World of Thoughts, Dreams and Fantasies ❤

And perhaps Xiao indulges a little – just a teensy bit. Surely it isn’t so terrible a thing to glance at his lover, yes? (The word warms his belly. He ignores it.) Surely it’s alright to look at the flex of your arm, the slope of your neck, the little arch that connects it to your jaw.

Except… he can’t see it today. Xiao blinks.

You’re standing by the counter, wrestling with a large and rather sticky wad of dough. He watches your face scrunch up in irritation, and tips his head fondly when you hiss something under your breath – a whispered curse that he hears perfectly well – oblivious to your audience until Xiao speaks.

“Why have you not tied your hair up today?”

You blink up as he pads soundlessly over, and his chest prickles with warmth at the way a smile instantly makes its way on your face. He doesn’t need to get any closer to see the way your pupils dilate in affection, and he rues that you know this, too, or he could have used it as an excuse to lean closer. (And then perhaps you would have stolen a kiss, or two, or three – but it’s no matter.)

“I was so eager to make this…” you gesture vaguely at the mess by means of explanation and he hums – “that I forgot. I do have my hair-tie on me though. It’s right in my pocket!” You smile. “Mind tying my hair up for me?”

He’s unused to denying you these days – and so he says of course before it even occurs to him to say no. 

You turn blithely away and toward the counter, warring once again with your dough. Xiao hangs behind you, wondering if he should first warn you before he sticks his hands in – and if he should even do this at all. He’s about to back away when you toss your head up to let the hair fall away from your face before resuming battle. Might as well. What if you turn to chop something next and cut yourself? Besides, what does a beast care for things like ‘indecency?’ You’re rubbing off on him.

And so shakes his head and slides his hands into your pockets without further preamble. You jolt against him, just the teeniest bit, and he bites his tongue.

You bite yours too.

How could you not? His fingers are gentle, and probing, but what truly makes your breath hitch is the unavoidable drag of his nails against your thighs that reminds you a little of still less indecent times. He’s wrapped around you like this, all warmth and concentration, and you hope he doesn’t find the hair tie soon. 

Celestia grants your wish. Some moments later, he takes a step back, hands leaving your pockets. One of his nails snags on the lip and the fabric snaps softly in place. And then his hands are in your pockets again – warm and clawed and probing, and maybe a little more thorough than they need to be. You hope he can’t feel the thrum of your heart through your ass of all places.

You don’t know if Celestia grants this favour, but soon his hands are gone, leaving only lingering warmth.

“It is not here,” he tells you. There’s a beat of silence, as you say nothing in return in your frazzled state. Then, Xiao continues, perhaps mistaking your shyness for disappointment – “no matter. Wait a moment.”

It really is just a moment.

There’s a soft flurry of anemo as he vanishes. You punch your dough weakly, just to get the feelings out, and Xiao appears to the sound of a resounding wet slap.

“Hm?”

“Just the dough.”

“I see.” Xiao steps behind you again, presumably hair tie in hand, and you return to your dough, both relieved and a bit annoyed his hands aren’t on you anymore. You punch it. It grabs your fist, and you click your tongue angrily as you try to fend it off.

You’re so busy in battle you miss when it happens – but soon enough, your hair is rolled into a bun and, much to your surprise, you feel cool metal slide against your scalp before it warms swiftly up. Xiao lets go of your hair then, and hefts up his polearm.

“I must set off now,” he says, and you turn towards him as you tell him to take care. You feel like he doesn’t quite hear you, though – he eyes you intently with an absent nod. You think his eyes soften a little with fondness, before he turns around, and puts on his mask too for good measure.

“Keep it,” he says. You can’t quite tell if his voice is gentler, or if it’s muffled by the mask. “It suits you well.” He’s gone before you can ask what does.

It’s only later, once you’ve set your dough to rise, and cleaned the kitchen, and overboiled some eggs when you remember to check. You reach up and feel it – an ornamental hairpin, smooth and divinely luxurious, made far lighter than it ought by way of enchantment. A gift.

      Arlecchino – 810

"Your... pocket, you say?" Arlecchino's eyes linger on your expression, then lower, lower, till they reach the curve of your butt. Or – perhaps not. That would be preposterous, wouldn’t it? Surely the Knave herself wouldn’t peer at you like that. Not the way you peer at her. "That's quite the predicament, isn't it?"

If you had a sliver of shame, you would perhaps have considered sounding less petulant. At the moment, however, it is trumped by something much like impudence. "Yes – and I can't seem to remember which. Could you help me find it really quickly? My arms hurt, and there's nowhere to put this."

Arlecchino tilts her head. The rest of her is spider-still. Although you’ve been assigned here at the House of the Hearth as a healer for quite some time now, it is difficult to become used to the shadows that linger in the corners, the windows that seem unwilling to let light in or out. The looming hallway behind her serves only to make the Knave seem taller, more imposing – and the effect is decidedly not lost on you. You swallow, drawing your legs closer together. Sometimes, being in her presence feels akin to being shielded by all the world. Her rare smiles and knowing eyes…

Although, sometimes, it feels as though all the world could not shield you from her.

When she speaks, you let out a breath. Softly, so as to hear her clearly. Her voice is low and smooth as spidersilk, and you get the feeling she enjoys it when you lean a little forward to listen. “You know I have a meeting, yes? A rather important one?” 

You swallow again, fingers flexing round the edges of the box. They dig into your skin, and it hurts. 

“Yes,” you say, sounding a little less blithe and a little more apologetic. “I’m so sorry… but if I set these down now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to lift them up again.”

"I see."

You shift your weight, hefting the medical supplies further up in your arms. The glass vials clack against one another, and one falls onto a pile of gauze with a soft thump. An edge of the box digs into your collarbone, and you adjust it again. "Yes." You grunt.

You hear the clack of a heel against the cool marble then, and another, and another, until the Knave is right behind you, casting a long shadow in the morning sun. The hallways of the House of the Hearth are not carpeted, after all. Messes on fabric are more difficult to clean.

"If you drop these," Arlecchino murmurs, trailing a hand over your hip and into your left front pocket, "you'll have to scrub the floor on your knees."

Oh dear. You feel a trickle of sweat trail down your neck as she presses her long nails into your thigh. "Ri – right."

"Mhm." She stands still again for what is likely a single moment, yet feels like several. The box grows heavier in your arms as her fingers shift and feel about.

Then, she takes her hand out.

And oh, it is like escaping a spider's web. You press your legs further together as she sidles up closer and slips her hand into the pocket on the right. Out of a blaze and straight into another. You hope she cannot hear the beating of your heart. 

She probes around for longer than she should. 

"Oh dear," she murmurs, the words more endearment than a dismayed interjection. Right into your ear. You bite back a shiver. "Your pockets are quite deep, and my nails, too long. Allow me a moment.”

Your breath hitches. Your voice is quieter than you expect when you say – "take your time." 

In your periphery, you see Arlecchino smile. Just a little.

"I thought your arms hurt?"

Your eyes widen. "I – um."

"Father?" Lyney's voice carries across the hall, accompanied by quick strides, and you let out a shaky breath as she turns, a hand on your hip bracing you against her. Before he can turn around the bend and see you, however, Arlecchino speaks.

"Lyney. No need to come closer." His footsteps come to a sharp halt, and you silently thank every god there is. "Is the Monsieur here?"

"Yes, Father."

"Tell him I shall be there momentarily. And you," she adds, in a quieter voice. "Hold still."

There is the sound of a clip, the feel of her fingers raking quickly through your hair, and suddenly it is tied neatly up again. You blink in confusion and turn around.

"There," Arlecchino says, tossing swathes of loose hair over her shoulder. It tumbles across her back in a smooth, even sheet, glinting in the sunlight that the windows suddenly allow. Your heart feels as though it will burst. "Let us… search for your hair-tie another time.”

      Kinich – 880

“Of COURSE you went and broke your–”

“Shut up for once, Ajaw,” you hiss. Numbness and agony dance about your elbow still, several minutes after your arm has been wrapped up by a healer. For some godforsaken reason, Kinich has vanished to heavens know where, leaving behind… this guy.

For just a moment, he’s uncharacteristically quiet. This is because, for a moment, you were uncharacteristically rude. Ordinarily you take care to be kind to Ajaw – his fall from grace as a dragonlord has left him with many bruised feelings, you’re sure – but today you are sorely lacking in patience.

A thudding sting jolts up your arm and you hiss, trying not to clutch at the cast. 

Ajaw floats sullenly about. You see him glance at you once, twice, then again in poorly hidden concern, and bite back a smile despite yourself.

He’s really cute sometimes.

“I’m okay,” you finally reassure. “It just hurts.”

Ajaw swells pompously up. “HAH! You wish I cared –”

“Shush,” Kinich says, knocking him aside. You reach instinctively up to catch him, and flinch when you realise you can’t.

“Ow. What took you so long?”

“Don’t move, then.” Kinich sighs. “I got you some food. Eat and take your pain meds. I’ll get you home after, then head over to talk to the client.”

“You’d better ask that sodden rag to compensate us!” Ajaw seethes, floating back in a yellow-green flash. “One of our party got hurt! Ours!”

“So much for not caring.” Kinich tsks. Then, turning to you and unwrapping the food – “here. Need me to feed you?”

You shake your head. How embarrassing. You’re in view of every Scion there is. “I’ve got it.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, and you smile as you take the wrap from him and bite down. It’s just to your tastes – as you expected. Kinich is quiet and doesn’t argue, but sometimes you can’t help but wish he would. It would have been nice if he’d fed you.

You absently shake your head at the thought, strands of hair swaying this way and that. Ajaw seems to misunderstand.

“Oi, Kinich!” he rasps. “Idiot! If one hand’s full and the other’s swaddled like an infant, how are they supposed to get their hair outta their face?”

You laugh. Sometimes he really is cute. “It’s okay, Ajaw. I have a hair tie in… one of my pockets.”

Kinich doesn’t face you as he checks his supplies. “Oh?”

You hum. “Mind searching for it and tying my hair up?”

He looks now, blinking in surprise. A packet slips loosely out of his hands and right into the bag. Surveying your several pockets full of supplies, he cocks his head and asks – “uh, you sure?”

“Yeah, sure.” You chew blithely. “Whas the problem?”

“The – sure. Get up.” You stand. “Great. Ajaw, why don’t you check their pockets – since they’re your favourite mortal.”

Ajaw reddens and vanishes.

You blink and swallow. “What’s the big idea?”

Kinich steps over his bags towards you, and slides his hands into the pockets on either side of your thigh. You hear a hush fall over the people nearest to you. 

You can’t really see them though, what with Kinich so… close. Close enough for you to have to jerk your food away and hold it aloft over his shoulder – a dizzying mistake, because he only shifts closer. You see every detail in his lovely eyes for a moment that feels longer than it is, before you blink and turn away, face warming. 

“You’re right.” He shrugs, and slips his hands into your back pockets. Your torso is alight where it brushes his. “Not a problem. I found it. Turn around.”

You hurry to obey, and stumble. He hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Don’t wanna turn? Whatever you say,” he breathes. You see a man usher his children away from you and pray Kinich cannot hear the unsteady ba-dump ba-dump of your frenzied heart.

Kinich ties your hair. It is difficult in your awkward position, with the way his arms are uncomfortably angled – but he does it, slowly and carefully, fixated on your hair as you dodge the gaze of every person that walks past. You see the medic from earlier walk out for a break and do a double take. She blinks, then winks, and you scowl at her, futilely hoping she does not notice your embarrassment.

And suddenly, it’s done. Kinich steps away, slipping his hands into his own pockets. You resent it, then resent yourself, then croak out a weak thank you before shoving the food into your mouth again.

If Kinich’s face is more flushed than usual, you do not notice. Or you blame it on the sun. Something like that. And yet, somehow still, he has the gall to be cheeky.

“Remember to pay me back for that,” he says, bending over to zip his bag up. You stare at his ass and try not to ask – how? By groping you in return?

Kinich slings his things over his shoulder and braces them in one hand. He holds the other out for you as you swallow the last of your meal.

Man, you can’t resist. “How?” you say. “Do I grope you back?”

Kinich drops his hand. “I– no. Be more careful out there next time.”

      Varka – 540

“Your pocket? Just a sec, I'll go wash my hands and –” Varka stops, then blinks. You tap a foot impatiently. 

“Yes, where else? Help me out! I'm so sweaty already.” 

“Mhm, I can see that.” He grins. “Those pants sure are clinging to ya.”

You hope he doesn’t notice the embarrassment that softens your glare. You’re unsure of whether to be pleased or irate, which is why you decide to instead be both. “Are you going to help me out, or not?”

Varka’s grins widens.

And you’d think it cute – you really would – if it weren’t so hot and humid already, and if your hands weren’t full of new plants for the flowerbed (bright new varieties from Sumeru and Fontaine, to celebrate his return to Mondstadt for good), and if they weren’t covered in dirt that clung to you like… well, dirt.

Or perhaps, you allow, he still is cute. Just a bit. Dressed in warm pastels, covered till the knees and elbows in muck, a streak of dirt reaching across his neck and cheek like a wannabe scar. You can’t help the smile that unfurls on your face like the flowers in your hands, then – and especially not when he’s so obviously noticed your little trick, and is deliberately playing right into your hands.

Heavens, you love him.

“Say please?”

Perhaps not. You scoff. “Chivalry really is dead.”

Varka laughs then, hearty and warm. You try not to think of how much you’d missed hearing it. “Lemme wash my hands. One sec.”

He doesn't leave you waiting long.

You're standing by the flowerbeds, sectioning them in your mind as he jogs over, shirt bouncing this way and that as he flicks water off of his giant hands. There's a bit of foam caught on his elbow, and you giggle to yourself in lieu of a laugh as you turn away from him, imagining him hurriedly rinsing the soap off, just so he can come stick his probing fingers in your pockets. Your sweet pervert. He amuses you so, and you love him, you do. But you’re not going to relent just yet, for the sake of your little game. And so when you speak, your voice is testy, albeit sodden with affection still.

“You're late, Varka.”

When he speaks, his meekness is as faux as your annoyance. “Sorry, my darling.”

Ah, never mind. There's no biting back a laugh this time. You chortle, and he plops his chin atop your head. You smile, relenting. Whatever, who cares about the game? You’re home, and your Varka is home, and that’s all that matters. 

“You're lucky you're cute,” you tell him.

“Really now,” he says, and you can hear his grin as he rummages about in your front pocket with excruciating slowness. You lean back against his chest, uncaring of the dirt and mud and sweat. “If you're hoping the praise might make me speed up… well, you know I'm no good at looking for things.”

“Really?” You ask, and he hums, fingers swiping over your thighs.

“Really. I might be searching for a while.”

You sigh. “Just don't take all day.”

“Day? I might even take all night. Just let me check your breast pocket real quick.”

     Flins – 810

“Do you recall where you put it?”

You flick your wrists, trying to get the dead monster goop off of your hands. It clings spitefully on. Man, they bug you even in death. “Yes,” you say. Then – “wait. No.” You pause. “I already used my spare up. Man, fuck those guys.” You flip the smouldering corpses off, and the man gives a soft, throaty laugh as he strides over, stepping over them as he does. And more than ever, you wish you remembered his name.

You wish you'd listened more carefully when he was first introduced to you, months ago, although not a part of your usual squad. Whenever you'd met him after, you'd addressed him as comrade or sir. To your friends, he was ‘that handsome guy with the cheese wheel eyes,’ for heaven’s sake.

“Is it still possible to have one on you?” He asks, oblivious to your struggles. Although, sometimes, you suspect he teases you on purpose. Not hearing when you call him the first few times, asking you to relay messages across headquarters… you shake the memories off to focus on what he says. “So many coats and layers… hopefully, there is something we can use, however rudimentary.”

You doubt it. You just washed this uniform, and you know you remembered to empty it out beforehand, so there’s likely nothing left inside, be it your wallet or a hair-tie – but wait.

The handsome Ratnik’s eyes twinkle. You blink back at him, hoping you appear the very picture of innocence. Would it be so terrible to say yes?

After all, you’re alone with a handsome man, and it's time to clock out, and you're so tired, and well. Well. It isn’t as though you've also been pining for this particular man for some time now, and it isn’t as though you hissed a happy little yes to yourself when you saw you’d been assigned here with him (you’d hurriedly apologised for this outburst of joy – after all, the reason you were here was to cover for an injured duo). And if he's the one offering to go digging through your clothes for an item that doesn't exist…

“Hopefully,” you hear yourself echo. Too late to back out now, you tell yourself. “Could you check?”

Your comrade blinks. “Your pockets?” 

“Yes, my…” you trail off, face warming. What were you thinking? “Never mi–”

“Of course,” comes his smooth voice, as though from far, far away. You blink in astonishment, and you swear he smiles a little more. Suddenly, you finally process – you are alone somewhere around the Eye of Kratti, and there is a handsome stranger that’s going to stick his hands into your butt pocket. Pockets, actually. Plural. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all, but you have no time to object – in the next second, he says, “hold still.”

And just like that, there is a pair of gloved hands gliding smoothly into your empty pockets. He's careful to not touch you too much – and yet he’s quite thorough, although he’s gentlemanly enough to keep his eyes firmly down the whole time. Or at least, you think it a gallant gesture until he's right behind you. You wonder what he looks at, then try to not think too much of it.

After some minutes, he gives his verdict.

“There is nothing,” he says, “but it is no matter. I just happened to recall something. Do stay still for a moment.”

“Sure,” you say, sounding meeker than you wished to.

You hear his clothes rustle momentarily, and wonder what he's doing, in some alarm. Thankfully, you do not have to wonder long – soon, you feel his fingers snake through your hair, catch on soft tangles and knots that he then carefully undoes. You stand still for what feels like several minutes, heart racing, not knowing what to do with your hands. His fingers are much gentler and defter than you thought they would be. Your face warms again.

Far later and somehow sooner than you expect, or perhaps wish, he gathers up your hair. There is the sound of fabric tying and tightening, and soon, Flins steps away, standing before you instead. He smiles.

“Unsurprisingly, you wear it well.”

You don’t ask what – not until you're home – assuming it to be a bandana or a bandage of some sort. You couldn’t bear to stick around, not when you were dishevelled and shaking, flustered and covered in dead monster goop. It's only once you've undressed and stepped into your bathroom that you see it in the mirror – a delicately embellished satin handkerchief, all elegant whites and lavenders and cool blues.

You scrub your hands thoroughly before you allow yourself to gingerly take it off.

As you're admiring it, you notice something embroidered carefully along one side of a dainty lavender border. Your heart skips a beat.

Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins.

𑣲⋆ tysm for reading !! please take care of yourselves esp w the weather and the way things have been recently besides !! ilu <33

It comes to a point where you spend more time in the infirmary than out, and everyone in formation knows to keep an eye on you for when the slight sway of your shoulders gets to be too much, ready to jump in and catch you when you inevitably crumple under the abuse of the sun.

And so you were sent to work in the clerical department. Some may consider it an insult but you were just grateful to be out of the sun. Your family was still sent half your pay in any case, allowing them to live more comfortably, and that was all you were concerned about.

Your captain had recognized your keen eye for detail and skill for retaining information. Someone who would do better work outside the battlefield. It would make more sense to send you back to a winter island where you could truly flourish, but your skills were deemed too valuable to be sent to a near abandoned post of the least desirable Marines.

Still, even being out of direct contact with the sun, the office proved to be too much at times.

Your desk was located away from all the windows to avoid the sunlight, and two fans were constantly running, leading to an innumerable number of paperweights to keep everything from blowing away. Water stains litter the wood of your desk to the point it looks like a pattern of its own. It's not ideal, but manageable.

Then comes the cursed- or blessed, depending on how you look at it- day that you first met Aokiji.

You'd heard of the Admiral plenty, and had even seen him around from a distance, the lumbering, lanky figure he was, but your work never brought you together. He tended to prefer a more hands on approach to things and was frequently out in assignments.

The breakroom you normally used was out of commission after someone accidentally set it on fire trying to cook their lunch faster, and so you were forced to trudge across base through the brutal heat, already melting the moment you stepped outside.

Not even your lunch is warm, consisting of a cold soup and yogurt frozen into cubes retrieved from the freezer. While you didn't have to cook it you still had to get back to your desk, and it took splashing cool water from the sink to gather the courage to face it once again, wearing a towel soaked in freezing water around your neck like a bizarre fashion statement.

It's on the way back that you discover it. Well, more like it discovers you, nearly slipping across the icy floor.

As you sit kneeling, recovering from almost smashing your head on the floor and ready to give a piece of mind to whoever mopped the floor without putting up a sign, a wave of freezing air hits you. A blessed cool spot in a dessert of heat that takes you back to your home island. It's near the inner offices where the more important people are but you can't be too bothered by the fact as you locate the source.

The door crusted with a sheet of thin ice, creeping across the glass and wood is spiraling patterns, of which you delicately press your hand against, hardly able to believe what you're seeing.

How long had it been since you've seen snow? Or even frost? The location of Marine headquarters where you worked always remained warmer year-round, even the technical winter season was too much for your taste. There wasn't much opportunity to visit home either and this reminder did nothing but stoke the longing.

It's too good to be true. You had to be hallucinating. You’d actually slipped on the floor and given yourself a concussion. But the chill feels too real, and before you realize it you find yourself pressing yourself as close as possible to the source, uncaring of how your body heat melts the ice and dampens your clothes.

The migraine that always seemed to linger finally abated, leaving you in a moment of bliss. If only you could stay like this forever.

Your mind is made up before there's even a chance to contemplate.

You turn on heel, marching to find the next two biggest marines you have the authority to order around.

• ···················· • ···················· •

Aokiji liked nothing more than to nap in his office. It was relatively private and there were only a few who would disturb him. He kept the temperature in the immediate area cooled as well to his own taste. More than anyone would prefer, and it worked to keep most others away.

That's why it was all the more surprising when he opened his door intending to go find some lunch and instead found you sitting just to the side, sorting through a mountain of paper and files that hid you as he nearly walks past.

It took a moment for his mind to catch up, freezing in place as he looked back to the newest addition to the hallway. You didn’t pay him any mind, seeming content as you worked, entirely focused on the task at hand without paying him any mind.

"What are you doing?"

Your slight start confirms your absorption in your work, peeking from behind the stacks of papers. Well, more like up, as Aokiji is tall enough to stand above your work load.

"Approving shipment logs and cross referencing them with what was lost in the recent attacks, sir?" You say, as if it should be obvious. As if you being here was completely normal.

“Why are you doing that here?” He emphasizes, looking around the- previously- abandoned hallway.

“Because this is the only place I don’t feel as if I’m melting.” You say, straight faced.

Aokiji doesn’t know what to say to that, staring at you a moment longer before shaking his head and walking off. He was too hungry to care too much, and he could deal with it later. You didn’t bother him with your work and it was too much of a hassle to care.

That doesn’t stop him from noticing the way you seem released when he arrives at his office, or the numerous cups stacked around your desk filled with cold drinks instead of the warm coffee and tea that most prefer. How you keep your uniform unbuttoned more than regulations dictate with your sleeves rolled up, allowing the draft of the hall to reach you.

Eventually his curiosity is piqued enough that he asks Garp about you in passing. He was always more in the know on peculiar Marines, collecting them like one might shiny rocks.

“Oh them?” He says, your name finally clicking into place after Aokiji mentioned your odd comment. “I guess I should have wondered when this was going to happen. Their Captain calls them the Floor Inspector. Has a mind like a whip and a patience for paperwork. Can navigate and find near anything you need if you can keep them upright long enough to do it. I tried to get them under my command but knew they wouldn’t be able to stand the heat.”

The old man sighs. “It would have been such a relief on the administrative side.”

Not long after their conversation Aokiji got a firsthand look at your intolerance, finding you laid out after attempting to head to the records room to investigate a discrepancy, the office unfortunately located on the other side of the base. Just passed out in the middle of the courtyard, breathing shallow and hair stuck to your skin with sweat.

You likely hadn’t been there for long, as he’d looked up your records himself and saw the numerous times you were found in a similar situation and brought to the infirmary for an ice bath. He could order any Marine to do so, but another though took root in his mind and refused to leave until he tried it at least once.

Aokiji conjures a simple ice ring, placing it around your neck as he hits you with a chilling blast of frost. Nothing extreme and a far cry from anything he would use in a fight. In fact it was almost more difficult to use the delicacy needed not to turn you into a frozen statue.

Like magic, a sleeping beauty woken by true love’s kiss, your eyes snap open, face heating for a new reason as you see Aokiji above you as your common sense comes back.

Quickly getting up and apologizing, you gathering your things and all but run off, leaving behind a bemused Admiral.

It’s only as your heading back do you notice how odd it is you haven’t become victim to the heat once more, now noticing the ring of ice that acts as a necklace. There’s only one person you know who can make such things that wouldn’t have already melted in this heat.

Later that day Aokiji finds a thank you note and a bag of cookies tapped to his door.

You’re not annoying in any case, offering simple greetings and goodbyes when he passes, normally focused diligently on your work. It takes two months for your conversations to go any further than that.

“Finish that report on the Kato island inspection yet?” You ask casually one morning, already having been working at your desk for hours when Aokiji arrives in.

He pauses, door half open, looking as if you were crazy.

Should you really know about that? Maybe not, but it wasn’t too secret or anything. He’d been gone for a week, and while the area was still cooler than the majority of the office you still found yourself missing his presence.

So of course you had done a bit of digging, getting it out from one Akainu’s paper runners that he had been sent away. You also got from him that his report was late and the missing file was sending some of the other upper brass up a wall.

You shrug, trying to play it cool and not make it apparent you wanted to shove your foot in your mouth. Acting casual with an Admiral? This wasn’t the squad breakroom for crying out loud! Maybe it was just the constant proximity and his lack of outward annoyance for your presence that made you slip into a feeling of ease around him.

Thankfully you didn’t receive a reprimand, only another odd stare as he entered his office. He didn’t come out until around lunch time, though that wasn’t unusual.

“What the-!” You nearly fall out of your seat as a stack of papers slams on your desk, looking up to see Aokiji leaning against the doorway.

“Take those to Sengoku.”

You internally groan, knowing you can’t ignore the order while already dreading the journey. The Admiral’s office was filled with sunny courtyards and stairs, a sweat already breaking out at the thought. You weren’t a paper runner for a reason.

It seems Aokiji picks up on your misery, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“Think of it as rent for staying out here.”

Well, he’s got you there.

Reluctantly gathering the papers, you nearly drop them as fingers brush along your neck. Heat rushed to your face at the realization it was Aokiji who had touched you, followed by a wave of cold. One that had you shivering not in an attempt to warm up, but delight, as you catch sight of your skin. Every inch is covered in a layer of frost, the swirling patterns almost like decoration.

“That should be good for a half hour. If you don’t drag your feet it should be enough to get you there and back.” Aokiji waves over his shoulder, heading back into his office. Likely for another nap, often hearing snoring coming from within.

It turns out you’re quite quick when you’re not overheating, the others on base hardly able to believe their eyes as you run- run! Not shuffle like a melting statue of molasses- through the halls, making it to the Admiral’s office in record time.

“These are from Admiral Kuzan.” You huff, doing your best to solute while not dropping the stack. His secretary seemed stunned, hardly able to get a word out before you were off again, rushing back before your icy blanket wore off.

True to his word, the frost lasted until you were able to get back to the sanctuary of your desk, the Admiral back in his office. It may have been your imagination, but you swore the cold crept just a bit further than before as you sat to finish your own paperwork, utterly too cheerful for someone who still had hours of work ahead of them.

• ···················· • ···················· •

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when you were promoted to be the attendant of Aokiji, though he would never give you a straight answer on if he was the one to request it or not.

He wasn't shy about offloading his work onto you, knowing you wouldn't complain both because of his position, as well as the fact that you were allowed to bask in the pleasure of his devil fruit powers when he was around. Even when he wasn't he would give a good icing to his office before he left, allowing you to work in there until it just made more sense to move your desk all together.

Any and all apprehension you had was quickly dismissed. His presence was no longer looming and intimidating, but a constant that brought comfort in more ways than one.

At such close proximity it was impossible to not pick up on the schedule and duties of the man, and like any good Marine who was looking to keep their walking AC unit close you were intent on proving that you were good enough to keep around.

You did the majority of his reports, writing and cleaning up his recounting as he sat back, half asleep. It became like a second sense to be able to tell what he was thinking or his mood just from the spacing of his words.

You'd never admit how much you enjoy listening to him talk, especially when he was tired or had just woken. When his tone took on a deeper gravel that nearly distracted you from your writing. You chalk it up to your nonexistent love life and make a note to try and go on more dates, though with your workload that proves difficult.

You reminded him of meeting times and dealt with the lower ranks when he didn't feel like it. Everyone knew if they wanted to get to Aokiji they had to go through you. All they had to do was follow the trail of water from the slowly dripping coat of frost you seemed to be constantly wearing nowadays. If nothing else, you seemed to always be lingering in his shadow. Plenty large enough for you to hide from the sun in.

It’s not only you who grows fond of the symbiotic relationship that evolves.

Aokiji likes the way you sort all his letters and documents into piles based on levels of importance. It lets him know what he can push away for later him (or more likely you) without getting chewed out too much. He even found your sense of humor growing on him, more than one laughing at your blunt words, never one to beat around the bush. Another thing he liked about having you around.

It didn't take long for the upper ranks to sniff you out, tipped off by the sudden improvement of his work and punctuality. It was a blatant breach of rank and decorum- one that had Akainu fuming- but Sengouku was willing to overlook the fact as with you around he found himself less stressed by the Admiral. Your superiors also reported an improvement in your own work, and the medical room could finally put your file away properly instead of keeping it out on hand for the next time you went down.

While Aokiji wasn't he most inclined to have an attendant- you sent a glare that had him shivering the one time he called you a secretary- he couldn't deny that having you around made things easier for him. In fact, he had come to almost rely on your presence, and when he was away, he often wondered what you were doing back on base.

He could still hear your voice calling after him to be safe and to remember to check in in the evenings, and he knew that if he didn't you would be calling him instead. Not from the office snail phone but the personal one he had given you, bearing the same sleep mask he often wore.

What if he needed to get ahold of you when you were out of the office? And of course he had one for your direct line as well, always making sure to have the little snail tucked away somewhere safe. Sometimes he would just take it out and stare at it, the small thing seeming content with the chill he gave off just as much as you were.

Were you missing him or glad for the break? Undoubtably he would come back and find everything neat and organized, with no excuse to not be done. He was already late, and you would be cross but still stay behind to help him catch up. And of course he would show his appreciation for the effort by buying you dinner (your salary unfortunately hadn't improved that much in your new position).

The one thing he was sure of was that you would be suffering in the heat, and the fact both bothered and made him almost giddy. Satisfied knowing that you had come to rely on him and there was someone looking forward to his return, but uneasy knowing that you were suffering in his absence with only so much ice packs could do for you. While others shied away from his cold and found it off-putting you moved towards it. Towards him.

Aokiji was smiling before he realized it, eager to get back to you. He stopped short, nearly falling off his bike as his foot slipped on the peddle. Distracted by his thoughts of you.

When had he started caring so much? He wasn't the type to care if more work or headache was created for his subordinates, but when it came to you he was increasingly inclined to listen. He didn't drag his feet when there were meetings, but instead reluctantly allowed you to pull him along, enjoying the way your hand felt almost comically small in his as you stalked through the Marine headquarter halls with everyone parting to make way.

What he hadn't been expecting upon his return was finding Akainu in his office, face to face with you, who stood tall but trembling. Not only because you were faced with an Admiral (Kizaru and Garp stopped by often enough that the grandeur of high rank presence wasn't shocking, though Aoikiji found himself irritated when their attention turned towards you. Even more so when you once blushed at Garp’s compliment for your work both with and outside of Aokiji), but the heat in the room was downright oppressive. Worse than anything one would find outside of headquarters even in the middle of summer. Even the snail phone on your desk seems to have given up, laying on its side panting.

"I...I told you he’s....going to be back to..tomorrow." You manage to get out, using your desk as support to keep from completely buckling, though even the wood seems to sag a bit in the face of the heat.

It was like your worst nightmare come to life. The very heat of the sun unleashed tenfold as Akainu practically glowed with anger. Or maybe that was just a hallucination brought on by heat stroke.

"He was supposed to be back two days ago! What use are you for keeping him on track if you can't even do your job?!" Akainu growled, pushing even closer to you, ignoring the way you cringed away.

Your vision was nearly black, but it helped to not have to look at the face of the seething man. Even breathing hurt, feeling as if your lungs were closing off, and it was getting harder to hear him with the increasing ringing in your ears.

Aokiji wasn't one quick to anger unlike his fellow Admiral, but the sight of you, face flushed, eyes half-lidded, weak in the knees and on the verge of passing out? There was only one person allowed to do that to you, and it certainly wasn't Akainu.

The sweltering heat of the room is cut in an instant, icy coating every inch of the space and crawling up Akainu's legs in thick sheets. It's a shock to your system to go from one such extreme to another but not one you protest. In fact, you nearly cry out in relief as the familiar cool touch coats you like a second skin.

Akainu's head jerks towards where Aokiji stands, face scrunched in anger and eyes blazing. His attention quickly turns from you and onto his new target, now uncaring of your presence as he stalks towards him. Another thing that only serves to add to Aokiji's quickly lessening restraint.

"Where have you been?!" Akainu shouts, easily breaking away from the hold of the ice. His own body is already heating the room up once again, the walls dripping and ink smearing as everything melts.

Aokiji ignores him, walking past to where you stand- barely- placing a hand on your face and turning you to look at him, grunting at the heat your skin retains. Not the pleasant glow it normally has from the chill of the air but a blazing furnace that forewarns nothing good. Unnatural.

"Welcome back sir." You manage to mumble, doubtful if you're really all there as your arm only manages to get halfway up into a salute. It's worse than the time you had accompanied him to an awards ceremony, nearly diving headfirst off the platform had he not been there to provide a chill to bring you back to your senses.

He doesn't ask, gathering you in his arms just as your legs give out and bringing you to his chest. In turn you curled closer, hands digging into his shirt as you sought out the relief he provided.

Aokiji doesn't say anything to Akainu, their glares meeting over your head in a silent battle. One Aokiji refuses to lose, and which Akainu finally gives in after several long moments.

"I expect to see you first thing in the morning." His eyes dart to you, as if expecting an acknowledgment that you would make sure he's there.

"I'll make sure it’s on my schedule." Aokiji says, his voice crisp and sharp. Akainu, making the first rational decision since stepping foot in the room, says nothing as he leaves, slamming the door hard enough that the walls rattle.

Sighing, Aokiji retreats to the couch reserved for his naps. Not the one that came with the room and which he used to force himself to sleep on despite it being much too small, too lazy to get s a new one. This was one he had simply come in one day and found, put there by you.

“If you’re going to sleep at least do it on something that won’t have you complaining about your neck to me later.” Was all you said on the matter.

It fit him perfectly, the end lacking a proper armrest and allowing him to stretch out, and wide enough to allow him to sit back. It’s also enough to hold you as well, balanced carefully in top of him as he eases back into the seat and gets comfortable.

Your temperature has gone down, though you still seem a bit out of it. A part of him wonders if he should take you to the medical room but ultimately decides against it when you burrow closer. All embarrassment is tossed out the window as you relish in the presence that is Aokiji.

His pulse thrums with a mix of anger, nervousness, and relief that concoct into a mixture that has him lightheaded.

It’s not like he’s never touched you before. When he was in a rush and you couldn't keep up with his long legs he had no reservations about picking you up. And seeing the way you would jump when he placed a hand on your back before relaxing into the cool relief it provided never failed to amuse him. Or when you would eat lunch together, sitting so close your legs brushed together and Aokiji could hardly remember to eat as you laughed and recounted something you had heard from the others about whatever drama was going on with the trainees.

But this feels different. Especially as he shifts, your hands gripping his shirt as if fearful he’ll pull away. He doesn’t, instead placing a hand on your back, comforted by the way your pulse slows to a steady thrum under his touch. He draws meaningless patterns there before slipping one to your side on the other to the side of your neck, content as he rests his chin on your head.

The door is frozen shut. Nobody would be disturbing you now. Or ever again. He swore it.

"Then you sir." You manage to mumble, still half delirious but managing to hang on enough for manners as your cheek pressed into his chest.

Your lips brush the inner skin of his wrist, still close as he rests his hand in your neck, and the feeling has gooseflesh rising across his skin for the first time in decades.

As you sit, leaning against his chest in a way that feels only right to him, he knows he's not going to be leaving you behind again. You would be far more useful to him and he would have more peace of mind with you accompanying him everywhere from now on. How was he ever supposed to focus on the task at hand when he would be worrying about what was happening while he was gone?

The only question is what you would fight less; stuffed in a backpack or riding in a cart attached to his bike?

———————————————————————

PSA to everyone else who is also suffering from the heat currently! Make sure to drink plenty of water and stay cool! Wear your sunscreen and make sure you’re not spending too much time outside! Yes sunlight is vital to our health but just like all things it needs to be taken in moderation!

If you still really need to get outside and walk around then wet a towel and slap it over your neck, as well as take a water bottle. Ice packs to inner thighs, sides, armpits and neck can help you cool down. If you feel tired do not nap in the sun! Head inside and take a break! Give yourself an excuse to have a cold sweat treat!