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feyascorner · 4 months

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2 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. While seeing him leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you. You should hate him, truly.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. and he finally makes an appearance;,; ik the first two chapters are a bit slow but i think i can start picking up the pace now woohoo!! Reader/Tav’s feelings are supposed to be confusing on purpose but I may have overdone it a tad,,

He hadn’t had time to gather any of his belongings when he left. And while your other companions graciously rid of everything they could into a single box packed away in the corner of the basement, even they could not bring themselves to throw the handheld mirror away–whether because of the intricate designs framing its reflection that surely held value or because of your apprehension for throwing it out, you’re not sure. You haven’t used it yourself, too afraid of even touching its handle out of fear it may crumble away.

One of the orphan children that Cora’s harboring places a cup in front of you. You raise a brow at her, silently asking how Cora’s doing, and she only shakes her head solemnly before scurrying away.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?”

“They’ve already said numerous times where they were,” Lae’zel spits in the Flaming Fist’s direction. “Are all Fists this incompetent, or are you just a special case?”

You run a hand down your face while Gale attempts to calm Lae’zel. Shadowheart’s had her eyes trained on the cups perched around the table for quite some time now, occasionally glancing up to listen to the Fist’s interrogation. Unfortunately, the cups lack their usual alcohol, but you don’t complain about the water with how dry your throat is. You pat her shoulder, and she finally meets your eyes, nodding before resuming her focus on whatever the Fist is saying. You’re not sure yourself at this point.

“As Flaming Fists, we must put the guilty in their rightful place, regardless of whether they’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate or not,” he straightens his back, then narrows his brows at you. “And right now, all witnesses point here. You were seen leaving the tavern with a man reported as missing this morning. Care to explain that?”

You can hear Gale’s chair scrape against the floor. “You can’t be serious. They saved the entire city, for Mystra’s sake! If they wanted bloody murder, they would've been positively drenched in blood by now.”

However, all you feel is the searing stares of your other companions, who remain blissfully unaware of the encounters of your previous night. But you can tell they’re not accusing you, unlike the Fist—they never would—but rather demanding an explanation. You sigh deeply. “I didn’t go home with him. We spoke for almost two minutes before I left.”

“And what proof do you have of that?”

“Considering I woke up in the Blushing Mermaid, I’m sure you can do a little questioning there to find some witnesses,” you stand, the chairs of your leg scratching against the tiled floors. “Are we done here? I need to go speak with Cora, because her husband just died."

“Sit,” he hisses, his fingers reaching for his weapon. “I won’t repeat myself.”

The air becomes tense in mere seconds. It'd been uncomfortable moments ago, but not as much as this—not enough to make Lae’zel reach for her sword as she’s doing now. Your eyes narrow warningly into slits at the Fist, but his subordinates only step forward to stand on either side of him as if daring you to take another step. From the corner of your peripheral, you can see Shadowheart’s palm spark with light. The others occupying the Highberry household, even from outside on the patio, are talking in hushed whispers, all gazes trained on your very breath. And after a suffocating silence, you hear a chuckle from the door.

“Now, Yevir, we shouldn’t be treating our city’s most esteemed citizens with such hostility.”

Grand Duke Ravengard–Wyll’s father–steps into the home, shaking his head. The Fists, who were willing to go head to head with you mere seconds ago, are now turned and saluting the Duke, which makes Lae’zel scoff at your side. “You lot are dismissed under my name. Though I do have a word to exchange with the bard.”

Former bard, you want to correct him.

Your companions exchange an apprehensive glance at one another before you step forward. “And what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with the Duke?”

“You jest. We are all allies here,” he smiles. “Come, we must speak privately.”

You grin wickedly at Yevir as Ravengard steps past you toward the office in one of the other rooms. Yevir only shoots knives with his eyes, and you return the sentiments by sticking out your tongue mockingly, which earns a snort from Shadowheart. Then you quickly follow after Ravengard, shutting the door behind you.

“Have you had any news from my son?” he asks, facing the window with two arms locked behind him.

“Karlach’s been sending a few letters. They’re limited, as you might expect, but they do come,” you say. “She says Wyll is doing alright. They both are.”

He lets out a breath that can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is: relief. “Good. Now, as for what went down between you and Yevir in the other room, I apologize on his behalf. He’s always been too passionate for his own good. Righteousness is admirable, but not when it blinds your judgment.”

“A lot of things can blind judgment. I don’t blame him.”

He turns to you, and despite the questioning gaze in his eyes, he ignores it. “I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s been occurring in the city—you recently received a first-hand experience.”

“So has half the people on the block, apparently.”

“I’m not talking about Cora’s husband.”

He reaches behind his back, pulling out a slim file and holding it to you. “The number of victims is increasing every day now.”

Flipping through the pages in the file, each one is etched with the murder scene of each victim. There’s one with a man haphazardly buried half in the ground, another with a woman collapsed next to the alleyway in Wyrm’s crossing, another of a man bleeding out in the fields of Rivington. You flip the pages again and again until you arrive at one you would’ve preferred to forget.

“Colin Hedgins,” Ravengard says. “Though most of the Fist, including Yuvir, is unaware, his body was found this morning.”

His silvery hair is stained with what you can only assume is blood. His face, which is stretched in horror, makes you wonder if maybe slitting his throat yourself would have given him a more peaceful leave to the afterlife. Not that he really deserved it. You swallow hard, shutting the file away. “So you think I killed him too?”

“No. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Then why show me this? This is classified information, no?”

“Each one of these victims has one similarity aside from their brutal deaths,” he frowns. “The puncture wounds on their neck, and the fact that their bodies seem to be drained of blood.”

Your breath hitches. While you’d had your suspicions, surely not all of them could have been of vampires? With Orin and the Bhaal worshippers now defeated or retreated into the shadows, the city had gotten eons safer—this just felt like a slap to your face. One group of murderers after another, it seemed. Instead of replying, you stare at Ravengard with pursed lips, urging him to get to his point.

“Wyll has told me of your relations with the vampires,” he says, and it makes your teeth clench. “He was gone by the time I’d joined your camp, but Wyll tells me you had a vampire for a companion for most of your journey. Could he be involved in-”

“No.” The answer is fast. Almost instant. And while a part of you feels disgusted for defending him, even now, another part refuses to let you live while the city thinks of him as nothing but a bloodsucking monster. Even if everyone thought of him as one now. “He wouldn’t have.”

The worst part is that he fully could have, even if you don't want to believe it. Your mind flashes back to the way his hands had felt around your throat, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Ravengard’s expression softens, and you see it again. Pity. Gods, you’d do anything to never see that kind of face again. “I’m also aware that you two had an—-arrangement. One that involved more than just mere friendship. But you must know if we cannot catch the vampire spawns that are running rampant in our city, dozens if not hundreds of more people will die.”

You want to tell him that he should not search for sympathy in you. Because you were once a person willing to get rid of 7000 spawns for the sake of one lover, who only ended up trying to kill you. “He won’t talk to me anyway. I’m sure you also know he didn’t leave on good terms, seeing as you seem to know everything about my love life. I can’t help you.”

The words come out snappier than expected, but Ravengard doesn’t react like he expected this.

“I see,” he says. “Then perhaps you’ll at least be able to keep an eye out. And please, report to me.”

You don’t budge.

He takes it as a sign to leave and moves toward the door. “If you do change your mind, let me know.”

You want to tell him your future is not a matter of what you want. It’s what he wants, and he’s already chosen your fate.

“And is anyone else aware that an entire horde of vampire spawn is living under the city?” Shadowheart says in exasperation. “No wonder they think Astarion’s the one who did it. They think there aren’t any more vampires here anyway! With that many vampires, imagine what destruction they could bring if they miss a few meals!”

“Surely we can convince our sharp-toothed friends to lay low in the Underdark with the others for a while? We convinced half of them. I don’t see why we can’t convince the other,” Gale suggests.

“A warrior who seeks blood shall have blood,” Lae’zel hisses. “I see no reason for them to leave. If I’d been a spawn, I would stay behind a city full of cattle than return to a place of eternal darkness.”

Your head hurts. From continuously sleeping anywhere but the comforts of your bed or from what’s going on, you don’t know, and you don’t care. You just want a nice long bath to wash the dirt on your face and a hot meal to go along with it. Your companions continue arguing, and it’s times like these when you wish Wyll and Karlach were still traveling beside you—they were usually the diffusers of the group.

To an extent, you had been too. Not anymore, though. That was the least of your worries.

“Why must we fix Astarion’s mess in the first place?” Lae’zel adjusts the sword she’d been cleaning on her lap. “We are not dogs to do his bidding. And from what I recall, we have no longer relations with him.”

This finally urges you to speak, almost instinctively. “We have to help. That’s final.��

It's not often that you reinforce your power as the appointed "leader" of the group, preferring to incorporate their opinions rather than choosing all on your own. They all turn to you with a mixture of suspicion and mostly cringe from Lae’zel. Your face flares in response. “I’m just saying we can’t just let a bunch of innocent people die!”

“Of course,” Gale coughs.

You can feel yourself losing your composure, your palms feeling clammy. Still, you straighten your back. “Astarion has nothing to do with me either. I’m doing this for the city.”

“Right.”

You opt to just clear your throat. “I’ll talk to Petras. We’ll figure out a way for all of us to be happy.”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, but Shadowheart only raises a brow. “And how exactly are you going to find Petras? It’s not like he has a mailbox or an address.”

“I’ll figure it out. Always do,” you smile, and her face softens. “In the meanwhile, I’ll have to rely on you guys to pick up my work for rebuilding the city so I can focus on tracking him down. I don’t think it’ll take too long—maybe a week or so.”

Gale’s face knits together in concern. “And you’re quite sure you won’t need any of us to accompany you?”

“They’re fully capable of taking care of themselves, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “Very well, then. We’ll await good news.”

Looking back on it, perhaps you did need the help.

Days upon days of searching, yet nothing. You’re sure you covered almost half the sewers at this point, and you’re not sure if you’re just insanely unlucky or the vampires just left while you’d been searching elsewhere.

But the number of deaths says otherwise.

So you’d turned to a new approach. If you couldn’t find them, you’d let them find you.

The days stretch longer, with the city being in its summer season. And while you’re grateful, since it means vampires will have less time to hunt, you always despise the way this cloak is sticking to your skin and the hairs that seem glued to your cheeks with the hood stifling any hope of breathing freely. Still determined, you force your legs forward into the darkest alleyways you can find.

Though you’ve had a few fruitless days, pacing aimlessly throughout the city during the dead of night into early morning, a part of yourself keens at the moonlight draping over you tonight.

It had been on a night like this, one where the clouds make way for the moonglow to illuminate what lurks in the city during the night. Though at the time, instead of the comfortable bed in the house you and your companions managed to buy after scraping enough gold together, you were sleeping on a bedroll that did little to shield you from the rocks, doing nothing to even the ground below.

Back then, your companions were nothing but that—companions on a journey you hoped to end as quickly as possible to return to the taverns and bars of Baldur’s gate, where you would spend your nights singing the familiar tunes that your patrons enjoyed most. So after the camp celebration with the Tieflings, when Astarion led you to the forest clearing where you first felt skin other than your own, you realized this adventure of yours was more than just that. It was a new stepping stone in your life.

He’d held you close to him, offering you whispers of affection while his hands ran through your hair. He’d kissed you, his hands caressing either side of your cheek. He’d let you marvel at the scars on his back, his hands resting on your waist.

The same hands that wrapped around your throat months later. You can still feel them sometimes.

Despite your speech to Gale before Cora’s husband showed up dead, you weren’t sure how you would react if you ever saw your former lover again. On nights that weren’t plagued with nightmares, you stayed up, wondering if you’d cry. If you’d reach out for him, embracing him in a hug you never wanted to let go from. If you’d let him brush his knuckles on your cheeks, if you’d let him press a kiss to your forehead, if you’d let him love you again.

You weren’t sure. And a part of you—the part shoved deep inside the corners of your heart—wonders if never seeing him again was a blessing. That regardless of the ache in your heart now, never seeing him would save you from something worse.

So deeply lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the murky figure swinging a pipe at your head.

Nearly scathing the surface of a concussion, you dodge, but he’s too fast. Before you’ve even begun reaching for your knife, the figure swings you toward the wall, and you swear you can hear it crack as your back collides with it. Your vision only manages to straighten itself once the figure has you shoved onto the ground, either of their knees on the sides of your hip.

Instinctively, your hand flies up to stab at their arm, but you’re no match. They twist your wrist, forcing you to drop the blade, and pins either of your arms to the ground. You can’t see anything but the glint of their fangs against the light.

You’d fought vampires before, and you had never seen one so fast. So aggressive. So primal. Astarion had entertained you with friendly spars, but you’d also fought Cazador to the death. Even he hadn’t been this fast.

“I just want to talk to Petras! I’m not going to hurt you, I–” Your pleas go deaf on their ears.

When you squint, you can finally see the blood staining their fangs, and you realize that they’ve already fed.

They’re fed, and they’re still hungry.

A fed vampire, is a strong one, you remember. And if you add their hunger on top of that...

Even as you try to yank yourself away, they only squeeze their grip harder, enough to cut off blood circulation. The color drains from your face, your expression almost fearful. No, it does scare you. It scares you that this is only a spawn, but they can still attack someone so ferociously. It scares you that Astarion could have done the exact same thing to you.

The spawn yanks your head to the side with a claw on your hair, allowing them access to your throat. You thrash and kick, but to no avail, forced to watch as they’re about to sink their teeth into you. You hate your mind because even at death’s door, all you can think about is him.

Is this what he would’ve done to you had your companions not been there to save you?

Is this what he wanted to do the day he first approached you, asking for your blood?

Anger burns in your chest, and with the last bit of your strength, you lift your head and bite them first. Your teeth sink into their throat, feeling the break of skin just before they rip you away, wailing in pain as you’re carelessly tossed to the ground. As they grasp at the wound on their neck, you take the opportunity to lunge for your knife.

You feel genuine rage for the first time in what feels like forever. No self-pity, no dejection, no sorrow for losing the man you’d given everything to, but rage for the state you were reduced to just because of him. And that while his leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you.

You thrust the blade into their chest, and they stop. It’s no stake, but it’ll do for now. And as their throat gurgles with blood, all you can hear is the desperate panting of your own breath when their body falls to the ground, face first.

You pray they’re dead.

Then, your vision in one eye blurs with red. When you lift your hand to your forehead, you feel the warm blood trailing down, probably from when you collided with the wall. The little strength left in your legs vanishes as you reel forward, your knees crashing onto the mud beside the spawn.

Though you thankfully manage to collapse on your back rather than your poor counterpart who’s probably choking on the dirt and grim of the city grounds even in death, you can feel your head going light, even as your hands tighten around the knife laying on your chest. You greet the moon again, this time with a breathy laugh.

Seluné must be smiling back at you, surely.

You’re not sure who’s standing above you when you open your eyes again, being only seconds away from entirely blacking out. But you think it must be an angel, with his snow-white curls and how he revels under the veil of the moon. You want to reach out to him, but your shaky arm says otherwise.

He’s beautiful, you think, even if you can’t make out his face.

You hope the angel doesn’t pity you.

Apparently, heaven is at Elfsong Tavern. You’d imagined being greeted with the smell of roses and a fresh stream rather than the overwhelming stench of booze, but you suppose it’s fitting considering how you’d died in a puddle of what you assume to be a concoction of cat piss and your own blood.

No, that can’t be right.

Looking around frantically, you lurch forward, the sweat and mud sticking your hair to your skin. Multiple pairs of eyes bore into you. You’re slumped in the tavern's kitchen, several Fist soldiers peering at you curiously. And finally, you manage to make out Shadowheart, whose hands are hovering over you with a gentle glow.

“Lay back down, I’m almost done,” she frowns.

You ignore her request. “The spawn! I’m not sure if they’re dead–”

“Never mind that,” she snaps. “They found you blacked out on the ground next to a dead body and a broken wall. What in bloody hell happened last night? Do you know how much it scared us when the damn Fists were banging at our door at 4:30 in the morning?”

Your head spins, and you clutch at your head. “Got ambushed. I tried to talk to them, but apparently, they just wanted a midnight snack.”

“Heavens above,” she breathes. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“No, I was so close, Shadowheart,” you shake your head frantically, smearing at the mud still plastered on your face. “I’ll be more prepared next time. If I manage to just capture one of the spawn alive, I could ask them where Petras is-”

There’s a loud yell from the hatch leading to the basement. Your head whips in its direction, then to Shadowheart, staring at her inquisitively.

She sighs, finally lowering her hands to her side. “Look, I need you to listen to me very closely. As your friend, I can’t have you losing your composure in front of the Duke downstairs. They’re in the hideout, but they’re also with–”

You hear Gale’s voice holler. “You’re the only one who knows them well enough, Astarion!”

Suddenly, your blood runs cold. While Shadowheart tries to keep you still, nothing can stop you as you yank the hatch open, sprinting downstairs. You run through the secret entrance to the hideout, your mind racing rapidly with words you can’t even decipher because they’re going by so fast. You want to hide away and barge into the room simultaneously, and the pounding of your head does nothing to help.

You're different now, you assure yourself. A part of you hates him for what he did, and you're willing to act on this hatred. You won't be passing out on the street, drunk on the pit of isolation he left behind, praying he'd appear from thin air and assure you things are fine. You're better now, and you did it all without his help.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

The room is cold–empty, except for three figures alongside two more guards standing at the door. Ravengard, standing at one end of the circular table, has his arms crossed, brows knitted together comprehensively. Gale, who had been pacing back and forth around the room, freezes instantly when he sees you. So does everyone else.

“Ah, and here comes the star of the show.” You haven’t heard his voice in so long. It almost feels foreign.

Standing between the other men on either side of the table, Astarion’s eyes bore into you, lips curled in a grin barely showing off his fanged teeth. When you lock eyes, yours grows wider as you take him in.

He looks almost the same. The same curly white hair, the same blood-red eyes, and the same smile that once brought you joy yet now only fueled the endless longing of your nightmares. While you expect yourself to feel anger, relief, or shock, all you feel is the rapid beating of your heart, your mind void of everything besides how uncomfortable the dried mud feels on your face. Your breath hitches as he lifts a finger to the side of his head. Only then do you also feel the warm liquid sliding down your cheek.

“You’re bleeding, darling.”

With the inevitable urge to barf up nothing from your empty stomach, you're back to being the same person as you were four months ago.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fluff

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zombiedumbie · 5 months

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heart-shaped box

hi everybody! i'm back with posting stuff. i finished my final paper (i still need to make a presentation, but that's the easy part), this paper made me tired of writing, so I didn't post this before, sorry! and i'm having quite a week lol (just for example, one of the things that happened to me was that i had my scalp sutured!)

~1.2k words

from this post. a lots of fluff, A LOT, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. no use of pronouns. organs (heart). mentions of Law's backstory and light novel.

Hey, Cora��

Law's slender fingers hovered over your chest with the same delicacy he would use to sheath the blade of his own sword with the thin blue layer of his ability. He kept it at a reasonable distance, as if trying to sense the vibration of your pulsating heart in the air. The only thing breaking the silence in the room was his breath, but your heartbeats raced into your eardrums, making the place sound louder than it should.

Both of you sat cross-legged, facing each other in a room separate from the rest of the… guests.

Law wanted it to be just you and him, no one else. You were outlaws, without the right to a traditional marriage, whatever was traditional for both of you; that's why he wanted to do it still in Wano, away from the eyes of the world.

The marriage that usually involved you, your partner, the Government, and God would this time be confined between the two of you. But you insisted; after all, you wanted to share this joy with your friends, and with Wano closed, there weren't many risks of this information leaking.

"Don't you think this happiness should be just between you and me?" Law lifted his hat and scratched his head, looking seriously at you.

"Don't you think we'll have other kinds of happiness that will be just between us?" With your response, he only hid his eyes behind the brim of his hat.

Law must have been worried about the possibility of the Straw Hat crew showing up and ruining everything. In the end, he agreed, but on the condition that the two of you had this moment alone.

You took his wrist with both hands and pulled his hand towards you, your fingers touching the kimono while his palm rested on your chest with hesitation.

"Law…"

"Are you sure?" He murmured and lifted his eyes from your chest to your face; that golden gaze was unwavering, covered with a layer of uncertainty, though. His fingers trembled, perhaps out of insecurity or the weakness of removing his own heart.

You didn't say anything, just pulled him into a kiss; your thumb stroked just below his eyes, the skin warming under your digits with each second you kept your lips pressed together. That was a perfect confirmation for him. When you separated, you smiled at him and turned your back to Law.

"You already took yours", he laughed lightly.

"Not as if it's difficult to put it back", he replied, and you looked at him over your shoulder. "Room."

Law tilted you slightly down; his arm was around your torso, and his open hand was on the upper part of your chest to hold you. You embraced his arm and took a deep breath, letting your body relax. "Are you ready?" He asked, the phalanges of his fingers stroking your back calmly; you nodded and closed your eyes.

"Mes", he whispered and tapped the bottom of his hand on your back, on the left side. You felt your body weaken before the light blue box fell from your chest; he was skillful in catching your heart with the hand that was on your back.

You gasped for air; Law sat you upright as your body adjusted. That, in the hands of your fiancé, beating faintly, was your heart, out of your chest, right in front of you. The idea was so absurd that you would refuse to believe it if you didn't know about Law's powers and hadn't seen them before.

You lowered your kimono and felt your chest; there was now an empty, square space, open; you felt like you could pass your hand through it, but you didn't want to test it due to the nauseating sensation of just feeling the hole.

"Are you okay?" He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder, his eyes once again staring at you with the same rigidity; your gaze fell to your heart in his hand. You just nodded.

Law nodded too and placed your heart on the small table next to you, right next to his, on top of a cloth. You sighed, watching the two hearts beating at different rhythms, slightly different in size, but still, two hearts.

They were fragile but valuable, pumping the blood that magically flowed through your veins, even outside your bodies; it was even a bit mesmerizing to watch them, but Law didn't seem very surprised, after all, he had seen at least a hundred of them.

Law gently picked up his own heart, placing it in the palm of his hand. He turned it as if he found the best position, something you didn't think would matter, but he was a perfectionist, so you didn't bother saying anything. Your mouth went dry when you swallowed, and he approached, his eyes on yours again, looking for any sign of hesitation to stop immediately.

"Ready?" He asked in a whisper, and you were so excited that you just nodded.

The man took a breath and exhaled with deliberate slowness, his hands approaching your chest carefully. The small light blue box holding the heart fit so perfectly into the hole in your chest that you wondered if that wasn't yours; he stopped halfway, looking at you.

You responded with a smile, enough to remind him that this was as symbolic as exchanging rings and could be undone as easily; but you still accepted his idea without even asking questions, without asking for a ring or laughing at his idea—a smile enough to remind him that you understood all the symbolism and importance of this and that you accepted who he was, no matter what. With that, he finished pushing the box into your chest, closing the hole and restoring the skin as magically as it was removed.

The sensation was strange; it was like having two hearts in the same place. You could still feel your own heart pounding frantically, while you also felt Law's heart inside the chest, beating against your ribs, settling against your lung, beating as rapidly as yours, not in the same rhythm, but in the same frequency.

"T-This is… funny", you said with a smile, your hand on the place where Law's heart now resided.

With trembling hands, you held the organ ripped from you, beating rapidly against its confinement; the small light blue capsule was somewhat gelatinous and a bit smooth, seemed very malleable, but at the same time resistant.

"Relax", Law whispered to you, the corners of his lips curving upwards gently. "Let me help you", he asked, adjusting the small box in your hands, turning it, pointing to the left side. "These are your right atrium and pulmonary artery, they should be turned to your left, so they will fit correctly", he pointed as he spoke, and you just nodded.

With the tips of his fingers under your hand, he guided you to the hole in his chest, where the box fit perfectly. When you looked at him, he was smiling, not the same smile he gave when he was boasting or teasing someone, it was a genuine smile of happiness, one that you saw a few times but loved every time.

You felt like crying when you fitted the box containing your heart in the place that would reside for the rest of your life, where you lived for so long, in the core of the person you loved the most. When the skin covered the hole in, now, your husband's chest, you felt as if you were receiving the most intimate hug you had ever received—and could never receive again.

You hugged him, feeling the warmth of your tears warming your face; Law also cried silently, but unlike the tears of cold nights, there was a warm feeling in his chest, maybe from the new location of his heart, but the joy you felt was genuine.

His head rested on your shoulder, you felt his heart gradually calming down in your chest as he enveloped you in a warm hug, pulling you into his lap.

Law could still feel the cold of that night, how the snowstorm blurred his vision, the sound of the lines cutting the ground, how humid that chest was. He felt like he had spent all the years that followed trapped in that memory, walking through the forest, crying desperately while looking for the nearest town. However, in recent times, the snowstorm seemed weaker.

Until he reached the nearest town, right when Doflamingo finally hit the ground. When he found himself comfortable in the bed of a kind stranger, he finally understood the reasons for his savior. And when he drank that warm soup after years of hunger, his heart was finally at home, protected by your ribs.

"Law…" you whispered. "I love you."

Your now husband (husband!) put his hands on your shoulders and pulled away from you a little, so you could see his face; there was a smile so wide that his eyes closed, and you could only smile back at the sight. "I love you."

… I'm home.

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d water law #law one piece #one piece fanfic #law fanfic #law x reader #zombiedumbie writing

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luveline · 8 months

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maybe a reader and roan centered ficlet where roan gets to go to readers work for the day, be like her mini assistant because eddie couldn’t find anyone else to watch her while he had to do something?

ty for requesting ♡ fem reader

The phone rings at exactly 2PM as previously discussed.

"Ro! Quick, come answer the phone for me, baby."

Roan climbs out from under your desk where she's sorting paperclips into cuteness piles, the skirt of her best blue dress brushing your calves, her hair in a slicked back bun but coming undone as the day goes on. "What do I say?" she asks.

You pull her onto your lap. "You say, Hi, I'm Roan Munson with Cora Enterprise Limited, how may I help you?"

She squares her features into a fierce, determined glare. Picking up your heavy grey phone, she presses her lips to the receiver and says, "Hi, I'm Roan! How can I help you, Cora?"

Her eyebrows pinch together before smoothing, elation quick to take. "Daddy!"

You can't hear what Eddie's saying, but you imagine it to be like, Hey, pumpkin, you sound so grown up! How's working for a mindless conglomerate as another cog in the machine working out for you?

"It's fun." Roan tips her head back to look at you. When your gazes connect, she wiggles her thin brows. "She's fine, dad. We're having fun without you."

Passionate garbled talk from the other side. Roan giggles and leans further into your chest, seemingly pleased when you wrap your arms around her stomach.

"I learned how to do the printer, and the managing, but they wouldn't let me in the lab 'cos you picked shoes with cut outs. Yes, I know I asked for them, dad." Roan hands you the phone with an expression beyond her years. "He wants to talk to you."

"Thanks, babe." You bring the phone to your ear. "Hello, Y/N speaking."

"Hello," Eddie says, his voice warm as usual, the sound like laying under the sun on a cloudless day. "Is she behaving?"

"She's being awesome. I told you, you don't have to worry about it. I'm practically alone in my office with Mel on maternity leave and Jessica trying to impress the Swedes." You stop Roan's little hand where it tries to open your top drawer, worried about the box cutter you use to unseal samples. "She's literally no fuss. I'd have her here every day if they let me."

Roan gasps like this is the very best idea in the world and nods at you until her head looks like it's going to fall off.

"They might have to. I can't believe it's day four of no water at the elementary. We're lucky you could take her, what are the parents who work jobs like me supposed to do?" he asks.

"Maybe I can have them all here. Roan's a good assistant for a six year old. In fact, she's doing a better job than I was on my first day. Right, bubby?" you ask the head of curls in your lap.

"Right!" Roan lifts her head to the receiver, her full row of top baby teeth white and shiny in the office lights. "I'm going to do the flying cabinet next!"

"Filing," you correct.

"Oh. That doesn't sound as fun." She wrinkles her nose.

"Lunch first," you say. It's a good pacifier. Boring office tasks are usually easier after one of Eddie's sandwiches.

"I'll leave you guys to it, then," Eddie says, muffled slightly by the roaring of an electric saw. "I'll try not to feel too left out over here."

"If I were you I'd feel very left out," you say.

"Nice. Love you, miss you, see you at five."

You put the phone against Roan's pale ear. "Tell dad bye," you say.

"Bye, daddy. I hope you have a nice lunch."

Loving babble. Roan's smile gets bigger and bigger the longer Eddie talks. She stretches tall in your chair to put the phone down before twisting to wrap her arms around your shoulders, her nose cold where it presses into your throat. You bring a hand to the back of her head.

"What's this for?" you ask, hugging her.

"Dad said to give you one. And to say you didn't say I love you back, so, um, you're in the bad books."

"Not the bad books," you murmur.

"Don't worry. I get out of them all the time."

—

more eddie, roan and reader

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1000sunnygo · 24 days

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One Piece Academy Chapter 45: Brothers part 1 (Quick translation)

source | translation index

Wouldn't you like to enjoy the best school life, invited by a cheerful Spring?

"Corazon"

"Rosinante"

"Corao"

"Cora chan"

"Cora san"

Young Doffy: Rosi..

Cora: *GASPS*

Cora: Huff.. Huff...

....

Luffy: *groowwl~*

Cora: Straw hat ya...!

*sliide*

Sengoku: ROSINANTE...!

Sanji, Zoro, Usopp: Bwaah!!

Cora: Sengoku san?! And you guys...

Law:✌🏻

Cora: Law!

Law: Two days, it's been two days since then.

[And then, The next day...]

[New World Middle School downtown Shopping Mall]

Nami: Seriously...

How could an undercover mission end up like that?

Usopp: Don't say that, let me tell you about the story of me sending back the enemy's main forces...

Zoro: How did your side go, with Oni Middle?

Nami: The meeting from our side was held at a warehouse by the Port.

Vivi: Kaido, and the three "All-Stars..."

Coby: And executives called Tobi Roppo... we confirmed all of their presence.

Franky: Yamato wasn't there, though.

Robin: The zoom-zoom noise from the man named Queen didn't let us hear the conversation, but....

Brook:. It seemed their meeting this time was to boost everyone's morale.

Nami: But there's one thing that we didn't understand.

Usopp: Eh?

Nami: Vergo sensei was present there.

[Introduction Box: New World Middle School, Vergo sensei]

Sanji: He came to teach us one day when Aokiji sensei was having a day off, didn't he...

Nami: And that's where it became strange. Just when we thought he'd take a seat,

he put on student's uniform!

Robin: After exchanging greetings with Oni Middle's executives, he handed over some documents.

And then...

"I get it, Doffy"

We heard him mutter these words.

Sanji: "Doffy"? A connection with Doflamingo?

Robin: That's a possibility. To be precise, he could be one of Doflamingo's executives, living in the guise of a teacher.

Usopp: WHAT??

Zoro: A student? As a teacher??

Coby: Let's ask next time when Corazon san heals up!

Cora: Yo, everyone!

Luffy: CORAO!!

Usopp: Doing good already?

Cora: Yep! Thanks to Law.

What about you guys? No class?

Nami: Aokiji sensei told us to self study. And to take a look outside the school building.

Cora: Sounds like Kuzan san, alright...

Continues in Reblog ⬇️

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

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This is totally calling myself out with (why I’m anon 😭), but would you be comfortable doing unexpected pregnancy trope w/ Law. Or just the pregnancy trope in general. I absolutely adore it, but I do know a lot of people don’t/aren’t comfortable with it

Ough i have a request in my drafts that I'm working on that's got a tad more of an angstier spin on this so I'm gonna use this one to give him the happy ending we all hope he'd get :')

[Heads up!: fluff, married!law makes me wanna gnaw my arm off, afab/fem aligned reader, I think Law'd do his best to be a good dad and I will die on that hill]

Truth be told, Law never thought he'd make it this far. There have been a hundred odds stacked against him, tipped the scales in their favor over his ㅡ and somehow, he's still here.

There are days where he wonders if it's worth it, if he's worth it ㅡ and then he remembers Sengoku's words about Cora's sacrifice for him.

"Don't ever attach a reason to the love you've been given."

He's been loved ㅡ by his parents, by Lami, by Cora. By his crew, his friends ㅡ and you. You, who've been patiently by his side this entire time, fighting for a future that's worth sticking around for.

And now he has it. The metal band around his finger is still new to him sometimes, and he fiddles with it when he's lost in thought, rotating it as the little stones shimmer. It's not anything extravagant ㅡ but neither of you had wanted that.

"Who cares about rocks and the money for them when I have you?" You'd said when he asked, staring at him with such conviction his chest hurt.

"Law?" Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, finding you standing a few feet away from where he'd been zoning out as he stared out the kitchen window over the sink. The house the two of you own is modest, but it suits the two of you and Law still has a tough time accepting the fact that he owns a house now, rather than just a submarine. (For man who's spent most of his life uncertain he'd get a tomorrow, he's settled into domesticity surprisingly well for the most part.)

"You were gone when I woke up," he says by way of greeting, catches the nervous fidget of your arms, tucked behind you as you rock back and forth on your feet. "Where'd you go?"

"Town," you answer and when he frowns, you sigh. "I wasn't there long, and I've never once seen a wanted poster. We're not pirates anymore, you know."

"Can never be too careful," he intones, watches you mouth the words with him in a way that suggests it's far from the first time you've heard him say it. (It's true. He's said it a lot.) "Does it have to do with what you're hiding behind your back?"

"Maybe," you singsong before you bring your arms out from behind you, a neatly wrapped box extended towards him. He blinks, then his brow furrows.

"Did I miss an anniversary?"

"No."

"Is it your birthday?"

"No."

"Is itㅡ"

"Just open it, Law." There's an undercurrent of nerves to your tone as he takes the box from you, watching him as he sits down at the table to unwrap the thin bow of red ribbon around it.

You wait with baited breath as he sets the ribbon aside, pops the lid off of it ㅡ and pulls the contents out. You know exactly what it is, having spent the last few days trying to come up with the perfect way to tell him.

Law stares at the cloth in his hands. It's small, made of soft fabric and little metal buttons at the bottom, spaced between where two legs should go ㅡ oh. Oh.

And all at once, it clicks.

"You're pregnant?" He doesn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, only that he's aware neither of you'd been really trying yet ㅡ content to take one day at a time, together.

You nod. "I'm way late on my cycle, and given how lousy I've felt recently..." You watch him stand, leftover nerves making you ramble as he approaches. "I mean I know we've talked about kids but haven't wanted to really try yetㅡ"

His arms wind around you, holding you to him gently. There are a thousand thoughts that race through his head, of what-ifs concerning your health, the baby's ㅡ the fear that he's somehow passed on the disease he's long since been rid of.

He exhales against the top of your head, pushes the worries and fears back. He can deal with those later. Instead, he focused on what he can handle right now. "How far are you?"

"Not sure," you answer. "If we go by cycle, a month or so? Could be earlier than that."

His grip tightens. "You're pregnant," he mumbles, almost to himself. "We're having a baby."

You nod, letting yourself cling to him the way he is to you. "You're going to be a dad, Law."

The thought of fatherhood both excites and terrifies him ㅡ what if he's a horrible dad? He knows absolutely nothing about babies beyond what he remembers from when Lami was born, which is hardly much of anything.

"It's okay to be scared, Law." Your voice is soft, whispered against his chest. "I am too. But we'll do this together, okay? We'll be fine."

Law holds you to him, presses his lips to the top of your head as he thinks of the future. You, him, and the little piece of you both, growing inside you.

"Yeah," he finally says. "We'll be just fine."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous

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gremlinbabe · 9 months

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Teen wolf headcanons: number????

-Stiles and Erica always have the best snacks Because they’re both insatiable bottomless pits for food.

-Lydia has a secret knife collection and the first one was given to her by Allison’s father before she was even in the pack

-Boyd Is a bachata king (he’s been in classes since junior high)

-Erica is Peruvian, Portuguese, and Dutch.

- Scott took up boxing classes sometime after his dad left because he wanted to be more macho but quit after somebody clocked him in the jaw and it left his jaw crooked

-Allison is a horse girl.

-Isaac likes going to cat cafes and is regularly given cat ears by other patrons who think he works there

-Cora has participated in underground MMA fights to bring in some extra cash but was actually so good that she ended up with a decent Fanbase

- Peter is a ranch retreat owner and doesn’t tell the pack because he feels like they would crash every weekend just to be petty for all the bullshit he’s done to them

- Jackson’s adoptive parents have been treating him to mani and petti’s ever since he came out to show they’re supportive

- Derek started working part time as a mechanic because of a recommendation from his therapist

-Kira is the fastest in the pack even tho she’s clumsy. Short distance she can even out run the born wolves

-Derek and Mason have weekly Uno matches that last for hours that the entire pack likes to bet on

-Liam plays Pokémon go and is well known for being found in weird places just to catch Pokémon

-Mason is an art student & is extremely good at police sketches and that’s how he got recruited

-Jordan can turn any pool into a hot tub if he tries hard enough

-Derek asked stiles to start taking self-defense classes after Girard

-Kira convinced Malia to crochet every time something upsets her and now the whole pack Owns sweaters, blankets, scarves, and socks. Malia is currently working on hats

-Lydia and Peter regularly gamble and place bets on who will do the most stupid thing in the pack today but neither are allowed to place bets on stiles or Derek

-Stiles purposely learns wind magic just to do aang marble trick from avatar the last Airbender

-Boyd and Isaac have a secret tick-tock account where they regularly post to pack

-The entire pack knows in theory that Peter fucks because there was no other way for Malia to come into existence but still wholeheartedly believe that he got no bitches or swag (except Scott and Allison because peters flirted with both their parents and They don’t want him to actively seduce their parents out of spite so they leave him be)

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princecharmingwinks · 1 year

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Sterek Fic Rec - February 2023. Goodness, this month has been busy. But it is still Feb here so I’m taking it! Please enjoy the below :)

I Can Give You the Constellations by skoosiepants (1/1 | 9K | Teen)

“I’m just going to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m going to close my eyes, and when I open them again, I’ll be back on Atlantis, sleeping in my tiny bunk, eating reconstituted potatoes and putting googly eyes on rocks to freak out Jared.”

Or—

How Captain Derek Hale and Dr. Stiles Stilinski keep managing to save each other’s lives…in space!

5 Times Stiles Said I Love You and 1 Time He Meant It by literaryoblivion (1/1 | 3K | Teen)

Five times Stiles told Derek he loved him, and one time he meant it. (I mean title's pretty self-explanatory right?)

My Friend Thinks You're Cute by fairytalesandfolklore (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

A Sterek College AU And that's when Stiles sees him, standing in the middle of the crowd, swathed in a black leather jacket, eyes alight as he flashes Stiles the most dazzlingly perfect smile. Derek The Music Major. The guy Stiles has had a massive crush on ever since they shared a class together in Stiles's freshman year. The guy who went on to graduate later that spring and leave town to go on tour with his band. The guy who composed such beautiful music that it made Stiles fall even more stupidly in love with him when he happened upon one of his live performances on YouTube the following summer. The guy who wrote the lyrics to the song he’s currently up on stage singing motherfucking karaoke to. Derek Hale, Beacon Hills sweetheart, local legend, and international rising star.

you can wear my sweater (if i can have your heart) by elisela (1/1 | 12K | Teen)

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, but he stops at the bottom of the porch when Derek closes a hand around his elbow. His scent is evening out, mellowing from humiliation to embarrassment, and his heart skips a few beats when Derek touches him. “Really, I misread everything. Jordan said—” he stops, again, and Derek has to stop himself from asking because what Jordan said isn’t the most pressing issue.

“I thought you were joking,” he says, keeping Stiles’ arm still even as he starts to pull away. “Whatever Jordan said, he didn’t tell me. You’ve been teasing me for weeks, I didn’t think this was any different.”

Stiles turns to face him, and this time when he pulls his arm back, Derek lets go. “I’ve been asking you out for weeks,” he says, a thin trace of amusement through the resignation in his voice. “It’s fine, dude, just a misunderstanding. I’ll stop.”

We belong to the light (we belong to the thunder) by GreyHaven (1/1 | 3K | Explicit)

Stiles doesn't want to hurt Derek. Except when he really really does. And who better to hurt than a werewolf who will heal from anything he dishes out?

Not all treasure is silver and gold by princecharmingwinks (10/10 | 26K | Mature | Yes, this is mine!)

Captain Derek Hale is on a mission and he needs a fearless crew. His betrothed has been kidnapped, his family lives in exile and he harbours a dangerous secret. Enter Lady Erica Reyes, the perfect Quartermaster to join the crew. Erica has her own reasons for needing to escape her seaside town. An abusive father with a suggested 'arrangement' has forced her to create her own future.

A Derek and Erica friendship on the high seas, all in the name of love and family. Because not all treasure is silver and gold.

how to court a werewolf by graveltotempo (1/1 | 6K | General)

Stiles accidentally begins a courtship with Derek. Wary at first, the werewolf accepts, and Stiles ticks off all the boxes of a traditional Hale werewolf courting - oblivious to the whole thing.

Because of course he is.

Peter thinks the entire thing is hilarious.

Cora thinks that they deserve each other.

(spoiler alert: they do)

you could be the one that i love by whenwordsmakesense (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

It’s a good time in Beacon Hills.

Stiles thinks so, right until the moment he’s on his fifth bite of burger and his dad’s staring down his own.

“You know, son, one day you are gonna have to make your boyfriend meet me.”

Stiles chokes on his burger.

Dessert's on Me by halcyon1993 (1/1 | 4K | Explicit)

Derek comes home to find Stiles baking in nothing but an apron.

Re-edited 2nd February 2022.

Soulsick by theroguesgambit (1/1 | 3K | Teen)

Derek loathes this idiot of a soulmate, whoever they are. For not coming to Stiles’ call, for being too useless do just to this one simple thing, for failing Stiles, proving how utterly unworthy they are before they’ve ever met him. -- Stiles is cursed with a disease that will eventually destroy his soul unless his soulmate helps strengthen it. The pack performs a ritual to call his soulmate to his side. But days pass and no one appears...

Maybe they're already here?

princecharmingwinks special mention (Derek has some extremely hot lines in this! hot damn! And I love him so protective and Stiles is so smitten)

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos (1/1 | 18K | Explicit)

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

It was my birthday this month and it feels appropriate that I slipped in my big big pirate fic ;) See you all next week!

#sterek #sterek fanfic #fic rec #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminglists

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thecoramaria · 5 months

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How to foreshadow without predictability?

Thanks for your ask, Peratrice!

So first I'd like to say that a fanfic (or any story really) being predictable doesn't always mean it's bad. I think the frustration people have with predictable storytelling is when the story still expects you to be surprised, which makes the reader feel like they're being talked down to. That's why, if you feel like your story is too predictable, it's better to repackage a plot twist as dramatic irony instead.

But of course, sometimes you want to foreshadow a plot twist or reveal, and that can be great too! As I'm sure we all know, foreshadowing is important to prevent a plot twist from feeling contrived or coming out of nowhere. We all want it to be the moment where the reader smacks themselves on the forehead and goes "Oh my god, that's what this all was!" Unfortunately, it's impossible to write a plot twist in such a way that every reader will have that reaction, but I'll get more into that later.

So when it comes to plot twists and foreshadowing, other resources will talk about things like hiding your foreshadowing in plain sight, using red herrings, or having your foreshadowing also seem to serve another purpose in the narrative, all of which are great techniques that you should research.

But since this is a fanfic writing advice blog, I'd like to focus on one big advantage our medium has:

Readers come into each story assuming canon is the default.

Yes, even in AUs to a degree, though I will admit this tip is best applied to stories that are still rather grounded in the canon world as opposed to, say, a coffee shop AU. That means you have a full banquet of pre-existing expectations that you can twist and subvert. Unless you tell them or imply otherwise, the reader will always assume that two characters are besties like they are in canon, or have the same powers and abilities, or the world is mostly the same.

That means a great way to foreshadow in fanfiction specifically without giving anything away is to allow the reader to believe those default aspects of canon, while also sprinkling in some hints for your twist. You reader will be so sure that you're sticking to a canon element that when you don't, they'll be gobsmacked in the best way!

To use an example from my own work, I have a story that is presented as diverging from canon after the first cutscene, but is still very much grounded in the canon world and lore. Therefore, readers expected me to follow said lore instead of change it. It was the perfect set up to have my OC villain awaken a sacred power that one of the heroes would typically awaken in canon.

Now, I still primed readers to my divergences from canon by having a princess already be crowned queen and married (the canon hero and the OC villain respectively), and I employed red herrings and made sure to provide a detailed explanation of the lore this story was abiding by (since canon is also pretty inconsistent so I needed to set things straight), but my readers were so sure that the canon character would awaken this power that when my villain did instead, they were shocked! But it also made sense.

Now, no matter what, no one is going to react to a plot twist the same way. Some people are better at picking up on foreshadowing. Some people have read so much that they know all the tropes and clichés. Some people have a greater understanding of storycraft: they can spot the Chekhov's guns or they know what needs to happen next to jumpstart the tension or fulfill a character's arc. I had one reader predict another one of my subverting-canon plot twists and they explained how they knew with such a great understanding of storytelling that I was really impressed, and guess what? They still loved that twist! They had the satisfying moment of "I knew it!" which to me means that even though the twist was predictable for them, it was still executed well.

So yeah, there's my answer. Hope this helps!

#cora's original posts #cora's ask box #just fanfic things #foreshadowing #fanfic writing #creative writing

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 5 months

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Marriage Tunes - The Forgotten Nest AU

AU Series Based on The Forgotten Nest

Summary: Bradley is set to leave for flight school. Cora ensures that his last few days in Miramar are memorable.

Additional Warnings: Referenced Past Teenage Pregnancy; Eventual Crying and Angst but Fluff First; Suggestive Comments (They Have a Kid, y'all, they ain't innocent)

Word Count: 2.4k

A.N. This skips forwards a few years from the last one.

Main Master List

Series Master List

The waves lapped at the sandy beaches of Miramar as the bright sun hung high in the sky. It was spring and the crowds were small, letting Bradley, Cora, and Nickie have some privacy and peace.

“No!” Nickie giggled as Bradley picked him up. “Put me down!”

“Alright.”

Nickie shrieked as Bradley dipped him into the water, causing Cora to smile softly to herself. She sat up on the shore, reading a book, while Nickie and Bradley chased each other around the beach. Nickie was now seven years old and set to start second grade in the fall. And Cora was trying not to cry about it.

“Daddy!”

“What?” Bradley asked innocently, causing Nickie to push against his chest.

“You’re cheating!”

“What? How?”

“You are!”

“I think that you’re just making things up now, Nickie!” Bradley stated, jokingly swinging Nickie’s feet into the waves again.

Nickie shrieked and clawed at his dad, trying to stay dry and away from the waves. Cora tried to focus on her book again, but it was getting more and more difficult. Bradley had always prided himself in keeping in shape, but his boyish bean pole shape had officially given way to a more masculine and broad stature with his regular and intense exercise. And with the mustache fully grown in and Nickie in his arms, Cora’s brain was pretty muddled.

Nickie and Bradley eventually got out of the water and returned to where Cora was sitting. Nickie settled in the sand, content to build a sandcastle, leaving Cora and Bradley to talk quietly about more serious subjects.

“I got accepted,” Bradley stated quietly, causing Cora to nod slowly.

“Pensacola then?” she asked, turning to Bradley with a quietly grief-stricken expression.

She knew that it was always Bradley’s desire to get into flight school and become a naval aviator. That was never hidden from her. But it was difficult to let him go to the other side of the country to pursue his dreams. And leave her and Nickie behind.

“For two years?”

“Yeah,” Bradley agreed, nodding along. He looked over at where Nickie was sitting in the sand, blissfully unaware. “I have a month left.” Cora nodded and looked away. Bradley turned to her, his gut twisting when he caught her expression. “And I know that you can't move. Not when you’re this close to graduating yourself. And Nickie has school and . . .”

“We’re just going to have to make it work,” Cora stated, leaning back in her seat.

“I’ll call every day.”

“I know you will,” Cora replied, turning back to him with a small smile. “I know, Bradley."

He could only nod in return.

When they got home that night, Bradley took up the task of making dinner. Nickie sat in front of the TV, watching a rerun of a movie, while Cora slipped away to their shared bedroom. Bradley glanced up from the pot he was stirring when Cora placed a small box down on the countertop. A very familiar small box that he gave her years ago.

Bradley stared at her with a measure of surprise, but Cora stood there with a confident expression. Bradley turned off the burner and grabbed the box. Opening it, he stared down at his mom’s engagement ring. He had gotten it resized for Cora after he found out about Nickie and now all he had to do was place it on her finger.

“I think this is the part where you get down on one knee,” Cora stated, causing Bradley to snort.

“Yeah, I think it is.” Turning to where Nickie was still sitting, Bradley called out to his son. “Nickie, can you come over here for a second?”

Nickie got up and walked over to where Bradley and Cora were standing, a bit confused at the scene. He ran up to his dad and looked at the little box in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a ring. For Mommy,” Bradley explained, slowly getting down onto one knee. “It means that Mommy and Daddy promise to love each other forever. And it means that we’re going to get married.”

“Aren’t you already married?” Nickie asked, confused.

“No,” Cora mused, brushing Nickie’s hair. “Not officially.”

“Why not?” Nickie demanded of Bradley, who laughed in return.

And with some help from Nickie, Bradley slipped the finger onto Cora’s finger, where he hoped that it would stay for the rest of their lives. Cora pulled Bradley in for a quick kiss before the two of them turned to Nickie to enjoy the moment as a family.

~~~~~

A week later, not long after Bradley’s graduation ceremony, Maverick drove Cora down to the San Diego courthouse. Bradley and Nickie had gone ahead to get the very small ceremony set up and now all that Cora had to do was show up. Parking the car, Maverick and Cora got out and headed up the stairs with their arms linked.

“Are you ready?” Maverick asked Cora softly, trying to keep up a brave face.

“I’m ready,” Cora agreed, pressing a kiss to her dad’s cheek.

The doors opened and Maverick led Cora, dressed in a simple white dress from a department store and with a bouquet of flowers from a supermarket, down the makeshift aisle. Nickie stood beside his dad at the end of the aisle, dressed in a little black suit. He was supposed to stay besides Bradley for the ceremony, but he quickly ran to his mom’s side.

Cora smiled and reached out a hand for Nickie to grab. He held her hand diligently, happily marching with the tune down the aisle. And Bradley, dressed in his dress whites, couldn’t help but let a few tears slip out at the sight.

The ceremony was short and sweet, but filled with so much love that it didn’t even matter. Nickie stood in between his parents the whole time, while Maverick tried to hold in his emotions on the side. Ice gave his shoulder a squeeze and Maverick let out a breath. It was probably ridiculous to get choked up when they already had a kid together, but he couldn’t help it.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant stated, causing Cora and Bradley to lean in.

Cheers broke out among the small crowd as they shared their first kiss as a married couple. Turning to their friends and family, they waved and took one of Nickie’s hands each. Walking back down the aisle as a family of three, they couldn’t help but get lost in the bliss of the moment. They were married. It was official.

The festivities were held at the Mitchell house. Bradley stood to the side, watching as Cora chatted excitedly with Penny and Sarah. Nickie and Amelia were running around, being playfully chased by Slider. And just as Bradley was about to head over to his wife, Maverick approached him slowly.

“Bradley,” Maverick greeted him with a stiff nod.

“Maverick,” Bradley returned with a similarly awkward expression.

Over the years, the two of them were forced to co-exist for Cora and Nickie’s sake. Bradley tried to avoid any direct conversation and between Maverick’s various deployments, it wasn’t difficult to pull off. But whether or not he liked it, Maverick was the grandfather of his son and now his father-in-law.

Bradley would never be able to fully cut him out. Not again.

“Are you having a good time?” Maverick asked, causing Bradley to nod slowly.

“It’s my wedding. Of course, I am.”

“Have the two of you told Nickie yet?” Maverick questioned, earning a shake of Bradley’s head.

“No, not yet. Cora wanted to break it to him after the wedding,” Bradley replied quietly, already dreading that conversation.

“I’ll be Miramar for a few weeks,” Maverick stated, causing Bradley to turn back to him. “I’ll look after them.”

Bradley nodded slowly and turned back to watch Cora practically glide over to chat with the Kazansky kids, chatting animatedly and absolutely radiating joy. Maverick cleared his throat and straightened up, turning back to Bradley.

“I do have a wedding present for the two of you, but I wanted to run it by you first.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the one I’m more worried about,” Maverick stated, causing Bradley to frown a bit defensively. “I was considering selling the house to the two of you. I would just give it to you, but somehow I don’t think that the two of you will go for that.”

“No,” Bradley agreed, shaking his head. “But, it’s your house.”

“Well, after I finish up a few weeks here, I’m going out to Europe and then after that, who knows? But Cora and Nickie, they’ll be here for at least another year. And that’s Nickie’s childhood home.”

“I’ll talk to Cora about it,” Bradley decided, turning back to watch his wife. “And we’ll go from there.”

“Of course.” Maverick straightened up and grabbed his beer again. “Congratulations.”

Bradley watched Maverick walk off to where Penny was standing with a mix of emotions on his face. But he didn’t have long to stew in his thoughts because Nickie and Amelia came running into his legs to try and escape Slider.

Cora walked off to grab a drink and smiled when she spotted Ice standing over by the cooler, looking like he was waiting for her. He handed her a beer, which Cora took gratefully, and waited for her to take a few sips before making his offer.

“Now, under the short notice, we didn’t really get you a proper wedding present.”

“We didn’t want any,” Cora dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“No, no, you should get one,” Ice stated, reaching into his suit jacket. Pulling out a plastic card, he held it out to her. Cora took it and stared down at it with a confused expression. “It’s a room key to a suite in a hotel across town. You have a night off.”

“Oh, Ice,” Cora breathed, giving him a hug. “Thank you.”

“It’s all paid for. Just go and enjoy your night,” Ice told her, returning the hug.

“Thank you, Ice,” Cora replied, pulling back from the hug.

Bradley and Cora, after the party wound down and they said goodnight to Nickie, drove across town in the Bronco. After the concierge told them the directions to their room, Bradley insisted on carrying Cora over the threshold.

Cora laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting him carry her and set her down on the bed. Kicking off her shoes, Cora pulled Bradley down for a needy kiss. Bradley hiked up her dress and let his hands roam over his wife—that’s right, his wife—as Cora hurried with the buttons of his jacket.

They wasted no time in sharing their first night as a married couple, unwilling to let go of each other or be parted for very long. But when they eventually settled down, Bradley got up from the bed to grab a towel and some champagne for them. Picking up the bottle, Bradley read the note on the back.

“I am not responsible for any children that may come out of tonight’s activities. Be responsible. From Ice,” he read aloud, shaking his head before returning to his wife’s side.

~~~~~

Today was the day that Bradley had to say goodbye. The jubilation from the wedding had died down and now he had to board a plane and fly to the other end of the country. San Diego International Airport was packed that morning and Bradley kept a tight hold on Nickie as they waited in line for him to check his bags.

Cora was silent behind him, her gaze focused forward, and her hand gently brushing against his back every few steps. The attendant took Bradley’s bag and checked them before handing over his ticket. Bradley thanked them before leading his family over to the security checkpoint. Setting down his backpack, Bradley kneeled down to Nickie’s height.

“You’re going to be a good boy for Mommy, right?”

“Yeah,” Nickie whimpered, nodding to his dad.

“And you’re going to listen to your teacher and do well in school too, right?” Bradley continued, brushing Nickie’s hair back with his hand.

“Yeah,” Nickie agreed, letting out a quiet sob.

Bradley held out his arms and Nickie ran into them without hesitation. Cora tried to not break down herself as Nickie’s cries reached her ears. A few people glanced over at them with pitied glances and Cora tried to not let it get to her. Bradley moved to stand up, but Nickie refused to let go of him, so he stood up with Nickie in his arms.

Turning to Cora, he took in her appearance for a moment before pulling her in for a tight hug. Cora fisted the back of his uniform, burying her face into his chest, and letting out a few tears herself. It had been so long since Bradley was that far away from them for an extended period of time, and she wasn’t ready for it. She had gotten used to his presence. She had incorporated him into her life, into Nickie's life, completely.

And now it felt like there was a piece missing.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bradley replied, pressing a kiss to her head. “I’ll text you when I land.”

They shared an emotional kiss before Cora pulled away, knowing that he had to go. She gently pulled Nickie into her arms, causing him to cry harder and fight her hold. Tucking him against her chest, she motioned for Bradley to go.

He leaned down and grabbed his backpack before giving her one last kiss and his family one last squeeze before he left. Cora waited until he disappeared around the corner before letting out a choked sob herself. She wouldn't let herself fully breakdown with Nickie in her arms. Turning quickly for the parking garage, she held her son tight to her chest and rubbed his back.

“I want Daddy!” Nickie sobbed into her shoulder, causing Cora to whimper herself.

“I know, sweetheart. I want him here too,” she whispered, resting her head against Nickie’s own, walking quicker to avoid prying eyes. “But he’ll be back. And we’ll call him every night, okay?”

“But why is he leaving?”

“He has to go to work, sweetheart. That’s all.”

“But we need him!”

“I know, baby. I know," Cora whimpered softly, resting her head on top of his own.

Meanwhile, Bradley was sitting in a stall in the bathroom of the airport, head in his hands as he silently sobbed. He always knew that he wanted to be a naval aviator. But now, right when he was on the cusp of training to become one, he couldn't help but wonder if he was doing the right thing.

Tags: @praline357@luv4kani@oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo@abaker74@lt-spork@shanimallina87

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster series

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spacebaby1 · 3 months

Note

HIII I HAVE A REQUEST!!!

how would cora-san react to child!law giving him a picture he drew?? (could be a drawing of him, could also just be a random drawing he's proud of) thank you <3 hope you're having a good day!!!

Believe it when I tell you that Cora-San will fram that drawing, print it more than 1000 times! Make copies of it so he can frame them all over the house! He would CRY if Law drew him (even if its just a circle with bunch of stick for a body and a huge circle as his jacket) Cora-San would be SOBBING while hugging the silly drawing while Tiny law will be there standing like 🧍🏻‍♀️Cora-San would keep every little drawing Law would draw even if its just messing with papers and pen; after Law leaves the room Cora-San would collect those papers and put them away in a box that he keeps the memories. He would also ask Law to draw silly drawing on the wall while holding him up so he can reach the top wall and these drawing would make adult Law roll his eyes everytime he sees them (but he loves how Cora-San never painted over them). ❤️ ugh, I miss Cora-San 😭

#corazon x you #one peice #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #corazon and law #law trafalgar #one piece corazon #trafalgar one piece #anime fluff

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frstcorinthians · 2 months

Text

; angels that have no place

summary: “Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky. He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels. wc: just a tidy 1.3k notes: so i know i said i wasn't going to write for mota until it was all said and done. but that one line in e6 made my brain start firing away and it wouldn't stop until i did this. i don't know if this is going to become a whole Thing but knowing me i wouldn't be surprised. anyways enjoy!!!! its also on ao3 if you prefer that

“We have all the sports and activities you can ask for. Tennis, bicycles, croquet, riding with hounds, the list goes on. Relaxation is the order of the day here.”

“Riding with hounds” sounded like the stupidest thing Anna Marie could imagine, but she could be grateful for the upside-down minds of the British if it meant the Flakhouse had a kennel. She could curl up here, among the snuffling noses and velvety ears of the dogs, and not think about Cora or Ruby or Vera or any of the girls on the Morning Ride. These dogs – foxhounds, the woman who brought her in had told her – weren’t the same as her hounds back home, but their eyes were sweet and they bayed the same once she got them riled up. Anna Marie couldn’t find it in her to dress up and trot along on a horse, but she had come to enjoy going through the woods on foot, trying to keep up with the pack of dogs let loose on the forest. Aside from the people who worked here, she was one of the only ones who came to visit the dogs. So when she came down one night and saw an unfamiliar man knelt down, petting Goose, she almost stopped in her tracks.

She could hear him talking quietly to the dog. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, aren’t you?” His voice was soft and singsong-y, a universal tone for talking to pets. He scratched Goose behind one ear and Anna Marie felt her mouth curve up at the scene. It had been a long time since she’d had a reason to smile.

“Goose is sweet,” she finally managed to find her voice. The man jumped at the sound of her voice, spinning around to face her, surprisingly coordinated. Hardly a curl was out of place, despite her sneaking up on him and the late hour. His eyes were very blue in the low light. “He likes when you scratch him at the base of his tail.”

“I’m surprised he let me pet him at all. I’m not great with dogs.” He forced a laugh out, trying to stay casual. Anna Marie could see the shadows under his eyes. She’d bet he’d been sleeping about as much as her, which is to say, not at all.

“What are you doing down here, then?” She stepped carefully over the mass of sleepy hounds, heading for her favorite spot. She’d been here long enough that the dogs knew to leave her a space against the wall where she could prop herself up and bore herself to sleep with one of the doctor’s dense medical texts. Cora would have gotten a kick out of seeing her read through it.

Anna Marie boxed that thought up nice and neat and punted it to the back of her mind.

“Went out for a late night stroll, realized I never saw the kennels,” he turned to follow her progress across the room, looking amused at how she picked across the space. “You?”

She shrugged, pushing someone’s rump out of the way of her legs as she sat down. “I like it here. Reminds me of home.”

“Where are you from that you have this many dogs?” His eyebrows furrowed and he looked dubiously around the kennel.

“I don’t have quite this many, but we hunt with ‘em back home.” Anna Marie couldn’t bring herself to crack the textbook open now. She was surprised at how much she liked talking to this man, whoever he was.

“Man,” he rocked back on his heels. “The biggest dog we had back home was my aunt’s terrier. She used to terrorize the corner store, nipped at the owner’s ankles when he didn’t give her a treat.”

Anna Marie laughed. The sound was rusty, punching out from deep in her chest. It felt like something was coming unstuck inside her. She absently fidgeted with one of the dog’s ears, rubbing it between her fingers. The man shimmied over closer to her, finding an unoccupied spot between Goose and another dog. “I should introduce myself. Robert Rosenthal.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for her to shake.

She accepted. “Anna Marie McDowell.” His name was familiar, though she couldn’t place it at first. She kicked it to the same place as her other boxes, decided she’d worry about it at a later date. “What was your aunt’s dog named?”

“Rigatoni,” he replied, fidgeting with a spare leaf. Anna Marie laughed again, pushing her fist in her mouth to keep from startling the dogs. “He was shaped like a noodle, so the name stuck.” His smile was bright as he laughed along with her, even in the dim room.

“My favorite dog back home is named Sawyer,” she offered up, once her laughter had quit. “He snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Sounds like one of my crewmates,” he said. “I love him but, man does that sound keep me awake.”

“Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky.

He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels.

They were dancing around the topic now, the reasons both of them were here. Even Anna Marie wasn’t so bull-headed as to come right out and ask. If someone did that to her, she’d probably take a swing at them. She didn’t want to talk about her girls, she just wanted to go, to get back at it, up in the sky. She was meant to be up there; her fingers itched to adjust the dials, to keep the wings of her craft steady, to chat with Ruby about where she’d take them if she could. And instead she was stuck here, in some ridiculous dress-up fantasy house where they could all pretend nothing was wrong.

Her mother’s voice came to her now, drifting through her head: quit acting ugly, Anna Marie. Her mama was right, as always. She was being ungrateful, like a spoiled little kid. She should be basking in the sun, playing tennis with some handsome pilot or chatting about this-or-that with the other girls. But she was never one for small talk, and tennis was for rich people up north. An image came to her mind unbidden, her and Rosenthal in crisp white polos, laughing and gently batting their rackets back and forth. It was so out of character she couldn’t help but snort.

Rosenthal heard her, smiling softly when she caught his eye. “Do you spend time with the dogs during the day, too? I don’t think I’ve seen you around playing croquet.”

“I do. I usually let ‘em run through the woods, see if I can keep up.”

“Mind if I join you sometime? I’m sick to death of sitting around.” His expression seemed hesitant, like he was worried he’d overstepped some boundary. “I promise I won’t come dressed for fox hunting.”

“Sure,” she answered, leftover laughter still coloring her tone. He brought out a levity in her she hadn’t realized had been missing so long. “Come down one morning.”

“Alright,” he nodded, hauling himself up to his feet. Goose snuffled at the disturbance, before rolling over to take up the spot. “It was nice to meet you, Anna.”

“Anna Marie,” she corrected reflexively. Rosenthal gave a small wave and left, off to sleep or, more likely, explore another part of this endless home of leisure activity. Anna Marie finally opened the textbook to a section on the femur, falling asleep before she’d even gotten two paragraphs in.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #mota #mota oc #anna marie mcdowell #aleks.docx #im addicted to naming my ocs after counties in north carolina #theres 100 of em though so ive got plenty to work with

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elisela · 1 year

Text

still sterek, 1.7k, au: tattoo parlor & flower shop, established relationship, miscommunication day 6: lonely happy birthday @tripleaxeldiaz!!!

Stiles raps on the wall of his work station as soon as he peels his gloves off, tossing them into the wastebasket by the door. He waits a solid minute for a response, straining to hear past the music playing from the overhead speaker, and sighs when none comes.

“He’s probably out doing deliveries, loser,” Cora says without pausing from where she’s restocking the small vials of colored ink.

He sighs again, his whole body slumping down in his chair, a physical manifestation of the dread he’s feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, maybe.”

He’s not sure if it’s his tone or the fact he’s not arguing with her, whatever it is, it makes her stop and peer around at him. “Are you two fighting?”

The chair squeaks as he shifts, planting his feet flat on the floor and pushing, rolling himself back and forth slowly. “Maybe. Yeah.”

Cora’s sigh is explosive and irritated. “Seriously? What now?”

“Well,” he says slowly, chest starting to ache now that he actually has to say the words he’s been worried about out loud, “I asked him to move in with me on Friday and he said yes but I haven’t heard a word from him since Saturday morning, so we’re either fighting or … broken up.”

He doesn’t look up at her, but he can feel the sudden stillness in the room; even Erica and her client stop the quiet stream of chatter they’d been engaging in. It only lasts as long as it takes for Cora to jerk to her feet, vials of blue ink clattering to the floor and rolling in every direction. He doesn’t even have a chance to stop her before she rips the door open, hinges creaking dangerously, and stomps out.

“She’s pissed,” Erica says, and Stiles closes his eyes and tilts his head back to rest on the top of his chair.

He can hear when the yelling starts—which means Derek is there and definitely ignoring him, which hurts even though he’d already suspected it—but he can’t make it out what’s being said even if he puts his ear to the wall, and Erica can’t be of any help when she’s with a client. He busies himself instead by picking up the vials scattered on the floor and placing them back in the box before going to check his appointment book even though he knows he doesn’t have any bookings; he’d only come in because it was better than sitting around his lonely apartment.

The flare of hope that sparks in his chest when Cora comes back through the door is quickly smothered when she walks straight up to him and grabs his arm. “We’re still friends, even if you’re not with Derek,” she says; it’s not a question.

He nods because it’s all he can do—there’s a knot in his chest that’s threatening to tear its way out of his throat and he won’t let it, not in the studio. Their relationship may have been lived out in the open, lives intertwined both personally and professionally, but Stiles can give himself the dignity of falling apart in private at the very least.

“I will make his life miserable,” Cora swears before letting him go. “And the second I find out what’s going on with him—”

Stiles tears his gaze from the floor and looks over at her. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” she says, and she sounds almost sad. “He didn’t say anything at all.”

Despite the three days of radio silence it doesn’t take Derek long at all to show his face after Cora gets involved; Stiles calls his clients for the next day and rebooks them, claiming illness, then leaves before Erica finishes up with the sleeve she’s working on.

His apartment feels too cold, dreary in the same way it has since he woke up Saturday morning with Derek gone, like even the plants in the windowsill miss him. They probably do; Stiles isn’t known for his ability to keep a consistent schedule when it comes to things like watering. He turns a movie on for background noise, lays down on the couch, and ends up falling asleep.

When he wakes up it’s to the sound of a key in the door and footsteps so familiar that for a moment he considers closing his eyes and pretending so he doesn’t have to see Derek gather up all his things. But Derek would know, and Stiles would seem like a coward, so he sits up and lets the blanket pool at his feet just as his probably-ex-boyfriend comes into view.

He has no intention of saying anything—Derek’s the one with the problem, clearly, and Stiles might not have the heart to make a break-up difficult for him but he’s certainly not going to make it any easier—except Derek looks tired and miserable, eyes red like he’d recently been crying, wearing the hoodie he always said was the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn.

Stiles’ hoodie.

“If Cora told you to come—”

“She didn’t,” Derek interrupts, and then hangs his head when he corrects, “well, she did, but that’s not why—I was going to talk to you, I just—there’s something I need to tell you and I didn’t know how.”

Stiles swallows hard past the lump that’s taken up residence in his throat again. He doesn’t want to hear it, but it will drive him crazy forever if he doesn’t. “I guess I just don’t know why you said yes if you were going to break up with me,” he says. His voice doesn’t break at all, and he’s absurdly relieved he could manage that. Of course, it breaks the second he opens his mouth and says, “It would have hurt less if you hadn’t.”

Derek makes a move like he’s going to reach out, and Stiles frowns when he doesn’t just stop but takes several steps backwards, moving himself further away from the door. “I said yes because I want to,” Derek says, “but there’s something—you need to know something before I do, and I—was scared. About how you’d react.”

He can almost hear the gears in his head turning. There are only two things he can come up with that may cause him to react negatively; one would be a stupidly big coincidence but he supposes it’s possible that sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning Derek had learned he had a child that one of his many exes was keeping from him, and the other—well, the other is just stupid, considering.

Stiles is pretty sure now that he knows which one it is.

“Derek,” he says slowly, “I think—”

“I love you,” Derek says, almost desperately, “and I’d never hurt you but you should know—”

Briefly, he considers banging his head on the table to justify his apparent lack of brain cells, because he really should have thought of this.

“—I’m a werewolf.”

The miscommunication would be almost funny if Stiles’ heart weren’t breaking at the sight of Derek in front of him, clearly bracing himself for the worst-case scenario while trying to appear harmless.

“Come here,” he says quietly, and sighs when Derek doesn’t budge. “Derek. Please come here.”

Derek glances at the door and around the room before moving, taking himself the long way around the coffee table before sitting at the very edge of the couch, never putting himself in between Stiles and the exit. “I’m not crazy,” he says, sounding defeated, like Stiles is going to try to get him committed at any moment. He doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor. “I can show you.”

There’s so much he wants to say that he doesn’t even know where to begin—like the fact that he’s been friends with Cora for years, for much longer than he’s even known Derek, or the bring up the week he’d “spontaneously” decided to go to his Dad’s place back in Beacon Hills when they were two months into their relationship and he’d freaked out when he’d learned the truth about the Hales. He wants to hit Derek over the head with the unscented laundry soap he’d started using after Cora admitted his old stuff was too strong, or shake him until he realizes that Stiles had started rubbing his cheek against any part of Derek’s body he could get to for a reason. And at first, he can’t say anything at all. The situation may be something they roll their eyes at in the future, but the heartbreak he’d felt at not being able to get ahold of Derek after waking up alone on Saturday morning had been very real, and the fear in Derek’s expression isn’t a joke.

“Baby,” he says finally, stretching his hand across the couch, fingertips just reaching Derek’s arm, “I know. I’ve known. I’m really—really—upset with you right now,” he adds truthfully, “but if that was the issue … it’s not one. Not really.”

Derek looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe, staring down at Stiles’ hand. “You knew?”

“Cora kicked this dude out of the studio once,” Stiles explains, “back when Erica was new. Said she saw him trying to touch her, and you remember Erica then, she was so quiet—anyway, Cora pulled him off the table, tattoo half-finished, and just went crazy. Threw the guy out the door, kept talking about how she hated people like that … and she was facing the wall the whole time but I caught her face in the mirror and her eyes were … glowing. She told me I was crazy but she looked guilty, almost? So I started paying a little more attention to her which pissed her off, and she told me.”

“I kept waiting for you to tell me,” he adds, looking over at where Derek looks like he’s having an existential crisis, “but you didn’t. So I figured you’d tell me when you were ready and I stopped thinking about it. Clearly should have thought about it a little more and maybe this wouldn’t have happened, but we—we can fix it,” he says, leaning, wrapping his hand around Derek’s arm. “Right?”

“You knew,” Derek says again, “and you—you still—”

“I still,” he agrees, shifting to his knees so he can get himself closer. “I still love you. I still want to spend every second of the day with you.” Derek’s not moving, so he curls himself around his body, blanketing him. “I still want you here, if the answer’s still yes.”

Derek’s arms come around him, so hesitant and careful that it makes Stiles grip him tighter. “It’s still yes.”

also on ao3

#sterek #sterek fic #derek hale #stiles stilinksi #au #eli writes #eli's january otp prompts

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