have been upset if you’d drawn attention.”
It was the best he could do when the rest of him was screaming to pull you into his arms, feeling at a loss as to what to do. He thought he had seen you at your worst when he had coaxed you out of that dragon head all those months ago, but back then you had simply been empty of nearly anything that made you yourself, little more than smoldering embers that had carefully been blown on and allowed to grow until you blaze the familiar heat he had come to rely on warming himself with. Now it seemed you were too much, over spilling in a way that couldn’t stop as the pressure broke the damn. And he was certainly no carpenter, unsure of where to even begin to fix the damage.
You lean into his touch and for the first time he doesn’t feel nervous at having you so close, only relief that you accepted it. “Just proves you still have some humanity in you.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
He doesn’t say anything despite the way his jaw clenches. Instead he waits until your shivering subsides and helps you to your feet, allowing you to lean on him as you walk back the way you came back out the city. Seems that a room was too much to hope for after all.
The trek out feels much shorter than the one in, Beckman shielding you from the curious looks of others, the forest quickly embracing you once again as you set off. It’s still long enough for you to come to your senses, breathing evening out and body humming a little less as adrenalin wears off. You still don’t feel in perfect working order, the energy in your step from early depleted to near nothing but still having enough for a sense of shame to overtake you.
Shanks had given specific instructions not to cause a scene, and you had thrown that promise out the window the moment you caught sight of a uniform. If you had been successful it pull have no doubt caused the city to end up in uproar. Not only that, but you had also been unable to even follow through with your more than haphazard plan and broken down in an alley like a child only to e found a crying mess by your soulmate who had been forced to comfort you. He must think you an irritating, incompetent, irrational, and more than likely a mixed of all three. He had the decency not to say anything as you walked, having pulled away from his hold about a mile back. The sun had long ago set and it was near impossible to see the ground before you, yet you dared not say anything, already feeling as if you had caused enough trouble.
It wasn’t until Beckman himself stopped that you allowed yourself a breather, unloading his pack and gathering some sticks and small foliage. The fire crackled to life before you had a chance to help.
“Hungry?” He asked, the question taking you off guard.
He sat heavily on the ground, a long sigh escaping as he stared expectantly. While your stomach still turned nauseously it also grumbled at the mention of food, your least meal hours ago when you had eaten a bit of dried rations while walking, wanting to get to the city as quickly as possible. When you didn’t answer he reached into his pack, producing the same dried meat as well as a loaf of bread. Fresh if you had to guess by the way the surface gave under the light presser of his fingers.
You had expected a scolding, some punishment waiting for you when you got back to the ship. If he was willing to ignore the situation, pretend as if none of it happened, then you were only too happy to oblige.
“So,” you clear your throat, settling across from him, the fire flicking between you as a pseudo-wall. Small enough you could have stepped over it without much trouble, but acting as a distraction, watching the flames consume the small branches.
“How did Shanks get you into coming with me? I’m sure one of the others could have been sent and I know you were planning on doing other things.” Your eyes flick up to him, gauging his reaction as you try to ease the mood. “Or did you think I would be that much of a handful.”
It’s part joke, part honest curiosity. Something to help lighten the tension that had clouded you since leaving the city. Your tears had long since dried up, though your throat still felt sore.
“Something like that.” He mumbles, tearing the loaf he had bought while you were off trying to fix your bloodlust.
Never would he admit to you that he had volunteered to do so after hearing the two talk about it, originally intending just to act as one more person but found your trio quickly whittled down to two. He didn’t know if he should be grateful or annoyed, getting to spend more time with you alone- a rarity on the packed ship- but that also meant that he was alone with you. A fact that made him nervous, no longer having the buffer of others there to help keep him in check from letting his thoughts become too apparent in his actions. Just as now, when he noticed the way you shivered, making his way around the small fire under the guise of handing you half the bread before settling himself down next to you. Close enough that your sides were pressed together and he could feel the way you trembled, either from the night or the incident still fresh in your mind.
“It’s cold.” Is his excuse, though his body burns with more than just his natural heat.
You stiffened next to him and he wanted to bash his head into a tree, thinking he had made you uncomfortable. He was ready to move away when he felt you shift, tucking a bit closer into his side. He could only hope you couldn’t feel the way his heart rate picked up, arm moving behind you. Not resting on your shoulder but rather behind where you sat, allowing a bit more space to get closer as he leaned back in an attempt to appear casual.
“Yeah, and you have the audacity to hog all the heat.” You tease, hoping the shadows of the night hide the way you thickly swallow, the warmth of him nearly dizzying and better than even if the entire forest had been on fire.
“Punch told me about the time you two got stranded on a winter island by accident.” The proximity brings the story back to mind, whispered under the promise of telling nobody else while you sat together on watch during what could only be described as a blizzard. An explanation your brain could comprehend as to why he was so close. “Said you two were found like koalas wrapped around each other to keep warm. Claimed at one point you buttoned your coats together and huddled together in them.”
Beckman sighs, cursing his friend who had sworn to never tell the story to anyone else.
“You’re always looking out for others.” You continue, drawing his attention back from thinking of a suitable punishment for the man when he got back. There’s a moment of hesitation before you turn to look at him. “Thank you for being there for me today.”
The words are little more than a whisper, filled with a sincerity that has his heart clenching.
“Anything for a friend.” The words are both sincere and taste like sand in his mouth. Anything for you, is what he wanted to say. Instead he lets the silence hang, convinced it’s his imagination when he sees your shoulders droop just a fraction
Hellooo! I would like to make a bnha request with alpha Aizawa with a shy omega s/o. (This is my first time requesting omegaverse so sorry if I write something weird). What if his s/o is scared of alphas because of the rough things they hear from their omega friends? s/o was already hesitant getting into a relationship, afraid if Aizawa is the type to get possessive and rough.
Take the lead
Alpha!Aizawa x ShyOmega!Reader
I Masterlist
A/N: I haven’t done something for Aizawa in so long! He used to be my favorite character to write for and this makes me nostalgic for when I first started writing fics. This ask got buried in my drafts, so sorry it took so long to get to.
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You were soft.
That’s what everyone said at least. It’s not something you took offense to but it made life just a tad more difficult. As if being an Omega in a world full of pushy Alphas and Betas wasn’t enough. Some may have bristled at the fact yet you took it in stride, allowing your demeanor and presentation to give you an advantage.
It seemed only fitting when you began working as a daycare employee, helping others where you could and spending your days with the children- who were a lot less troublesome than adults. The others seemed almost jealous at the control you had over the rambunctious little ones, their eyes and ears tuning in the moment you called for their attention, listening with rapt attention. Any other time they could be found clinging to your legs, pleading to come look at their latest creation or join them for a game of one kind or another.
You were a natural at it. So much so that others began to question why you weren’t at another school. One with better funding that were more prestigious. Where the ratio of children to adults was much lower and less stressful. But you liked it where you were. The workers were kind and the salary wasn’t awful. There were times where it was stressful but what jobs didn’t have their moments?
Besides, it would be too painful to have to explain to the children why you were leaving. You often told yourself you would look for another position when the last class of kids graduated to going to grade school but by the time that rolled around you had already gotten attached to the new ones.
The children who ended up here tended to have their own difficulties. Oftentimes due to the emergence of quirks or troubled family backgrounds, the majority of the staff holding both psychology and early childhood development backgrounds in order to work here and be able to properly help those that came through the doors. It was a scary world out there, and if you could provide at least some comfort to them for even a few hours a day that would be enough for you to feel as if you were contributing something positive to their world.
Then, each day when you were done, you would go home to your apartment just a few blocks away, walking with the other teachers as they headed towards the train station. The proximity was another reason you refused to leave, less of a chance for anything to go wrong, for anyone to take advantage of you. The others knew enough of your fear not to tease you about it, kind enough to provide the comfort of numbers whenever you went out. You were the only Omega who worked at the center after all, and looked great on pamphlets to be able to say that there was one on staff with the decreasing numbers in recent years. Still, as much as you loved your job there were some things that were more difficult to get around.
It was a shameful thing that you couldn’t get rid of, your fear of Alphas. Not logical, as you had tried to convince yourself. There were hundreds of thousands of them in Japan alone, outnumbering Omegas but still below the number of Betas. It was impossible to completely avoid them, which is why you had taken the opportunity of the daycare. All the workers were either Betas or a few other Omegas, even run by a Beta couple. The children themselves were far from presenting and allowed you to live in relative peace. Only the stray mention from the others about one attack or another, some story or rumor they had heard about a nameless Alpha, shushed when they noticed you nearby. They didn’t need to. Your mother had done enough when you were younger. She and your father had both been Omegas and their pairing earned them a fair amount of scrutiny and ridicule. Alphas upset about the fact that two Omegas chose to pair with each other instead of an Alpha reducing the ‘dwindling supply’.
“Never. EVER. Trust and Alpha.” They had both warned you. “They’re not interested in anything beyond you being an Omega, no matter how sweet they talk.”
The fear had been ingrained in you from an early age as they enrolled you in schools specifically meant for Omegas, while in college you choose courses specifically taught by Omega and Beta professors. As much of your time was spent study and doing work as it was spent avoiding any Alphas on campus. Their words seemed to only be proven right when an Alpha from your philosophy class had begun following you around to the point one of your friends needed to be with you at nearly all times. He was aggressive and pushy, intimidating in the unique way only an Alpha could be, and you were thankful when you graduated that he moved away and you would never have to see him again.
Since then you’ve been living your life in relative peace, mostly going from work to home as your time was taken up by planning activities for the children and continuing your own education with some online Masters classes at a leisurely pace. There were a few dates here and there but nothing that ever lasted. While it wasn’t ideal, a part of you craving a connection that went deeper than being just friends, you were content for the most part, burying yourself in your work and supplementing yourself off the praise from your coworkers and boss. This in turn lead to volunteering for even more work activities such as you found yourself at now.
Orientation night for the new year. Full of nervous children and parents alike. Normally only a few of the teachers needed to be there but you had been asked to help and which you gladly agreed. Not like you had much else going on a Friday night. Tasked with working the craft area to keep kids occupied and help them get squatted with one another while their parents walked around and talked with the staff, you were making sand charms in little plastic bottles, helping them pick out colors and fill them up. Something easy and which you were more than glad to do, paid overtime to do essentially do crafts.
More than once you could feel eyes flicking towards you in curiosity, the only Omega at the function that wasn’t a parent, and even though the scent of some of the parents being Alphas out you on edge your teaching aid, a young man by the name of Shizu who was in school himself and would be shadowing you for the semester, helped to curve their attention when any approached. It seemed your coworkers had informed him of your aversion to Alphas and while a bit embarrassing you were grateful for the fact that they looked out for you in such a way.
It was towards the end of the night when the stream of students and parents ruined that you noticed her. A little girl standing by herself, clutching a doll to her chest like it was a lifeline. She hid behind the leg of a sharply dressed woman who was talking with one of the owners-Kori-her eyes curious as she watched the others at your table. The woman was vaguely familiar and you remember seeing her in the office a few times, each time with a different child. A no-nonsense Beta, though nobody ever had anything overtly negative to say about her. She was direct and competent, but not overly aggressive in the way others who came in could be. Once before she had even helped fix the copy machine, a sharp kick putting the machine into submission and back to spitting out papers for fear of the woman:
When the little girl noticed you watching she startled and quickly hid herself further behind the woman who looked down at the movement, following the girl's gaze to see you watching them. She seemed to try and encourage her to go over over but she wouldn’t budge, hiding behind a curtain of snowy hair.
Excusing yourself and leaving Shizu in charge, you made your way over to them. Kori smiled wide as she noticed you approaching, quickly introducing you to the woman.
“This is Cozue. She is the social worker who works primarily with us. I don’t think you’ve properly met yet.”
“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” The woman extended her hand, the scent of Beta drifting off her. “I’ve heard plenty from both Kori and some of the students. All good things I can assure you.”
“Well that’s good to hear.” You smile,, exuding as much calming pheromones as would be deemed social acceptable as you crouch down to the little girls height. “And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
She hesitates, pressing the plushy of what you can only assume is some hero to her nose, eyes wide as she looks up at the adults above her. The Cozue gives a small nod, stepping aside so you can see her fully. She’s adorn in a cute dress, a bow tying her hair back away from her face, allowing you to see the brilliant red of her eyes.
“My….my name is Eri.”
“Eri. What a lovely name.” Extending a hand halfway towards her, she backs up just a step. “Would you like to come do a craft with us. I promise it’s a lot more fun than standing around with the adults.”
She looks between your smiling face and hand, outstretched to meet her halfway, palm up. After a moment she hesitantly takes it and you feel a rush of excitement, leading her back to the table with the others and helping her get set up.
Despite her earlier shyness she seems to open up around the other children, falling into conversation with them as they discuss the best colors to use. She fills one of the flow charms with swirling pinks and yellows.
“Can I make two?” She asks when you explain that she can attach the charm to her bag for school. There’s planets of materials and the night is already winding down. She perks up at your approval, reaching for one of the cat charms and organizing a tube of grey sand to contrast the yellow she clasps in her other hand.
Her placements seem even more deliberate than before, asking for some help to get the yellow placed for the eyes. It’s not perfect but passable, and the way Eri beams at the trinket after it’s finished assures you it’s nothing short of perfect.
When Cozue comes to collect her she seems more at ease, even waving goodbye as she follows the woman back towards the front entrance. As you help
Pick up for the night you can’t help but feel a bit lighter despite the hour. Hopefully all the kids you met tonight would have a good time in the coming year, though your thoughts lingered on Eri, remembering the way she had talked so enthusiastically with the boy next to her about heroes when he noticed her plushy. Maybe you could talk with Kori about getting them in the same class since they seemed to get along so well already.
———————————
It turned out that you would not have to worry about Eri and Cho, the boy from before, as both had been placed in your classroom. A fact you discovered when making up name tags for cubbies that weekend after being sent your class list. You took care to make sure her own tag was a cat, grey just like the one she had made.
Where Eri was timid at first Cho had no such reservations, the social butterfly of your classroom talking to anyone and everyone. You worried at first that Eri might feel a bit left out as he made new friends but it seemed she was brought along wherever he went, always looking for her. While it wasn’t abnormal for children to have an interest in pro heroes- the opposite in fact, with more outliers being in the category of not having any interest in them- it seemed your class in particular had many who adored them.
There were commonalities among favorites in debates you sometimes had to step into to avoid tears and fights. All Might was a fan favorite of course, while Edgeshot had also taken a rise in popularity within the class. There were always debates firing snack breaks, recess filled with games of heroes and villains- in which you often found yourself taking part of the villain who was desperately trying to avoid being caught by a gaggle of heroes chasing you across the lawn- but despite it all Eri never wavered in her favorite.
“Eraserhead!” She proudly declared at circle time, the starting question of everyone going around and saying their favorite hero. It made sense given the plush she always carried around with her. What was a bit abnormal was the Ferber in which she defended him, nearly getting into a fight when one of the others called him washed up and boring, leading to nearly a fist fight as Cho got involved. After apologies were said and everyone was sent back to their seats to work on ways they could have handled the argument better you pulled Eri aside. It was unlike her to have such a temper so it seemed reasonable to check in that everything was alright.
“He was part of the group that saved me.” She admitted, lip trembling and eyes still red, clutching the plush to her chest, inhaling the scent to soothe her. Something she did often and you assumed it was scented by someone close to her on a semi-frequent basis. You would sometimes catch the notes or crisp apples early in the mornings, and it clung to her at times on Mondays.
“He makes sure I have everything I need and promised to keep me safe.”
You felt your heart melt a bit at the teary confession. It wasn’t uncommon for the students here to be either surrendered or taken into custody by social services, and while you didn’t know Eri’s full story you had doubts that it was a happy one.
“I’m sure he will, and I’m so happy that you love him so much.” It was complicated, as you encouraged them to solve conflicts by themselves but sometimes an adult still needed to step in to avoid situations like this. That afternoon for story time you made sure to pick something about how everyone likes different things, and how that was a good thing and made everyone who they were. You also assigned them a project to write about someone on a more local level who is not a hero but does hero work.
“Not every good thing is big.” You explained as you passed out the slips with names. “Often it’s the small things we do that can help someone the most.”
While there is a bit of grumbling they take the slips without issue, and when you head home for the weekend you feel both anxious and hopeful about what will be brought in on Monday.
As you spend time inside gathering the last of your things and making sure all the chairs are put up, Eri waits by the pickup area for her name to be called. When she spots a familiar face approaching around the corners she doesn’t wait, the attendant barely has time to call before she runs past towards the man at full speed. She barely manages to stop in time, bumping into long legs as Aizawa reaches down to steady her. He doesn't mention her excitement. It was the weekend after all, and that meant he got to stay with him apart from the rare occasion.
”Did you have fun at school?” He asks as they walk hand in hand. Eri nods enthusiastically, talking about anything and everything. All the stuff they did for the week in art class, new things she’d learned in her science class, her friends, and especially her teacher. Aizawa felt relieved at her excitement, remembering how nervous she had been when the topic of going had first come about.
Even as her newly appointed legal guardian he couldn’t be there all the time with his work, his coworkers and students were more than happy to help when he couldn’t get the time away. He had done hours of research into choosing a school that would be good for her and he was relieved he had chosen correctly it seemed. The leaps and bounds she had made in coming out of her shell these past few months was nearly dizzying as she grew more social with her peers,
He had been a bit disappointed in himself for not bein able to make it to the ‘meet the teachers night’ but it had been unavoidable. The head of the school assured him that he could stop by any time to have a chat, though even then he found it difficult to make time in his schedule, wanting to spend what he did have outside of bureaucracy. He got enough of his taste of schooling from his own job at UA.
It was that night as he was making dinner that Eri presented him with the assignment, eyes bright as she asked him for help on the assignment, repeating your words from early back to him.
”We can all be heroes in our own way, even if we’re not flying around saving people.”
Ah, the teacher. Someone he had heard so much about yet had not met. Kori had seemed a bit nervous when he asked about you, though nothing to raise any concerns. It seemed you were just a bit skittish around Alphas and Aizawa couldn’t say he blamed you, especially given some of the Alphas he had dealt with in his line of work. Still he hoped to meet you eventually. Maybe the next event that the school had planned for the children to have the crowd as a buffer, though that wouldn’t be until Christmas. In any case, he wasn’t too worried about it. You were more than computing at your job if Eri’s words were anything to go by, as well as this latest project he was now presented with.
So he sat down, helping Eri narrow down who she could talk to and sending a quick ask to one of the workers on the disaster relief construction crew he knew.
_______________________
”Would you mind staying late?” Shizu poked his head in the door, interrupting you as you finished packing your things for the day. In one hand he held his bag and the other was laced with Eri’s.
”Her pickup is running a bit late and I have a date I have to get to.” He explained.
”Of course!” You replied, even as a part of you sighed, tired from the day and wanting nothing more than to go home and sink into bed. But he had been talking about this all week and you knew he was excited. Took him long enough to actually ask for the date, and you and your other coworkers had heard his woes until collectively you hyped him up enough to approach.
He perked up the cloying scent of vanilla filling the room despite the scent blockers he wore, bidding a goodbye to Eri and giving you a quick bow before running back down the hall.
“I expect all the details on Monday though!” You called after him, laughing as you beckon the girl further in.
”How about we go wait outside, hm?” You ask, gathering your things. “That way you can tell me when you see them. Besides, it’s such a beautiful day it would be a shame to waste it.”
A beautiful day indeed. One of the rare last warm spells as winter crept closer, just enough to justify going out without a coat but a gamble on if to bring a sweatshirt or not. The majority of the class day had been spent outside collecting different leaves, classifying them and identifying which species they were. Maybe next week you could go more into the growth process and get some plants to have them grow to help liven the classroom up when winter finally rolls around.
“So are you excited for the weekend?” You ask Eri as she hops towards the swings. A favorite of hers, laughing as Cho would push her higher and higher despite your warnings. There had been no incidents yet but each time she lifted from the seat you could feel your anxiety go through the roof.
“Do you have anything fun planned?”
Her eyes sparkled as she climbed up, pink hoodie drawn back, the same pale color as her shoes. It wasn’t always that she came in coordinating clothing, the articles sometimes clashing so much that you had to wonder if whoever picked them out was colorblind. It was really a coin toss on what it would be but then again so we’re half of the others, now at the age where they insisted on picking out their clothes themselves even if it didn’t match.
“Yeah! Aizawa and I are going on a trip to the mountains!”
“Oh really? What are you doing there?”
She talks on about how some of his students will be there, along with some of her friends. You had long ago learned that Aizawa was the name of her guardian after a quick glance at her paperwork. He worked at UA as a teacher from what she had told you, so her hero obsession only made that much more sense. She speaks very highly of him, though you are in no rush to meet him. Not after seeing the Alpha designation after his name. That would be better handled by Shizu, even if you did feel a bit guilty about avoiding a parent.
“And when we get there Mirio will-“ she doesn’t get to finish her sentence, a startled chirp sending you on edge as her doll flies out of her hands at the height of the swing, too excited to remember to properly hold onto it. It soars in a perfect arc, landing on one of the low branches of the oak that sits a dozen feet away. She jumps off the swing to follow before you can stop her, standing at the base of the tree as she looks up with tears in her eyes.
“It’s okay!” You attempt to comfort her, wracking your brain for a solution. The janitor had already gone home by this point and you were the last two in the building, everyone eager to head out for the weekend. There wasn’t anything to poke it with that was long enough laying about and leaving it there for the weekend wasn’t an option either as Eri was becoming increasingly distressed even as your scent poured out to comfort her chirps of distress.
In a vain attempt to get it down you take off one of your shoes and toss it at the branch, only succeeding in getting it stuck as well and increasing the problem, though the sight seems to give Eri pause as you both stare up at the branch.
With quick steps you approach the tree, grabbing the lowest branch and hoisting yourself up with a huff. Maybe you should get to the gym more, but with all the running around you did with the kids all day it seemed hardly necessary. Besides, there were no Omega only gyms close to your apartment, the nearest one being a twenty minute train ride. It’s not like this was overtly strenuous anyways.
Precariously you balance on the branch while inching further out as it dips under your weight. The limb sways and you freeze, waiting for the movement to settle. Logic says you should go back and find a different solution but you’re so close. Just a little bit further and then-
A rush of success floods you as your fingers close around the worn fabric, victoriously holding it up to the girl on the ground who cheers. No sooner had you done so than you heard a sharp crack, barely a moment to process before you felt gravity take hold as you tumbled towards the ground with a yelp. The reminding length of the branch remains just out of reach, fingers skimming the bark as you fall.
You brace for impact mentally cursing all the while, determined not to make Eri worry too much about your inevitable injury-hopefully nothing broken from the eight foot fall- only to feel another body under yours as they catch you. For a brief moment you fear you’ve landed on Eri but the thought is swiftly banished as it’s far too large. You also doubt the plausibility of the child to be able to hold your weight as this person currently does even if they given a huff at the sudden weight.
You tilt your head, looking into the face of a man you’ve never seen before. Surely you would have remembered him. He’s handsome in a rugged way, the bags under his eyes and scruff along his jaw standing in contrast to his pale skin. The scent of crisp apples tickles your throat and while you first think it’s the plush it’s much stronger than it had ever been before, accompanied by a new undertone of clove that stings your nose, lighting every nerve in your body. It’s with a start that you realize it’s coming from the man currently holding you. It might be a bit more embarrassing if you didn’t notice the way he inhaled as well, taking in your scent in great gulps of air as his lips parted.
“Shota!” Eri’s call breaks the tense moment, prompting you into action.
“I’m so sorry!” You scramble to get down and he sets your feet on the ground, allowing for the chance to put a respectable distance between you. To get away from the overpowering scent that wraps around your mind. It’s not difficult to connect the dots with your student’s quick fondness when she normally shys away from those she doesn’t know. Swallowing your nerves as etiquette wins out over fear, you turn to address him instead of slipping away as quickly as possible like you want to.
“You must be Eri’s guardian. A pleasure to meet you.”
Not daring to extend a hand in fear of him seeing it tremble you give a small bow instead. Your mind flashes back to the designation listed next to his contact info stack beside all the others in the office, a swell of panic rising. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to an Alpha in recent memory, both the nerves and his scent making your mind a bit scattered and fuzzy. Hopefully landing on him didn’t anger him too much. What if he talked with your boss about it? You knew she wouldn’t fire you but the thought of the reprimand was enough to make you shrink.
He says nothing for a beat, staring back as he scans you from head to toe with an analytical gaze that makes you stand just a bit straighter. Despite his authority to command the situation he seems to take a considerate step back, scent lessening just a touch though it’s difficult to relax. He’s an Alpha after all. They’re dominant and standoffish even when not outright aggressive. One wrong step could be enough to set him off if he perceives an Omega as making the wrong move.
“And you must be her teacher.” He says while kneeling. “I’ve heard much about you.”
Upon standing he offers you your fallen shoe to which you take gratefully, careful not to brush fingers. A stray touch could be seen as offensive, especially if he was mates or courting. You’re saved from a response as Eri comes rushing up to you, brows pinched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. No harm done.” You smile in an attempt to sooth her, the purrs you would normally use stuck in your throat like a sticky bite of oatmeal.
Her attention turns back to the man- Aizawa if you recall correctly- who kneels to speak his own reassurances as he hands back her plushy. Your eyes dart between him and the doll, taking in the similarities as a jolt of realization hits you.
“Eraserhead?”
Aizawa’s attention returns to you, realizing you had said it out loud.
“I’ve heard much about you as well. It seems Eri is quite the fan.”
And you had, both when she talked about him as a hero and just as Aizawa. It’s his turn to hesitate, a tinge of embarrassment turning his scent sweeter as his brows rise. Despite the unease that sits on your shoulders it eased just a bit at the sight of him kneeling before you besides Eri.
“Good things I hope.” His lips twitch into what you think is a smile, though it looks as if it takes some effort.
“Of course. Eri is your number one defender whenever heros come up in class. And with the students this year it’s quite often.”
You chance a laugh, cutting short when you notice the way his shoulders tense. An awkward silence falls between you, filled only with the souls of passing cars on the other side of the fence and the rustle of leaves as the light turns to golden hour.
“Now that you’re here I’ll be heading off. Many things to do tonight.” You finally manage, grabbing your bag from the ground. The doors to the building are all locked, leaving on the playground fence open which you make sure is secure after leading the way out.
“I apologize for being late. Things at work ran late and-“
“Don’t worry about it.” You interrupt, successfully locking the gate and depositing the key in your bag before you drop it. It had taken four tries to even get it in the lock. “Eri is a lovely student. I would never object to seeing her more.”
You turn to the girl, budding her a quick goodbye before heading home. While you do your best not to run a brisk walk still gets you away from the pair quickly, allowing you to get around the corner with record time before you collapse against the wall, leaning on it for support as you take deep breaths. The street isn’t too busy but there are still a few passerby that give an odd look, likely taken aback by the sight of an Omega in such a state, forcing you to pull yourself together before any feel the need to help. That would really be the cherry on top for the night.
———————————————
It wouldn’t be the last time you would see Aizawa. He often appeared to pick Eri up at the end of the day instead of a blond boy by the name of Mirio. Her babysitter and best friend, she told you in the same tone of reverence she spoke of Aizawa with.
There were far and few days where you were charged with pickup duty, though you found yourself volunteering a bit more often if just to talk a few moments with Aizawa. Finally addressing your fear of Alphas, you had told yourself. He wasn’t wild or abrasive, and despite the aura he exuded it was softened through the lense of which Eri perceived him and to what you were quickly adapting. It helped that his scent wasn’t overbearing as most Alphas were, light and even a bit sweet.
The Alpha didn’t seem to mind your presence either, now a staple at school functions and you would often find yourself chatting with him. Always in a group or with straggling students at the end of the day. There was a bake sale around Christmas time, and the last thing you had expected was him to show up with Eri, a box of brownies balanced in one hand while his other remained clasped around hers.
While Shizu was supposed to be the one helping out at the table Aizawa remained there most of the time, the silence between you filled with the chattering of Eri as she told you about their holiday plans-she was going sledding for the first time that weekend, nodding when you told her to e careful- and showing off her nails, freshly painted by the Alpha behind her with little snowflakes.
Soon enough she ran off to meet with a few of her classmates that had shown up, leaving you to stand behind the table in silence, unsure as what to say and desperately hoping that he couldn’t detect the anxiety in your scent despite the blocking jell you had lathed over your glands, hoping it was enough to avoid the attraction of any Alphas in the area. You learned things often went smoother if they perceived you as a Beta, or at least they seemed a bit less chatty and in your space.
It didn’t seem to be an issue now, the presence of Aizawa prompting them to quickly pay for their goodies and leave, the man fixing them with a glare that sent shivers down your spine whenever they lingered too long to chat. Out of the blue he offered a brownie, free of charge, and you swapped it with one of your own eggnog sugar cookies. He turned out to be a decently good baker, though he admired Eri did most of the work with him supervising.
”It’s the best way for them to learn.” You agreed.
”It’s difficult when you know they’re going to hurt themselves.” He sighed, reminding you that he was a teacher as well as a hero. His words seeemed to carry a bit more weight than he let on, and while you didn’t pay you could understand the sentiment. You could only tell someone so many time not to climb the slide the wrong way before they had to find out on their own why it wasn’t a good idea.
”Well, that’s why we’re here, right?” You asked, offering him a cup of coffee from the thermos stashed in your bag. You didn’t know how he took it but it seemed good enough as he accepted the cup, pointedly ignoring the way your hands trembled even with the warm gloves you wore.
”To help guide them and pick them up when they fall. Some a bit harder than others.” You admit with a small laugh in an attempt to break the tension. Your efforts were rewarded with a quirk at the corner of his mouth.
Conversation flowed a bit easier afterwards, falling into a smooth rhythm as you talked about lighter topics and your own recent struggles with students. The shake in your voice slowly faded, emboldened as you grew more enthusiastic to the topics. It was only when you saw Shizu glancing at you from where he was talking with one of the other parents that you realized how enthusiastic you had gotten, embarrassed. To be so loud in public, and with an Alpha no less! If you had told yourself that morning that this was how your day was going to go you would have laughed and called in sick. He just made it so easy to forget your designations, feeling more on equal footing then you ever had with anyone before.
Still, your parents' warnings lingered in the back of your mind, keeping you from opening up to him completely. He could be playing nice just for now until he got close enough to sink his claws in like the violent creature he was, waiting for the moment you let your guard down. You tried not to let it get to you-you were a professional after all-but you couldn’t help the way you hesitated whenever he was near. You don’t know if he noticed, but regardless he never seemed to push boundaries, keeping a respectful distance and wearing scent blockers more than once when you ran into him, the sharp medicinal tang somehow distinctive as you had almost gone nose blind to it on yourself.
You began to see him more, often dropping back into the classroom to grab one thing or another that Eri had forgotten or to ask about how she was doing in class. More than once he brought something along with him. Things Eri had seen and wanted to get for you apparently. A coffee mug to replace your old chipped one. A new scarf for winter after you had told the class of how it had blown away that morning with the intention of bringing a bit more joy to the grey day. You had worn it with great enthusiasm, even when the scent of apples and spice had faded from the fabric. A scent you found yourself gravitating towards more and more, the candles you often lit to help relax at night carrying the familiar notes. Just to help you feel a bit less blue with the current cold weather, you told yourself, even when it wasn’t orchards and blue skys you imagined.
Some of your coworkers teased you about it though most were glad to see you coming out of your shell more. You took it all in stride. It’s not like you were courting him after all. You found yourself a bit less fearful of going out, unconcerned with running into an Alpha and not immediately set on edge by their scent, though you never grew as comfortable around any as you did with Aizawa.
It was easy to talk with him, even to the point you worked up the courage to ask him to come give a talk to your hero-obsessed class. The students had been enamored, Eri still surrounded by students at the end of the day, their attention shifting from him to her when you encourage them to give him a moment to himself.
“She seems to be enjoying her time here.” He commented as he packed up some of the things he had brought, the stragglers all still talking excitedly while you waited for their parents. It was raining outside so they would have to come to the classroom to find their kids.
“Yes. I’m lucky to have her. She’s very bright and kind to others.” You think back to the first time you’d met her, shy and hiding, compared to the girl you saw now. A sense of pride welled in your chest.
“I wish I could have her next year as well.” Come next fall she would go on to a different school, aging out of the current center. While you loved all your students you had grown especially close with her and it was disheartening to think about not seeing her again.
Aizawa paused at your words, staring vacantly at the tool belt he was holding, mind far away in a way that allowed you to observe him. The bags under his eyes hadn’t lessened in the time you’d known him, the scent of coffee lingering in a way about him that might as well have been a part of his scent.
The moment is cut as his phone chimes, making you both jump as he digs it from his pocket. Busying yourself with papers you only look up when you smell his scent become just a touch burned.
“Is everything alright?”
“Mirio isn’t going to be able to pick Eri up tomorrow." He growls, scowling at his phone as he digs through his contacts. “It’ll be a pain finding someone else to bring her to UA on such short notice especially with exams going on.”
You hesitate, the words mulling in your head as you watch his brows pinch while he types into his phone. He’d done you a favor today by coming in, so it would be common courtesy to repay it in any way you could, right?
”I could bring her. If you’re alright with that, that is.” Taking deep breaths, you forced yourself to keep your head high as you met his gaze. He seemed a bit surprised, if not confused. You had admitted once before that you were much of one for going out, always eager to get home and relax.
“If you’re sure.” He says slowly, giving you a chance to back out. His normal monotone held a pitch of uncertainty. Something you weren’t used to seeing him display. He was always at ease, a nonchalance in the air around him as if he couldn’t be bothered. “I’ll let the people at the gate know you’ll be coming. They should know Eri well enough to let you through.”
When they finally leave that evening, Aizawa checking once more that you were alright with the plan, you collapsed at your desk, head in your hands. What had you just signed yourself up for? Your head tilts to the side, spotting a picture frame sitting on the edge of the desk amount some other small trinkets students had made for you over the years. The edges were decorated with stickers and glitter, the frame holding a picture of Aizawa in full hero garb that Eri had drawn for you. It wasn’t the only picture like it on your desk but it was your favorite even if you would never admit it out loud.
The next day Shizu seemed to notice a bit of extra pep in your step, unable to hide the nervousness of seeing Aizawa outside of a school function or the building itself. Well, you would still be in a school, but not this one. He was able eek the information from you when you had to decline going out with the others after work.
“Oh, so are you making it official?”
“Making what official?” You ask, reaching underneath a desk to grab a rouge crayon that had rolled under. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed under any feet and ground into the carpet. The janitor still hadn’t let you hear the end of it from the last time it happened.
“The courting? Honestly I’m a bit surprised given your fear of Alphas, but I can’t say he’s a bad choice.”
The table rocks as your head hits the bottom, yelping as Shizu rushes over. Rubbing at the area, you manage to glare as he smiles apologetically.
“We’re not courting.” You huff, getting up and heading to tour desk, grabbing the halfthawed ice pack from your lunchbox and pressing it to your skull. The last thing you need is to show up with a bump on your head. So much for first impressions.
“Sure seems like it.” He pointedly looks at your new mug.
“He’s just considerate.” You counter, feet shuffling in the slippers also gifted by the same person.
“He doesn’t strike me as the considerate type.” Shizu says. “He hardly talks to anyone at drop off and you’ve got him in your classroom half the time now, and he’s the only Alpha I’ve seen you not be jumpy around.”
You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you rub your eyes.
“If he were interested he would have asked.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to?”
What a laughable thing to ask. Alphas didn’t wait for things, hovering at the edges to be invited in. They made them happen. If they wanted to court someone they made their intentions clear. They took what they wanted with little regard for those around them. They were top of the food chain after all.
But Aizawa wasn’t like that. Sure, he was rough around the edges-or so you’d been told, not having experienced it yourself- but not bristling. Firm, but not unkind. Clam, cool, and efficient. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Still, he always makes sure to get permission before entering the classroom. A room in which you ranked highest in the chain unlike everywhere else outside. And each time he arrived late he brought something as an apology. Nothing extravagant or attention drawing. Just simple things that added a bit more to your day, such as a snack you had offhandedly mentioned liking or a warm drink to carry on the way home.
You never complained even when it intruded on your own downtime in the evenings, a small part of you thrilled to see him.
The soft chime of ceramic rings through the class as your fingers tap against the surface, mixing with the approaching sounds of children as recess comes to an end.
“Just promise me one thing.” Shizu sighs, moving to open the door. “Don’t be scared to go for what you want.”
“I promise.”
He hesitates, as if trying to decide weather to believe you or not, before opening the door and letting the waiting students in. They clamor to their seats, still jittery with leftover energy from recess. Hands on things were always the way to go after lunch. Any attempt at writing or equations would be lost.
Your eyes drift to the mug again, still warm in memory more than temperature. And inconveniently, so is the thought of the man who gifted it.
——————————————
“-and that’s the gym where they all practice with their quirks!”
Eri pulled you along the paved walkway, easily navigating through the winding paths as if she knew them by heart. Maybe she did. All you knew was that after you had been let through the gates, a visitor pass clipped to the collar of your shirt, she had taken it upon herself to give you a tour. While you weren’t entirely sure you should just be walking around like this you didn’t have the heart to stop her. There wasn’t much harm in it, right? Aizawa had asked you to take her to the teacher’s lounge and wait for him there. It was still a half hour until your planned meeting time so walking around a bit until then should be fine.
The only thing was that you wished you’d earn something a bit warmer, the chilly breeze causing gooseflesh to erupt along your skin. A late cold front had hit the area as spring transitioned to summer, and while normally you’d have a jacket Eri was wearing it, worrying she may catch a cold. It didn’t help that you’d worn something a bit less practice than normal, wanting to make a good impression on any of Aizawa’s coworkers. Shizu had teased you about it, making you doubt the choice, but there was no time to go home and change.
“This is my favorite spot.” Eri pulled you to sit on a bench that overlooked a small courtyard with a fountain bubbling in the center. While a number of flowers lined neatly planted beds a few stubborn dandelions grew outside the bounds, not yet plucked by the groundskeeper.
There wasn’t a large rush to get to the office, and Eri seemed content where she was, kicking her feet as she watched a bee dance among the flowers.
“Are you courting anyone?” Her question catches you off guard, stunned as she looks up in question. Most children her age hadn’t developed the olfactory senses need to detect scents yet, normally kicking in around late middle school, and scenting was the only way to tell if someone was courting before a bond mark was put in place. Of course she wouldn’t be able to tell, but the question is odd regardless.
Trying not to appear too shocked, and not wanting hr to think she'd said something wrong, you gently ask what had brought the question about.
”I heard some of the adults talking about it.”
That made more sense. Maybe one of them was about to attempt courting and were bouncing ideas around. You found yourself doing some of the same with your own coworkers, often the go-to when anyone was interested in an Omega. But something about it still struck you as odd. Something in the phrasing and answer, itching under your skin until it finally clicked.
Had they been asking about you? It would be a bit posthumous to think it was you specifically. But still your stomach fluttered at the thought.
”Eri, who-“ the girl jumps from her seat with an excited shout, running past at the speed of acceleration only a kid can achieve. A moment later a familiar scent hits, twisting in your seat to see a familiar head of blond hair.
“Mirio!” Eri ran to the young hero, who scooped her up with just as much enthusiasm, spinning her about as she laughed. Maybe in your younger days you could have done the same, and in fact you did, but just watching now made your back hurt.
“I tried my best to get out of my exams early but they ended up dragging late.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “You didn’t walk here by yourself, did you?”
“No, Aizawa talked with my teacher who walked me here!” Setting her down, Mirio looked over to where you stood. One moment he was seven feet away and the next he was right in front of you, clasping your hands and shaking them with vigor.
“Thank you so much for bringing her safely!”
“Oh.” You stutter, trying not to cringe away at his scent as everything about him screamed alpha. From his physicality to demeanor, including the way the smell of mint and earth hit you full force. It was never too bad in the pickup line, even having a few decent conversations, but the scent blockers he normally wore were absent now.
‘Don’t be a coward. You know this kid.’
Still, it puts you on edge nonetheless, trying not to breathe through your nose as you take a step back. A voice is yelling for you to get away, to fall in with other Omegas and the safety of numbers, but it’s far more distant than it normally was. Easier to ignore as you grit your teeth and steady your breathing. Hopefully he doesn’t notice the way your hand grip the strap of your bag. If he does, he’s polite enough not to mention it.
“It was no trouble at all. Aizawa just wanted me to make sure I got her to the teachers lounge and-”
“The teachers lounge!” Mirio perked up, attention jumping back over to Eri. “I’ll race you there! Last one is a rotten egg!”
He takes off, Eri quick behind him even as he shortens his strides to give her a chance to keep up. You attempt to follow, already lagging behind and lacking their energy, but quickly lose them in the winding halls of UA even as you call out for them to slow down. It seemed as if the place had been designed to get people lost, unsure of where to go as every white wall and classroom looked the same to you. From the looks of it the majority of students had finished their exams, the steady trickle that had first greeted you upon arriving at the school now abandoned. All eager to go celebrate after success or wallow in failure you assumed.
Being lost wasn’t your main worry. Being lost without Eri was the bigger issue. While you were sure Mirio was more than capable of taking care of her- he picked her up from dropoff half the time for after all- the thought of Aizawa finding her without you made you panic. Though you had never seen him so, the thought of incurring the Alpha’s anger was daunting. Would he think you irresponsible or even stupid? What if he made a call to the school and complained? What if he never wanted to see you again?
The last thought put an extra pep in your step, fast walk increasing to a jog as you called out for Eri.
So concerned with finding her, you’re completely unprepared when you turn the corner and run full force into another person. It’s like hitting a freshly cleaned glass door with full confidence, the result just the same as you bounce back. While they only seem surprised, you’re left falling, a chirp of distress escaping before it can be stopped. The impact is sharp as your tailbone hits the hard floor, tears sprinting up immediately.
“Are you alright?”
In an instant the person you bumped is kneeling next to you, brows furrowed. Despite the scent of Beta dripping off him- something akin to a mellow red wine, fruity yet bitter- his cutting figure was enough to give you pause. Even in the looser clothes he wore the hardened muscle of his body was evident, making him into a rather effective wall. No wonder he hadn’t budged an inch. You were more lucky you hadn’t broken your nose.
“I’m sorry.” The words are second nature, apologies slipping for even the smallest inconvenience to try and soothe the situation. “I was looking for someone and got lost.”
“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Normally I have a bit better head on my shoulders.” His gravely voice isn’t boisterous but rumbling as he offers you a hand up, which you cautiously accept. He doesn’t seem the least bit angry about running into him even if there’s a perpetual hardness to the set of his face. In fact he looks rather concerned, expression softening just a fraction as he noticed you wince.
“Who were you looking for?”
You hesitate, unsure on what to say. It’s not like he would be trouble given his position at UA, and in fact he’s likely a known coworker of Aizawa’s. An ID badge dangles at his side, the name ‘Sekijirō Kan’ stamped below his picture.
“I was supposed to bring Eri to the teachers lounge but Mirio showed up and they ran off so quickly I couldn’t keep up.”
“Mm, that sure sounds like him.” Though he remains a respectable distance away, you notice the way his chest expands as he takes a deep breath, almost perking up as he catches your own scent which has now surpassed the blockers. A combination of potency from stress and the late hour of the day. If you’d been thinking you’d have applied more before leaving the school, however Eri was excited to give a tour of UA which had led to rushing out the door.
It seems a lightbulb goes off in his head, head tilting as he assesses you anew.
“You must be her teacher.”
“Yes?” How did he know that? Has Aizawa been talking about you with his coworkers? It was more likely Eri had mentioned something when recounting her day to the others, no doubt her presence was not uncommon, but still the small possibility had your stomach fluttering.
“I’m sorry, but I really must find Eri. I promised Aizawa I would make sure she got there.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. From the sounds of it Mirio has taken her there already. If you’d like, I could show you the way to make sure.” He offers an arm, seeming to shrink in on himself just a bit to try and appear smaller, or likely less intimidating. The image is amusing enough for you to gather enough courage to accept, allowing him to lead you through the endless halls.
As you walk the anxiety of the encounter eases, especially as Sekijiro asks many questions.
He’s a teacher in the hero course just as Aizawa, though his feelings seem a bit mixed on the man. He doesn’t speak bad of him, even complicated on occasion, yet his words hold a tightness implying some tension. Not surprising considering the classes here are highly competitive from what you’d heard. It’s likely the teachers also held a level of animosity towards one another under the pressure for their students to perform well. While not overtly enthusiastic or overbearing, he seems keenly interested in your life, especially your opinion of Aizawa. It seemed your guide already had a good idea of who you were.
“Here we are.” He says as you stop, the door labeled with a plaque proudly stating it was the teacher’s lounge. You can hear voices coming from inside, muffled.
“Thank you. I-“
Before you can say anything else the door slams open, revealing Aizawa. His eyes flicker from you to Sekijiro, then to your still linked arms, narrowing as a low growl escapes. He was never the most expressive person, an air of nonchalance or mild indifference always seeming to follow, but the clear anger, even more than the annoyance you saw when others would intrude on your conversations, that pulled at his features was new to you. Behind him you could see the two runaways you’d been looking for.
“Aizawa!” You pull away, bowing your head so quickly the bones crackle in protest. “I’m so sorry! I got separated from Eri and got lost trying to find her.”
Swallowing thickly, the air was tinged with the scent of his displeasure and only intensifying the moment he saw you standing there with Sekijiro, serving to make you more nervous.
He was mad at you. Of course he would be. And now he likely thought you to be incompetent as well and-
“It’s alright.” Aizawa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs, taking a carefully measured breath. His scent lessens just a bit, though still overpowering and screaming that he was the one in charge of this situation. “I know how they can be. Kids hardly ever listen.”
A large hand grasp your shoulder, straightening you back out.
“No harm done.” Sekijiro says, though his attention remains on the Alpha in front of him. “If you ever find yourself here again don’t hesitate to drop by my class. I would be glad to help keep you from getting lost.” His eyes crinkle in muted amusement as Aizawa growls, louder than last time and making you jump.
Normally it was a precursor to a fight and the last thing you wanted was to be in the middle of an Alpha and this giant man if they decided to get into it. Aizawa was smaller, lankier, but you’d watched the few videos of him that the press had managed to get online, having seen him take on opponents much larger and win. It would leave quite the mess, and Eri would be distressed.
Thankfully that’s not what happens, Aizawa stepping aside, pushing the larger man’s hand off your shoulder and replacing it with his own as he guides you inside.
“It was nice meeting you!” Sekijiro calls as the door is slammed once again, this time in his face and leaving you closed in the lounge.
Mirio and Eri shuffle away from the desk, already scattered with snack wrappers, having the decency to look embarrassed.
“Apologies. I got too excited and was careless. I should have been more thoughtful about my actions.” Mirio says, bowing deeply, rigid enough you could take a right angle to his posture as Aizawa glares. It seems the Alpha had given them a thorough dressing down, though you doubt it was very harsh considering how he seemed to dote on Eri the rest of the time. Likely Mirio had gotten the brunt of it for absconding with Eri as the older of the two.
The girl approaches, shy as the first time you’d meet, shoes scuffing the floor and unable to look you in the eye. Her fingers worry at the edge of your jacket, the sleeves rolled up to make better use of her hands.
“I’m sorry for running off.” Eri apologizes, looking a bit sheepish as she bows her head, Mirio mimicking the stance. It’s difficult to be upset when she seems so sincere, and there was no harm done in the end. It’s not like she’d run off with a stranger. In fact is was mirio that she knew better than you.
Crouching, you got to eye level and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, your heart squeezing at the way her eyes line with tears.
“It’s alright. I knew nothing would happen since you were Mirio, but you still made me worry.” You extend a pinky. “Just promise you won’t go running off from adults again, yeah?”
She quickly locks her finger around yours, sealing the promise and looking a bit more at ease.
“Mirio.” Aizawa cuts in. “Why don’t you take Eri to the dorms and she can see the others.”
The two didn’t need to be told twice, saying their quick goodbyes before slipping out the door and away from Aizawa’s foul mood. From exactly what you couldn’t tell, likely a combination of all the small incidents, but the lingering burnt tang of his scent was enough to put you on edge He’d never been so overtly on edge during all your previous interactions apart from the way he sometimes seemed a bit more closed off. Even then you would have called him more grumpy than angry.
His head hangs back, staring blankly at the ceiling in contemplation, hands rest on his hips. He’s dressed down from the last time you’ve seen him, not in his hero uniform. Instead a tight black shirt clings to him, arms mercifully covered by a grey jacket. Unlike Sekijiro he’s not bursting with muscle, but instead lithe like a cat with fluid movements to match.
“I apologize about them.” He gestures to the couch along the wall, prompting you to take a seat as he moves to a kettle sitting on the counter, refilling it as he rummages through the cabinet. The scent of your distress must still cling like a second skin, noticing the way his nose wrinkled despite your best efforts to temper it. Would it be rude to ask if they had any scent blockers for the ride home? Surely they would have a stock of them in the nurses office.
His own scent permeates the air, overpowering the lingering traces of others and making your head swim. It wasn’t even that strong in comparison to how Alphas normally projected their scents- a competition to see who could peacock the most- but the familiarity of it wrapped around your brain like a blanket on a cold night, calming your anxiety and loosening your common sense. Maybe if a window had been cracked open you would have thought better of your words.
“I knew Eri would be alright with Mirio. I was more worried that you would be mad.”
Aizawa stills, staring at you from over his shoulder, caught in the middle of pouring two cups of tea. The same kind you kept in the drawer of snacks at your desk if the smell was anything to go by.
His silence has you backtracking.
“I mean, not that you would be wrong to be mad, I did break my promise to get her here, but, uh.” You mumble, trying to dig yourself out of the hole but only going deeper.
“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s run off from an adult. Kids like to cause trouble.” He sighs, and you get the feeling he’s had plenty of experience with it. Where you work they get into things enough as is. It must be even worse in a school full of kids training to be heroes with a penchant to throw themselves into danger.
Moving back over, he sets one of the cups down in front of you before taking a seat. There’s plenty of other room on the couch but he instead opts to take the chair across from you, letting himself settle into the cushions with a sigh. Even from here you can here his knees crackle. The ever-present bags under his eyes seem heavier, as if they carry a real weight to them.
“I’m sorry.”
He waves your worries away, rubbing at his eyes.
“It’s fine. Honestly, I think it’s a bit good for Eri. Mirio is good at helping her be a bit less timid about things.”
“I meant about having you come in yesterday.” You clarify. “You’re very clearly tired and have a lot on your plate. It was selfish of me to ask in the first place.”
Aizawa pulls his hand away, brows drawn together- only deepening the perpetual wrinkle that resides there- as the scent of tea fills the space between you. Much more manageable than his own crisp scent.
“I would have come in any case. Don’t think it was a problem for me at all.” His mouth quirked in the corners, just a fraction. Anyone who didn’t know him might not have noticed, but with the increasing amount of time spent around the man you’d begun to pick up his quirks and mannerisms. “If anything it helped me relax.”
Relax? Around a bunch of overstimulating children? That was difficult to believe, and if he was just saying it to make you feel better it was in fact having the opposite effect, that much more guilty that he saw the need to soothe you about the subject.
“Still, you should push yourself so much. It’s important to get rest. I worry every time I see you so tired.”
Your voice is firm, as if talking to one of your students rather than a full grown man. An Alpha and pro hero no less, but concern overpowered any propriety towards designation or position. Maybe a mistake given the way Aizawa stares back, his gaze fixed in a way that makes you squirm in your seat. He may be tired, but the dark pools are no less piecing. Not intimidating, but consuming all the same in a way that you would gladly let yourself get lost in. And have, on more than one occasion.
”There's some construction going on near my apartment.” He finally says. “Makes it harder to sleep on my days off. The scaffolding has the wind whistling twice as loud at night.”
”Tell me about it.” You goan. Spring time was the start of construction season, everyone racing to get things done before winter hit and complete projects that had been waiting all through the freeze. Your own complex had decided to do some work on the elevator now that the snow had melted away and they could crack it open from the top, leaving you to climb six floors to your door. Not the worst that it could be but still a pain after a long day of running around and wanting nothing more than to relax.
Conversation from there progressed easily, as it always did with the Alpha who seemed to find the most mundane things fascinating. Maybe it was the fact that his own life was so full of excitement that the troubles of your painfully average and boring life entertained him. He never interrupted or complained, only commenting or making noises to show his agreement (moving your plants inside for fear that the sudden freeze may kill them and force you to start the beginning of your summer plot again) or disapproval (jumping the turnstile when your train pass wasn’t working and you didn’t want to be late getting to the school).
He listened, eyes half lidded as you spoke. Each time you apologized for talking so much he only waved it off, asking you to continue. Occasionally he would give his own story to go along with whatever you had said. Nobody had ever accused you of being overly chatty before- in fact you had the opposite issue of being too reserved with others due- but it was hard to stop around Aizawa, everything about him drawing you in despite others claims that his very presence was a ward.
The chirping notification of your phone lights the screen, displaying a reminder to pick up groceries tomorrow as well as displaying the late hour. With the gradual shift of the sun to remain just a little longer each day the sense of what was late and what wasn’t was harder to tell. With the amount of light left it could still have been four p.m. during the winter, but now the screen told a time of seven. Time had slipped away more quickly than you’d realized. Something that seemed to frequently happen around Aizawa, even as he dozed next to you, eyes half lidded. He didn’t seem concerned by the late hour and had yet to imply you should leave, yet you took it upon yourself to gather your things.
“I should be going before the train station. I would hate to take up any more of your time.”
Aizawa nods, following as you stand. It would be a losing battle to try and convince him you’d be fine, you already know, so instead you enjoy the lingering time together, walking through the halls just close enough that your arms would occasionally brush. He seems more at ease now than he was earlier, movements more relaxed and shoulders not quite as hunched.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but still held an unspoken tension. The chatter from before now feels far too intimate to be so loud about in public, giving others the wrong impression of your relationship. Occasionally one person or another would pass by, normally students. Their curious eyes quickly shifted away, though you could hear the occasional whisper. It likely reflected in a different way to see you walking together so late in the day, your face an unfamiliar sight. Hopefully no rumors would be spread about the situation, but you had been in high school before and knew better than to hope too much.
Stepping outside, the chill of the day has only dropped more. You shiver, already dreading the trek to the train station then home. At least if you got sick there would be the weekend to recover and not pass it to any of the children. The place was already a breeding ground for germs no matter how many times you wiped everything down and there was already a wave of the flu making its way through the school.
Rubbing your arms, you turn to say goodbye only to jump as Aizawa’s arms wrap around your shoulders. For a moment you think he’s giving you a hug, but notice the absence of his jacket now draped over your shoulders.
“Ah, I’m really fine. I let Eri borrow mine so you can just send it with her on Monday.” You assure him, moving to take the garment off. He won’t have it, batting your hands away and securing the garment firmly on your shoulders. It’s made of a luxurious soft material, or likely gotten to that point from regular wear. It’s difficult to tell which as it still seems to be in relatively good condition. Not that you would have minded if it bore a few loose threads and holes in the fabric. Not when it was warm and smelled so much like him.
“You’ll get cold.” Is all he says, even as gooseflesh erupts across his own pale skin. The muscle underneath flexes, your mouth going dry at the movement. “And in any case it’ll keep anyone looking for trouble away.”
He was worried about your safety. A lone Omega traveling at night with the lingering smell of fear would be enough to draw attention in any case. The jacket was enough to cover up most of it unless someone got too close for comfort, strengthened by the way he ran his wrist over the sleeves to refresh the scent until you were almost sure you’d be mistaken for an Alpha yourself.
“Aizawa.” You hesitate, fearing the words will destroy whatever thing between you there was. Something you enjoyed and didn't want to let go of. But you needed to know. “Are you trying to court me?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, his hands fixing the collar of the jacket to bring it up further around your neck before his eyes flicker to yours. The normal dark circles under them remain, yet an energy still seems to burn within. Apprehensive almost.
“Do you want me to?”
The air escapes your lungs, unable to find the words to properly respond.
“I know you’re not a fan of Alphas. That much is clear just by watching.” Ah, so he had noticed despite your best efforts. It wasn’t a big secret among those who knew you, but most others just considered it to be your shy Omega nature. “I can’t say I blame you. In a society that puts emphasis on power and strength, people are more willing to turn a blind eye to the actions that result from its overuse. It would be smart of you not to put yourself in danger.”
You pull the jacket around you closer, the soft lining reflecting your own burning heat back, shrinking into the garment as if it were a shell. It takes a considerable amount of effort to keep from scurrying away, accepting his opportunity for rejection.
“My parents warned me to stay away from Alphas. They always said they were prone to violence and trouble, and I can’t say I’ve had too many experiences to contradict that.” Aizawa sighs. A deep sound of acceptance, like the decision is already made. It’s his turn to be surprised as you grab his hand, clasping it between your own.
“But you’ve proven that things aren’t always what they seem. I tell my students all the time they shouldn’t judge someone before they know them, yet I don’t put my own words into practice.”
You swallow, trying to keep your voice even despite the way your legs shook, knees weak from just a glance from him.
“Will you help me set an example? To not let my own fear get in the way of happiness?”
Aizawa is silent, and for one terrifying moment you think he may reject you. The confession wasn’t the most graceful and you had practically admitted you held a bias towards him at the start. But when you go to pull away his grip tightens, sending tingles through your fingers as his hand grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes are sharp in the dim light, tired but unwavering as they search your face for any hint of uncertainty. You can feel the warmth of his palm even through the rough calluses along his fingers, the contrast strangely grounding.
The tension in your chest loosens slightly, though your pulse still stumbles when he leans closer.
"I know you don't like Alphas. Everyone who knows you that I've talked to has told me so." His thumb brushes once against your jaw before he exhales through his nose. "I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable, yet I couldn't stay away. Of any Alpha, I'm the worst."
Your breathing stutters as he leans in closer, stoping just short and leaving mere inches between you.
"You don’t have to force yourself past your fear for my sake." he interrupts quietly. “I know what I am. I know what people think Alphas are capable of., and they're not wrong.” His words hold no scorn, only a reluctant admittance of silent truth. Even shame, which has your stomach turning for a different reason, unable to think of him the way he says. At first maybe, but not now. Not your Aizawa.
“You make me feel safe.” The tremble of your hands and butterflies in your stomach when he got near wasn't because of fear. Quite the opposite, your body aching to be near him instead of getting as far away as possible. To have his scent and arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like you meld into one person.
Carefully you lean forward, placing a soft, hesitant kiss on his lips, waiting for the moment he pulls back and scolds you, telling you that you had gotten all the wrong messages and he wasn't interested. Except that never comes. Instead, he simply leans in further, deepening the kiss as a low rumble escapes him. Not of displeasure, but instead a thrumming content.
You could have stood there for hours kissing him, and you had all the intention of doing so, until he pulls away.
"Can I walk you home?" He asks, forehead resting against your own as he pants, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide. His shoulders heave as he swallows.
"Of course." You whisper, steeling one more kiss before threading your arm through his, unable to stop the smile that hurt your cheeks. "You have to get your jacket back somehow."
"Keep it." He says, posture back to the relaxed slouch you knew him by as his eyes linger on the fabric. "It looks much better on you. And besides," He leans down, lips brushing your ear. "You can keep it for your nest."
His words have your skin heating, ducking in embarrassment as you walk. To anyone looking on they would think you a perfectly happy couple, and they wouldn't be wrong.
