Noo Donnie

Paracitica

rise!Donatello x Reader

When you get to the lair, Raph and Leo have already been infected, with Mikey and Donnie you try to make an antidote, only to discover that Donnie’s been bitten.

With no other way, you sacrifice yourself.

Heres the Link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42102453

——-

Donnie was starting to freak out. Leo had begun acting really strange since they bought the egg back to the lair. Since neither April nor Splinter were available, he sent you a quick text, asking you to come over to help. But when he saw how Leo bit Raph and how Raph acted after that, he regretted requesting your presence. This was more dangerous than he had anticipated and he had sent you right into the dragons den. He had called you numerous times but you hadn’t picked up. Donnie presumed you rushed over and forgot your phone at home.

Donnie and Mikey, being the only ones not infected yet, hid themselves in the kitchen. They planned to get a sample of the virus in the egg to create an antidote for their brothers. As they were about to begin their mission, a loud bang filled the room, making them freeze. Both Leo and Raph had freed themselves from the locked down garage and entered the kitchen. Since neither of them were currently guarding the egg, it was the perfect moment to strike.

Mikey led the way to where the egg sat on one of the beanbags. Before they could insert the needle for the sample however, both Raph and Leo attacked them. Their eyes totally black. While Mikey fought back against Raph, Donnie was trying to hold Leo at bay. Then he heard it.

“Hello?” It was your voice, Donatello panicked. And his fears were correct, because as soon as the two infected brothers heard your call, they turned their heads, growling. Then you walked around the corner. You were out of breath, you must have been running all the way here, Donnie thought. Then he saw you smiling.

“Woah, I’m glad you guys are alright, so, where’s this egg Donnie told me about?” Right when you said that, Leo and Raph sprang into action, ready to attack anything and anyone, who tried to hurt the egg. You gasped and darted out of the way. Donnie and Mikey immediately coming to your aid, fighting with their brothers. You didn’t know how to react. Never in all the time you’d been friends with the boys, had any of them ever tried to hurt you. Something must be really wrong.

Mikey had successfully flung Raph across the room, where he didn’t move anymore. He then quickly came to help Donnie, who was being charged by his twin brother. Tying him up with the chain of his mystic Kusari-fundo. When you came up to them you looked down at Leo, who sat on the floor, you hugged yourself. Leo looked nothing like himself. The scowl on his face and the way he fought back against his brothers scared you.

“Guys, what’s going on?” You asked timidly. But Donnie just touched your shoulder, looking behind you, his brows furrowed.

“Where’s Raph?” You turned around, Raph wasn’t where Mikey had flung him. There was just a huge dent in the wall, where he’d hit it. Mikey then cursed and walked a few steps to look at the beanbag.

“He took the egg, Donnie what are we gonna do?” Mikey sounded scared too. Hearing his nervous voice made you even more scared. Donnie thought for a moment.

“We’re gonna take Leo to my Lab, and enclose ourselves in it, maybe I can fix up an antidote from his blood.”

The three of you heaved Leo into the Lab. After the two finally filled you in on what had happened, Donnie took a syringe from one of his cabinets.

“Well, let’s hope our plan works.” He said and stuck the needle in his brothers arm, Leo snarled at him. You took a step back, still unnerved by the way his eyes were blacked out. Then you saw it.

“Donnie, you’ve been bitten.” You said and Mikey gasped.

“They are right, there’s a bitemark on your shoulder, Donnie, that must’ve happened during the fight.”

“That means-“ Donnie started to say. “-I’m infected! I have to hurry and get the antidote ready.” He got up and ran towards his work table. He started mixing chemicals together, the liquid turning all kinds of different colors. After about a minute of Mikey and you just watching Donnie work, he suddenly stumbled back holding his head.

“I can’t go on. I’m starting to turn.” He groaned. You looked at Mikey, an idea forming in your head.

“Donnie, can you explain to us how to make the antidote, so we can finish what you started.” Donnie blinked open one eye and looked at you. He would have to, since he was sure to not be of any help in a few minutes. He had to tell you and Mikey what to do and quickly get out to not hurt any of you.

He explained the last steps carefully, hoping that the two of you would accomplish the task. He then sank to the floor. You immediately went to his side.

“Mikey, begin the process, I’m gonna get Leo and Donnie out of here, so we’re safe in the Lab.” You said, getting up. You then took the chain, with which Leo was still bound in your hand and lead Leo out of the Laboratory, like a dog on a leash. Leo then rushed back to the egg, still bound. You watched after him, glad he didn’t attack you again. Coming back inside you took Donnies arm and swung it around your shoulder, helping him up.

“Okay, Donnie, I’m gonna have to kick you out of your own Lab.” You spoke and Donnie chuckled quietly.

“That’s okay, as long as I don’t hurt you.” His head dropped on your shoulder. You smiled, even infected with a virus, he was still being considerate.

You were just out of the door when Donnies collapsed and pulled you down with him.

“Ah, shit.” You said, with his weight on you, you couldn’t get back inside. Hoping he wasn’t too far gone yet, you spoke to him.

“Donnie, could you maybe get up?” But he didn’t answer. You laid on your stomach, trying to crawl out from under his legs. You called out for Mikey but then you felt Donnie shift now laying completely on top of you, with you back to his plastron, you felt him breathing heavily against your neck.

“Why not stay with me, (y/n)?” he said and you felt his lips on your neck, his teeth slightly grazing your skin. Your eyes widened, there was no way out, you called for Mikey again.

“Mikey, close the door! Finish the antidote!” Mikey came rushing towards you, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Listen, I’ll be fine, just finish it and get your brothers back to normal.” You said but then you felt Donnie cease his nibbling on your neck. He pulled up his head and looked at his brother. He then snarled and lunged for Mikey, which in turn squeaked and pressed the button to close the Lab door.

Donnie banged his fists against the metal, you got up from the floor. You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t sure he was still in there, or not. You decided to call his name softly. His body suddenly stopped moving at all and you got scared again, pressing your body back against the wall of the hallway. What if he attacked you, just like Raph and Leo had. But Donnie just turned around facing you, his expression unreadable.

He then started walking toward you, you started to sweat.

“Donnie? Come on, you’re scaring me, are you still in there?” you asked, your voice shaking. But he just kept walking. You backed away from him slowly, holding your hand out in front of you.

“Donnie, I swear, if you attack, I’ll knock you out.” You said with false confidence, knowing you couldn’t stop any of his advances. He then grabbed your wrists with his hands and pulled you towards him. You huffed out a breath as you hit his plastron. He was hugging you, his face in your neck again.

“You smell so good.” He said and you were relieved, so he was still in there. You hugged him back.

“You should join me, (y/n).” he mumbled against you and you wanted to answer but felt his teeth on your neck again. He bit down. It hurt and you let out a short shriek. He unlatched his teeth from you and began to lick the wound slowly, as if to apologize. But your mind began racing before you could lecture him about it.

Your body started to feel hot, you heartrate skyrocketing and you felt sweat begin to form on your forehead. What was going on? Donnie had explained to you, that it had been a mutant wasp that had stung Leo. You just assumed the infection would work the same for you as it did for them, but it seemed you thought wrong.

It was as if you could feel anything a hundred times more intense as before. The air around you seemed too thick to breathe, your clothes felt too heavy and you face felt like it was on fire. But worst of all, the places where Donatello was touching you seemed to tingle. His tongue on your neck sent shivers down your spine. You whimpered and Donnie raised his head to face you. He was so close.

“I’m sorry, but now you can stay with me.” He said and smiled softly. You couldn’t talk, your mouth felt dry so you just grabbed his neck desperately, hoping he would understand that you needed help. But as soon as your hand made contact with his skin you pulled back. His skin felt like lava and you groaned.

“Hey.” Donnie said, voice soft. “Let me take you to the others.” His hands came down and grabbed your hip, pressing you into the wall. You suppressed a moan. “Don’t worry, they won’t try to hurt you again.” His hands glid up the side of your torso and your eyes rolled back into your head. “I’ll make sure of it.” Then you felt his lips on yours. You couldn’t take it anymore, everything felt amazing and awful at the same time. His lips were moving against yours, you hummed into the kiss, your body burning up.

Hearing the sound you made, Donnie pressed his tongue against your lips. And even in your dazed state, you knew you wanted this. So, you opened your mouth, kissing him back. The kiss was frantic and at the same time so passionate, that your knees began to weaken.

You body felt like it had a mind on its own, you felt every bone in your body screaming at you to make more contact while at the same time feeling like you needed to pull back. His right hand pulled you closer to him by your waist while his left hand grabbed your neck.

Your knees finally gave out and you slumped to the floor, kneeling in front of him, his hand still holding you by the back of the neck. You were both breathing heavily. He then kneeled down too, holding eye contact with you. His eyes were blacked out. You hadn’t noticed at the beginning, but now you realized how dangerous he looked.

“Let’s go back.” He just said, picking you up from the floor with ease, carrying you towards the living room area. When you walked in, Raph and Leo turned to face you, scowling.

“Don’t worry, they’re with us.” Donnie said. Sitting down with you on his lap. The brothers gave you a look, but didn’t say anything more. It seemed like the egg was in the final stages of hatching. You hoped that Mikey would be finished creating the antidote soon, not because you were scared of being eaten, but because you yourself were hungry. Desire burning inside you. Your body temperature had risen to an unhealthy level. It felt like you been deprived of physical touch for ages. And every time Donnie would stroke your sides, while you sat in his lap, it felt like he was burning you.

When Donnie began to kiss the bite mark lightly, you whined. His hand came in front of your mouth.

“Just a few minutes more, then it will be over.” He whispered in your ear. He took your whining for anticipation, since he himself was excited for the wasp to finally hatch. But that was the last of your problems. Your stomach was aching. You let your head fall onto Donatellos shoulder while he continued kissing your wound.

You were gonna die. You would be eaten by a mutant wasp. You didn’t even tell Donnie how you felt about him yet.

The egg began to crack in that moment and three wasps exited the shell. This was the end. You closed your eyes.

But instead of feeling wasps eating away at you, you felt a prick in your neck. You eyes shot open. Mickey was standing a few feet away, looking proud.

“Told y’all I would safe you!” He yelled and you blinked. He was right, your body felt normal again. But before you could thank him the boys sprang up, with their weapons ready. Defeating one giant wasp after the other. When they finally all went down you sighed relieved.

Donnie came up to you then, rubbing his neck sheepishly. His brothers were still cheering and celebrating their victory.

“Hey.” He said, sitting down next to you.

“Hi.” You answered, not looking at him.

“Listen, (y/n)…I’m really sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have texted you to get here, but I didn’t know it would turn into this.” He tried to explain. “And I know what I’m about to say is no excuse for what I forced upon you but…” he hesitated, you looked at him then. “-the infection causes everyone to smell really dangerous to the infected, so the host destroys any invader. And…-“ he paused again, trying to find the right words. “-my…my crush on you caused you to not smell dangerous, but rather really delicious.” His hand came up in front of his face. “So even though I didn’t really have control over myself, I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve sent you away.” He ended his speech.

You tried to process what he had said and you stilled. ‘My crush on you’ Donnie had said.

Wait.

“You have a crush on me?” you asked. Donnie looked at you, he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“That’s what you’re concerned with? I forced myself on you.” You furrowed your brows.

“Donnie, I reacted differently than you to the infection, my body felt super weird, it was like I was in heat or something.” You explained. He still looked puzzled, so you continued. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do, I have a crush on you, too.” You smiled at him when you saw how red his face became. “It just didn’t feel quite right, since I wanted to do these things with you….sober.” you said. Donatello looked thoughtful.

“I guess since you’re fully human, the mutant venom reacted differently with your- wait… you mean to tell me we can do those things again?” He grabbed your hand excitedly and you blushed.

“Yeah, let’s do that again, when we are not infected with anything.” Both of you chuckled and Donnie took a hold of your face.

“I’m looking forward to it.” He then leaned in and you kissed each other, fully conscious.

If you wear sunglasses no one can see what you are looking at.

TW: ⚠️katakuri flat ass⚠️

I'm a bit delulu with my man because this is the canon

A big fan of sleepy hugs

SWEETNESS ~ BUGGY

LA!buggy x straw hat!reader

Based off of this post bc it made me giggle

Nattie speaks: y’all this mf clown has no right to be so fine but LAWRD. I’d do anything just for one lick. This is short nd simple but cute🤭

ZORO DRAGGED HIS FEET across the wooden floors of the Going Merry, ignoring the muffled screeching of the clown head inside the dark sack as he set his eyes on thing. Nightfall was approaching, everyone on the ship wanted some rest, yet nobody was getting any with the constant whining of Buggy. The green haired man pushed open your door, making you jumped slightly as you looked towards him with a raised brow.

“I give up, all yours now.” Zoro voiced practically dripped in annoyance, he tossed the sack across the room, making it land onto the soft cushion of your bed before slamming the door behind him.

You could hear groans coming from the sack, “Damn you, you fucking broccoli-haired ass!” You chuckled softly, putting down the comb you had in your hand and walking towards the scruffy bag. As you released the clown head he sighed in content, breathing in the fresh scent of berries that engulfed the room. “Ah, sweetness, so good to see you!”

“Nice to see you too, Buggy.” You giggled, “You doing alright there?” You asked, smiling a bit as the man got comfortable on your bed.

“Much better now that I have you in front of me.” He winked with a flirtatious smirk on his red painted lips. “I definitely thought he was going to put me with that weird chef guy again so he could chop me into piece and cook me or something.”

“Looks like you got lucky today.” You smirked back, grabbing him and placing him on the small vanity, going back to combing through your hair. Buggy was a simple man, with simple needs, especially since his whole body was gone. The angle his head was facing gave him more fuel into his dirty thoughts. His eyes directly faced your chest, eyes captured on the line of cleavage peeking from the low cut tank top you had on. He was hypnotized by you, for the first time since he was taken by Luffy and placed on the ship to sail away to Arlong island he’d gone completely silent.

You simply hummed, clueless of how the clown shifted slightly to get a closer view. You suddenly let out a huff, dropping the comb and looking over at the clown. “Y’know, I like having you around here, you totally make me feel special and even though the rest of the crew might really, really not like you, know I’m on your side.”

“Mhmm.” Buggy hummed in response, eyes hungrily watching you. “I appreciate that, sweetness.”

You smiled. “You hungry?” You stood up and took him in your arms, cradling him carefully like he was a baby. The blue hairs that peaked from under the striped bandana tickled your skin.

Buggy enjoyed being around you, especially since you were so generous and careful with him, the others simply tossed him into the sack or an empty barrel whenever he even spoke. But you, you fed him, you defended him, you took care of him and did the exact opposite of what everyone else did. “I’m hungry for one thing, that’s for sure, sweetness.” The clown replied, eyes still clued onto your tits as you entered the small kitchen.

“Hey, maybe we can brush through that tangled mess once we get a quick snack.” You replied giddily with a big smile, “Hey, and wanna know another thing—“ You heard a string of groans follow as soon as you stepped into the room with Buggy.

“I gave him to you specifically to get away from him.” Zoro groaned, making Sanji nod in agreement.

“I’ll be out soon, stop your whining.” You replied with a roll of your eyes, reaching for the basket of fruit and picking out two apples. You picked up a knife and cutting board, quickly going to work and chopping up a few apple slices. “So as I was saying, nobody has ever taken me seriously, which why I also like you, you don’t make fun of me which is what many others do.”

Zoro and Sanji glanced at eachother with questioning looks as you proceeded with your mini rant, both of them making eye contact with the clown head that smirked at them, a cheeky look in his eyes.

“But I mean, Luffy chose me to be a part of his crew so obviously I can be more, I’m not dumb, and I feel like more people need to take me seriously.”

“Hey.” The clown smirked as he watched your every move, finally speaking up about his slight obsessing with your chest. “Nice tits.”

“Thank you!” You happily replied with a smile, placing the slices on a clean plate and taking Buggy back to your room as everyone stared in shock. “Goodnight boys!”

“Yeah, goodnight fellas!” Buggy called out, and if only he’d had the rest of his body he’d most definitely be given them a middle finger.

“How is it that a clown can do better at getting that girl then me?” Sanji muttered in annoyance.

Forever will live, love, and laugh Buggy

yummy, I <3 men who are bbyg’s

Have you done a Brahms cat yet 😭 I’ve had random Brahms brain rot for a good while now 🧍‍♀️

I have now:

Where’d the mask come from? How’d he get it? Who makes a fragile mask for a frenetic feline? Brahms is the clingiest of clingy cats. He demands your attention and will go to great lengths to receive it. He’s the kind of cat to appear out of nowhere and suplex an unsuspecting victim for daring to steal his spotlight. He’s also a bit of a drama Queen. He behaves like a kitten in spite of being a pretty big cat.

Other than that, he’s relatively well behaved. He finds his way into all the nooks and crannies of the house and often appears in places where it’s unclear how he got there (similar to Michael Meowers).

Feeling Fangs

Title: Feeling Fangs

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You find out what your husband has been hiding from you after he loses against Straw Hat, but you find yourself fixating on how pretty he is without his scarf.

Master List

A/N: My bf won't let me read about this man because I'm not far enough in the anime so I'll just write about him instead. And read about him but my bf doesn't have to know that part yet. He's worried about spoilers but what spoilers am I gonna get from all that smut? Also I just like men with fangs.

You didn't particularly care who one this little war that broke out, as long as your husband is fine. There's no doubt in your mind that he'll survive, you just don't want to see him hurt. Sure, the two of you have never really been romantic or anything, your marriage was somewhat political, but you've grown fond of him. So when his little sister is kneeling on the street saying he lost, your heart drops.

"Brulee, get me in there," you hiss in her ear. "I need to make sure he's okay."

There's tears in her eyes as she looks at you quizzically. "How did you get here?"

"This isn't the time for that. Let me in the mirror dimension."

She nods quickly and lets you through. Her steps are hesitant as she follows behind you. You make note of the chefs slumped against a wall, curious as to who killed them. It doesn't matter to you as you stumble closer to your husband.

It's the first time you've seen him like this. Even when it's time to sleep, he's still awake, sitting up in bed doing who knows what as you drift off. Right now, he's asleep on his back with a hat on his face. You quickly locate his scarf next to a group of people, ignoring them.

You've never seen him without his scarf, but you figure out that everyone here has. The chefs must've seen him without it, so he's the one who killed them. Everyone else must've passed out from something in the battle, but they've all seen him too.

"Brulee, tie up everyone here. It doesn't matter who they are, I want them unable to leave," you say in a low voice. "If you fail to do this, I won't forgive you."

While she follows your orders, you crouch down to rewrap his scarf. You make sure to hide his face from view as you carefully lift the hat. Biting your lip in anticipation, you do your best to not wake him. As you unveil his full face, you feel yourself get flustered.

Poking out from his lips are four shiny fangs. You do your best to not reach out and touch them, wondering how sharp they are. You expected something frightening under the scarf, but Katakuri is actually just as pretty as you thought he was. You don't know how you lucked out to get him, but you'll think about that later.

You make quick work with his scarf, noticing he's missing his jacket. You'll have to look for it later, your focus needs to be on finding Pudding. It doesn't matter that she's rude to you, what matters is her ability. You had overheard it in passing, but her ability to manipulate memories is what makes her the key.

"Let's go, I need to find Pudding."

Thankfully, you can see her hiding on the other side of the mirror you came in. It might take a moment to run and get her, but you'll put yourself through whatever you need to. The most important thing to you is wiping everyone's memory of what Katakuri looks like.

You dash through the fight, weaving your way through both enemies and the Big Mom pirates. Ducking down next to Pudding, you catch your breath for just a moment while she stares starry eyed at someone.

"Sanji..." she mumbles before glaring at you. "What do you want?"

"I need you to alter some memories for me."

She gives you an evil smile. "Why would I do that? Just because you're my big brother's wife doesn't mean I'll help you."

You frown. "I won't tell anyone that you've fallen in love with Sanji and most likely helped him escape."

"What?! You have no proof!"

You pull her up and start dragging her behind you. "I may not have concrete proof, but I'm not stupid. Besides, your reaction is my proof."

She grumbles something about you being an ass, but she follows you.

"You also need to wipe some of Brulee's memory.  If you tell anyone what you saw in them, I'll tell everyone that you helped Sanji escape. Do you understand?"

She nods. "Alright, I understand. Why what did they see?"

You set your jaw. "At the very least, they saw Katakuri without his scarf. I'm not sure what else they saw."

You watch over her shoulder as she shoves her hand into people's memories. It's a little gross, but it'll get the job done. It's better to threaten one person over a dozen.

There's a moment where Luffy slips and falls, gaining a large wound in his stomach due to being numbed. After finding out why, you watch Katakuri stab himself and pull off his scarf. It's nice to see a pirate try to have a fair fight, giving you a bit more insight as to what your husband is actually like.

"I guess it's a bit weird that he didn't want help if he couldn't defeat Straw Hat, but it doesn't make him lame. Those idiots don't realize they're the lame ones," Pudding grumbles. "Do you think Sanji has the same idea?"

You shrug. "It seems like his captain does at least so probably. Do I look like Sanji?"

Pudding scowls. "Shut up. Let me do this."

You don't miss the days when you'd have mood swings about men. That's the one good thing about having an arranged marriage, you don't have to worry about your feelings for other people.

"Mirrors, are any of you in an intact room? One with a big bed and access to water."

One a little ways away responds, and you look back at your passed out husband. You don't know how you're getting him there. Maybe you should've thought about that ahead of time, but it doesn't matter now. You can figure it out, you always do.

—-

It's been at least one day since you dragged him into bed, and Katakuri has yet to wake up. You can feel yourself dozing off every time you sit down, so you do your best to stay occupied. You prepare food, make sure you have enough water to wipe him down and let him drink, and constantly rearranging things. On one hand you want him to wake up so you know he's not in a coma, on the other hand you want him to get as much rest as he needs.

What you want doesn't matter, as you hear him wake up suddenly with a gasp. In your shock, you drop the plate you were holding.

"There's no need to wake up so aggressively, Katakuri. You're safe," you reassure as you pick up the bigger pieces of the plate. "How are you feeling?"

"How did I end up here? What did you see?" His voice is low, almost threatening.

You dump the bigger pieces in the trash and start sweeping. "We can talk about that later. You should have some water and eat. Then you should go back to sleep. I patched you up as well as I can, but I'm not a doctor."

He starts to pull the covers off, giving you a harsh look. "What did you-"

You dump the dustpan's contents into the trash before setting the broom to the side. "Like I said, it can wait. No offense, but you don't particularly scare me when you're ripping open your wounds."

His face goes a bit red as you tell him off. You want him to feel better before you deal with any other matters. That includes the talk of whether he'll choose to kill you for seeing his face.

"I made you some food, so just sit up."

Thankfully, he obeys. Katakuri doesn't even protest as you feed him. You make sure to avert your eyes, just for his comfort. He seems to be extremely hungry, eating all the food you've made. By the time it's all gone, he looks tired again.

"Get some more sleep, I'll lock the door. I wanted to be awake when you woke up, but now that that has happened, I can sleep."

He watches as you turn the lock and slide the broom handle through the loops of the door handles. You do the same with the window, shoving a fire poker through the handle before closing the curtains once more. Giving each of them a tug, you feel satisfied when nothing clatters to the ground.

"When did you sleep?" Katakuri asks, watching you intently. "You look..."

"Terrible, I know. I don't think I've slept since before the tea party, though. I'd have to think about it."

You crawl into the other side of the bed. It's a bit small, but leaning against him makes it a bit more comfortable. Despite your efforts, you find yourself dozing off before making sure he sleeps. There's no way he's getting out of the bed though, you've managed to lay on his arm.

—-

By the time you wake up, Katakuri is fast asleep. For what must be the first time ever, he's got his arm around you, holding you close. You watch him for just a moment, admiring how pretty he is. You want to reach up and play with his hair, but you ignore that feeling and try to wiggle from his grasp.

Even with how battered he is, you find it difficult to free yourself. You knew he was strong, ridiculously so, but you didn't realize he's just this strong. After freeing yourself, you feel exhausted again.

Thankfully, Pudding has left another basket of food for you, complete with an angry note about how she's not your delivery girl and if she's going to bring you stuff you need to be there. You roll your eyes and throw away the note. If she had important things to say, she can say them to your face.

You help yourself to an apple, crunching away as you try to figure out what to make. It would be nice if you could access a bigger kitchen with more ingredients, but this will have to do. Hopefully it's enough food, you've seen the size of  the food he eats.

With a sigh, you give up. Exhaustion still flows through you, so you focus on things that don't require a lot of thought. So you eat and wash the dishes, making sure to be as quiet as possible. It's better for him to wake up naturally, not due to you being a jerk.

Once there's nothing more to do, you make your way to the bed. You check the wounds, letting the smaller and scabbed ones breathe. Almost all of his injuries have stopped bleeding, you just can't check the one you're most worried about. He needs to wake up for you to take a look.

As you reach towards his head, his hand shoots up and grabs your wrist tightly. You wince in pain, surprised at how tight his grip is.

"What are you doing?"

You tug on his fingers. "Checking the scrape on your forehead. I want to make sure it closed up."

He cautiously releases you. "Don't do anything else."

You click your tongue against your teeth. "Have some more faith in me, Katakuri. I'm your wife, I have no ill intentions."

"We need to talk."

You start unwrapping the dressing. "What do you want to know?"

Katakuri breaks eye contact with you. "What happened after I lost?"

"Well, we lost. I dragged you out of here with some help."

"What about the others in the mirror dimension? What happened to them?"

The blood that makes up the scab also goes into his hairline, so you make a note to bathe with him so it doesn't open. "Those chefs are dead. Your little sister and her stupid fan club on the other hand are alive."

"Where are they now?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "What about the cam-snails?"

"I have no idea where they went after they woke up. I collected the cam-snails though, they're in a bag here."

His hand makes its way to your thigh, holding you down. "What did you see? What did you do?"

"I put your scarf on, tied everyone up, and made Pudding alter their memories. Straw Hat knows, but based on how I found you, I don't think that matters."

"How did you-"

You give a small smirk. "Poor little Pudding was so against marriage, but she ended up falling in love with that Sanji boy. I told her that I would keep it a secret if she kept yours. I'm telling you in case you choose to... you know."

His other hand pulls down his scarf. "So you know. And you're still here?"

Satisfied with the head scrape, you pull back a bit. "Of course. You're injured, where else would I be?"

"Aren't you afraid?" He pulls his face into a scowl. "Don't you think-"

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean forward and kiss him. It's nothing romantic, just a quick press of your lips on his, but you pull away flustered.

"Why did you do that?" His eyes are wide.

You blink in surprise. "Why did I do that?"

"How would I know, I'm not-"

You lean forward and kiss him again. His lips are soft, and when you lick your own after pulling away, you find them sweet.

"What are you-" You cut him off again with a kiss.

"This plan isn't-" Even after a fourth kiss, you can't stop.

Before he says anymore, he grabs your face in both hands. "Stop whatever nonsense this is. What are you trying to do?"

You've never seen Katakuri look like this. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide.

"I just really wanted to do that."

It’s now his turn to blink in shock. “Why?”

“You’re just…” You look away, knowing that your face is burning up. “Katakuri, you’re so pretty.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you intensely. You’re worried he’s upset, you did just keep interrupting him with kisses, but that thought is dashed within seconds as he pulls you into a kiss.

His tongue pushes past your bottom lip, pressing into your mouth. Even when you try to take control of the kiss, it takes him no effort to keep you in place. His tongue overpowering yours and exploring your mouth, filling your taste buds with sweetness.

Due to the size difference, his tongue fills your mouth, eagerly searching every part of your mouth. You can’t help the dirty thoughts that start to fill your mind, thinking of other ways he could use his tongue. All you can focus on is how sweet he tastes and how much you enjoy kissing him.

You’re completely breathless once he pulls away, panting as you try to breathe. Through half lidded eyes, you watch him recover. His face is somehow even more flushed and he’s looking at your lips. Without thinking, you blurt out the first thing to come to mind.

“Katakuri, can you bite me? Please?”

His thumb brushes softly against your cheek. “Are you sure you want that?”

You rub your cheek into his palm, letting out a soft hum. “Please?”

Titling your head to the side, you expose your neck. You have no idea why you want him to bite you so badly, you just do. If he tells you no, you won’t ask again, you just want to experience it this once.

The hand on your other cheek slides down to your shoulder. You feel his warm breath on your neck, and you bite your lip in anticipation. At first, he just presses a soft kiss to your neck, carefully holding you like you might break. Then, without warning, you feel his teeth sink into your neck.

You let out a gasp, and your hand grips his shoulder. It’s not a harsh bite, just the very tips of his fangs. The only pain you feel is the initial breaking of your skin, but once that passes, you feel flushed and warm. It’s really doing something for you, and you don’t want him to stop.

“Did that hurt?” Katakuri asks, pulling away at your gasp.

You draw a shaky breath as he licks the marks on your skin. “You drew blood. That’ll always hurt, but I’m fine.”

He hums softly as he makes sure you’re not bleeding anymore. His touch is gentle and light, and you let out a groan as he traces invisible patterns into your skin. You want more, and you lace your hand in his hair.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You pull away from Katakuri, adjusting your shirt to cover the mark. You wait for him to pull his scarf back up straight under his nose. There’s still a dusting of pink across the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t look as flustered with his scarf up.

He nods, and you open the door. Pudding stands there with her arms crossed, pouting. She pushes past you, dumping a bunch of stuff on table.

“Here’s everything you asked for, don’t ask me for stuff again. You can start getting it yourself!” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve done what you wanted for the past three days. I’m done!”

Katakuri moves to get out of the bed, but you wave him down. Both of the siblings deserve their rest. That’s the only thing you should focus on.

“Thank you Pudding. Go get some rest, we’ll be okay.”

She looks surprised, before huffing. “Of course I’m going to get rest. I deserve it.”

She gives you another dirty look before storming out. It’s like a whirlwind came in, scolded you, and left. You don’t really care. She did her best to help you, so you can cut her some slack.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

You close the door and lock it once more. “It’s fine. Everyone is under stress right now, including you. You should get some more sleep if you can.”

Katakuri tugs his scarf off, letting it rest on the floor. You want to go fluster him again, but you just stay still. Seeing him like this, battered and bruised, makes your heart ache.

“Are you going to sleep as well?”

You give him a soft smile. “Do you want me to come and get more sleep?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he answers. “It’s your choice.”

You walk over and place your hand on his cheeks, making him look at you. “Do you need me next to you for you to sleep?”

Unfortunately, you seem to have pushed him just far enough to annoy him. He gives you a stern look as he wraps his arms around you. Even though he’s annoyed, he’s gentle as he pulls you on top of him.

You squirm slightly in a halfhearted attempt to get him to let you go. His grip is iron tight, and he has no intention of letting you go. This is the first time he’s ever insisted on having you sleep next to him, and it makes you feel warm inside.

Once you stop moving, his grip looses just enough for you to get a bit more comfortable. You lay your head on his chest, closing your eyes to listen to his heart beat. It’s relaxing, and you feel yourself get drowsy. You know it’s all over, when he starts to rub your back.

There’s the sound of his saying something, but you fail to catch it as you fall asleep. You don’t even notice the soft kiss he presses to your head while you drift off.

Pirates and Petals | Preview

Summary | Preview | Chapter 1

Pairing: Buggy the Clown x Poison Ivy!Female Reader

Genre: Adventure, Comedy, Romance

Summary: You ate the Nature Nature fruit (Similar to Mosa Mosa no Mi eaten by Binz from One Piece Film: Z) after your town was being attacked by pirates. The fruit gave you the power to control plants. You were able to save your town and just as you were about to seek revenge against the pirates, they fled. You sought them out, trying to find any clues that will lead you to them. One day, one of the seven warlords of the sea stumbles upon you with an offer. Will you accept or kill the clown from where he stands?

Timeline: Set during the events of One Piece Live Action.

"Buggy..." You said firmly as you stood in the big top circus.

"Pleaseeee, you know we'd make a good team! Think about it! I'll get you vengeance and you help me get past the marines!" Buggy said with excitement as he jumped off of his throne. He sauntered over to you.

You rolled your eyes and the roses in your hair bloomed open. "No games. I'm not in the mood."

"Me?! Games? Never." Buggy grinned and stood in front of you. He extended his hand to you, "Well dollface?"

"Fine." You agreed and placed your hand in his.

Buggy took the opportunity to pull you close and winked at you, "We could seal the deal with a kiss?"

"In your dreams, clown." You shoved your hand over his lips when he was getting close.

You really hoped you don't regret this...

Like if you want to be tagged!

Yup

That one

I want that one right there

Dancing in moccasins

Bartolomeoxreader. Modern AU. An opposite attracts story!

Lots of swearing, some violence.

*****

You and Bartolomeo are of an age and both grew up in the same little town, but you are as different as two people can be. Barto is a thug, a good-hearted but prone to violence hoodlum who never finished school, and supports himself working odd jobs and gets involved in a different brawl every week; with his green hair, heavy motorbike and disrespectful attitude, not to mention the way he dresses, he’s well known to the local authorities. For Barto, the ideal night is spent drinking at a bar, getting in a fistfight with Gambia and his other friends -the Barto Club, obviously named after their leader- against another of the town’s gangs, riding around town on their bikes, and then camping all together at the place of one of them, nursing both an hangover and bruises as they sleep until late. 

You are at the other end of the spectrum. A straight-A student, you won not one but two prestigious scholarships for academic merit, and were accepted into a prestigious university; you spend your time reading, writing, visiting museums and attending conferences on various subjects. Years spent poring over books and staring at your computer’s screen -to study, not to play videogames or wasting time on social media- have ruined your sight to the point you have to wear thick eyeglasses, and your look is as classic as they come: plaid skirts, blouses and tweed jackets, moccasins and oxfords. Your criminal record is unblemished, you never even got a parking ticket or a fine at the library, and only drink a glass of wine on special occasions, more because you genuinely dislike alcohol than because you think there’s something wrong with it. 

In short, you and Barto hang out with different crowds and have no friends in common, but he was hired as a cashier at the same grocery shop where you work -those scholarships were not, unfortunately, enough to pay for your tuition, and you didn’t want to ask your parents for a loan- and so you did start to bond. You helped Barto learn to use a till and manage the shop’s books, and he insisted you let him carry all the heavier packages, and even defended you when a drunk customer started harassing you. You spend your breaks together, and he insists on walking you home every night, given the lateness of the hour, and even though he lives in the opposite direction, claiming -every single night- that he has to meet a friend in your neighbourhood.

In the end, six months after you started working together, you have become… friends, in a sense, and while when you first met him you were a bit intimidated by his weird hair and clothes, not to mention his name in town is synonymous with troublemaking, you did come to respect him immensely: Bartolomeo -it’s just Barto, alright? Not even my mum calls me Bartolomeo- is headstrong, determined, the sort of person who never gives up on something he cares for and lets no one disrespect him, all characteristics you admire in a person. He’s kind as well, even if he’s too embarrassed to admit it: he regularly comes to work still tipsy or with a bruised face, and he and his bike are regulars at the town’s illegal street races circuits, but you have also seen him buying -not stealing, buying- a bottle of milk from the shop to feed the neighbourhood’s stray cats, and to carry the purchases of a few old ladies to their car, saving them the effort, even though that is not part of his duties. 

He has told you he quite likes working at the shop, for once, and you are proud of all the effort he is putting in it; he might not be the sort of friend your parents, or society, would want for you, and you still disapprove of his habit of getting into fights and causing trouble for the mere thrill of it, but Barto is a good man, clever, kind, and…

… and you have gotten a crush on him, maybe even something more. It is your first time, but you feel yourself blushing every time his hand touches yours as he passes you a bottle or a can to put on the shelf, and one day you happened to catch a glimpse -you weren’t spying on him, you swear!- of his naked torso as he changed into his work shirt in the toilet, and the image wouldn’t leave your mind for days.

So yes, you like Barto, and, you decide after much deliberation -seriously, it took you less time to decide what university to attend!- you would gladly start a relationship with him, if he were to ask you, or accept your proposal. The problem is, much as it grieves you to say it, Barto has never given you reason to even just suspect your feelings are reciprocated. He’s always friendly and appears to sincerely enjoy your company, but nothing more; he doesn’t have a steady partner, but sometimes he mentions a man or a woman he went on a -social or, err, domestic- date with, never the same person for long, which makes you suspect he might not be interested in a more long-lasting relationship, no matter who with. You’re not even sure he considers you a proper friend; one day his friend Gambia came into the shop to buy some groceries and he refused to introduce you, mumbling something you didn’t catch before grabbing his friend’s arm to pull him towards the frozen foods section. 

The people he likes are probably as different from you as they can be; girls who wear low-rider jeans and heavy make-up, who hold their liquor as much as their boyfriends do and hold on their backs during a motorbike ride. Barto did offer to take you for a ride once, but you declined, because you were scared of falling, and of the speed the bike could reach, and you could see how disappointed he was, even though he didn’t insist. 

Why would Barto want to go out with you?, you reflect sadly one night as you close the lid of your laptop before preparing for bed; you have just received an excellent grade for your latest exam, but you can’t find any joy, nor satisfaction, in that result for once; there are so many other people he would like better, people who have more in common with him that simply thirty hours of work a week. He has probably never thought about you as a potential partner, content with being your colleague and nothing more…

 … then I’ll have to show him; show him I can be more than a colleague, and that no matter how boring and mousy I seem, I can make a man’s head spin, if I put my mind to it. Even yours, Barto. 

Your decision is taken. The perfect occasion presents itself a week later, when you read in one of the magazines you are arranging on a shelf that the Dressrosa, a popular club Barto told you he and his friends often hung out at, is going to reopen soon after a period of closure for renovations. That very night, as you and Barto walk towards your home, you gather your courage and propose that the two of you attend the Dressrosa’s opening night together, just the two of you.

Barto refuses.

“Why? Are you going with your friends? Can’t I… come as well?” you ask, sounding small.

“It’s not that; I mean, I’ll probably go with the boys, but… it’s not the place for you, (name); you shouldn’t go to a club like that.”

“But… I thought you liked the Dressrosa.”

“I do. Just… promise me you’ll stay away, alright?”

You have no way of continuing the conversation, because you have reached your complex; Barto mumbles a goodnight and then leaves, briskly walking away while you remain at the door, looking at his retracting figure while your heart breaks in a million pieces.

He’s ashamed of you. Ashamed of what his friends, and the other men of the town, would think if he showed up at the Dressrosa with a woman like you by his side; does he think they would laugh about you both, calling his virility into question since he was unable to attract a more desirable partner? Would he choose to avoid being seen in public with you, rather than chiding his friends for making fun of you and your clothes?

Well; if that is the reason, then Barto is not the sort of man you thought he was, nor the man you’re interested in being in a relationship, or even just friendly, with. By now he knows the job well enough not to need your help, and from tomorrow on, you promise yourself that night as you take a quick break from your usual night study session, you’ll spend as little time with him as possible, using your bicycle to return home and spending your breaks reading rather than talking to him. Part of you will probably miss him, but if Barto is unable to look beyond your clothes and love for studying, and cares more about his friends’ opinion than to spend time with a person who cares for him, then too bad for him, and you won’t waste your tears on a man like that. 

Still, no matter how determined you are to leave your affection for Barto behind, since he’s clearly not worth it, you are still annoyed, and upset, that he thought the Dressrosa, one of the town’s most popular clubs, was not the right place for you. Who gave him the authority to decide? Does he really think that only because you enjoy studying, spend most of your time in the library and only drink cola and tonic water, you are unable to enjoy yourself and spend a night dancing? In that case, you decide as you reach your first-row seat for your first class of the day, your laptop already at hand to take notes, you’ll show him! You’ll go to the Dressrosa opening night by yourself, wear a nice dress, dance and meet new people, and when Barto sees you you will ignore him, making it clear that you are more than able to have fun, preferably without him. 

A perfect plan, except for one single detail: you’ve never been to a club before and have no idea what to do, how to act, and especially what to wear, to a place like that. Fortunately, you have recently become friends with a girl attending a few of your classes, named Nefertari Vivi; her father is a famous fashion designer, and she is studying to follow in his footsteps. Who better than her could suggest you what to wear for your first visit to a club?

So you stop Vivi at the end of the class, explain your situation -at least regarding the Dressrosa and your desire not to look like a fish out of water; mentioning Barto would be too humiliating- and beg for her help, which your friend is happy to lend. 

Two days later, three before the day of the club’s re-opening, you go shopping together, and on your request Vivi chooses a dress, shorter and more ostentatious than anything in your wardrobe, a pair of high-heeled shoes, and even a few accessories. 

“Come on, try them on, let me see how you look.” she excitedly invites you, and you obey, disappearing in the shop’s dressing room. You emerge a few minutes later, and the woman staring back at you from the full-length mirror is… well, not you, or at least not a version of you that has ever existed before. But you look good, even though you just need to look at your naked legs, or the portion of cleavage left exposed by the dress, to feel embarrassed. And the heels are so high! Do women actually dance in these?

“Are you sure this is alright? I mean, I know one doesn’t wear to a club the same clothes she puts on to go to class, but…” you stammer, unsure of how to express what you think and fear, but Vivi, who is a kind soul who would never deliberately embarrass you, assures you that there’s nothing inappropriate in what you are wearing, at least for a place like the Dressrosa. Of course you don’t have to wear what she chooses, let alone something you don’t feel at ease in, and if you’d rather keep your legs covered, or choose a less modest neckline, she can…

“No, it’s fine. These are fine, really.” you rush to add, already regretting your objection as you retreat towards the dressing room, more than a bit unstable on your new shoes “I’m gonna take them off and go pay.”

And so it is that you buy your first club outfit - quite an expense, for clothes you doubt you’ll ever get to wear a second time, but you are sure it’s worth it. 

Over the next few days you pointedly keep your distance from Barto, who seems to perceive you are angry or upset for some reason, but when he tries asking what is eating you, (name)? you avoid meeting his eyes and ask him to leave you alone because you are busy with your book, which he does, with a roll of his eyes. Later that day, you hear him make plans over the phone with his friend Gambia to attend the Dressrosa opening night, and the humiliation inside you reaches the breaking point: he does intend to go, knows you want to do the same, and still he won’t invite you.

I’ll show you. Oh, I’ll show you alright, Bartolomeo!

Finally it’s the big night. Two hours before the club’s opening, you reach Vivi’s house with your new clothes in a bag, and she helps you prepare, even enlisting the help of his father’s assistants, Pell and Chaka, to take care of your hair and make-up. 

“You look lovely, (name).” she says in the end approvingly. The effect of the outfit, so different from anything you have ever worn before, not to mention the fact you are wearing contacts rather than your usual glasses, is even more striking now that you are all dolled up, but as you observe your reflection in the large mirror in Vivi’s room -which is bigger than your apartment- the feeling of estrangement has been replaced by something akin to pride: you may be a four-eyes teacher’s pet, a woman who has never been asked on a date and feels more at ease in the library than in a club, but you can look good, and even make heads turn towards you, if you put your mind to it.

You can’t wait to see Barto’s reaction when he’ll see the new you. It might be childish, and petty, but you hope that he’ll realise how pretty you are, and it will be too late, because you will have moved on, and maybe even met someone else…

You thank Vivi for her help, promising to reciprocate if she ever needs it, and she wishes you a good night and begs you to call her tomorrow to tell her how it went. 

You reach the club by metro, planning on taking a taxi to return home. You are more than excited as you join the long queue before the entrance, and finally you are allowed to pay for your ticket and enter; no matter what happens today, you know already this night will be unforgettable. 

The inside of the Dressrosa is not different from what you had imagined: a long bar counter, loud music, a DJ, go-go dancers on podiums, bouncers patrolling the area. The energy in the large, dark room is electrifying, exciting, sensual, and just a little dangerous; unlike what you would have imagined just two weeks ago, you soon decide you like it.

It would be excessive to say that the moment you step into the room, every single head turns in your direction, half of the other patrons wishing they were you and the other that they were with you, but you swear you can see appreciation in the gazes of two young men who openly look at you on their way to the bar, and a girl you had shared a few class with last year recognises you and compliments your outfit. 

You look around you for a while, observing the crowd that has quickly filled the club to capacity, and to your relief you quickly decide you are not out of place as far as your clothes are concerned; if anything, your dress and high heels look positively tame compared to what some other people are wearing, but at least you do not look like a fish out of water, which is reassuring.

Deciding to take your time before joining the dances, you reach the bar, sit on a stool and ask for a cola, to the great amusement of the barman. “Would you prefer a fruit juice, darling?” he asks, openly derisive, but then he starts to prepare your drink, which you are free to enjoy as you observe the place and the people filling it; the dance-floor is already crowded, and while the music is different from the classic composers and opera pieces you’re accustomed to listen, it is catchy, and who knows, maybe someone will come inviting you…

“Hello.”

A man is leaning against the counter by your side as he regards you with interest; he is very handsome, with long blonde hair and an outfit clearly chosen to emphasise the wearer’s athletic physique. 

You can’t believe he’s talking to you. “Err, hello.”

“Name’s Cavendish.” he says, offering you a smile that is blinding even in the stroboscopic-lit darkness of the club; you have always had a weak spot for guys with a nice smile “Why haven’t I seen you here before?”

“Well, this is the first time I… I mean, I usually prefer other clubs.” you quickly recover, praying inside you the man -Cavendish- won’t ask you to elaborate, because you don’t know the name of any other club, let alone the ones that could impress him “But I heard the Dressrosa was a good place, so…”

“It really is, especially now that you are here. Can I know the name of such a pretty girl?”

He’s flirting with you, you feel flattered to realise, like no one in your life had ever done before; you tell him your name, and you spend a few minutes talking - or rather screaming at each other, since the music is so loud you can barely hear yourself. Catchy, yes, but you know already that tomorrow morning you’ll wake up with a migraine.

You and Cavendish are talking about your jobs when suddenly you notice a green mohawk in the crowd, out of the corner of your eye: Barto is standing near a sofa his friends are huddled on, staring in disbelief at you. Feeling extra petty, you smile and raise your glass at him, and then turn to look at Cavendish, trying to look completely interested in what he has to say. As you expected, a minute later…

“(name), what the fuck are you doing here?!”

Barto is now standing next to you, looking supremely pissed and incredulous, even though you could swear you can see him blush when his gaze falls on your naked legs “And what the hell are you wearing?!”

He, you must admit, looks amazing, black leather trousers hugging his strong legs and backside, a shirt left unbuttoned just enough to offer you a peek of his firm chest, silver jewels on his fingers and ears. 

“So? I asked you a question!”

“Dude, leave her alone.” Cavendish intervenes chivalrously; then, turning to you: “You know this guy?”

You are sorely tempted to deny. “We work together.” you admit “Leave me alone, Barto; I am perfectly fine.”

“You shouldn’t be here, (name). This place is…”

“I happen to like this place. Now, please, just go.”

Barto seems ready to argue some more, but then he sees something in your gaze, and he gives up; he leaves, clearly angry. 

“Your ex?” Cavendish asks, looking at Barto’s retracting figure; you can’t help following his eyes, until the ever-moving crowd of the club swallows your green-haired colleague.

“Oh, no; we’re just colleagues.” you explain; it’s not a lie.

“Well, I bet he wants to be something more.”

You both remain silent for a minute; Cavendish gulps down his drink, and then, just as you find yourself wondering, despite yourself, if you shouldn’t stand and follow Barto to explain yourself, he takes your hand. “Dance with me?”

You have never danced before, not since your ballet classes as a young girl -which you enjoyed, even though you and your parents agreed it was better to interrupt to allow you to dedicate more time to studying- and you don’t quite know what to do. Fortunately, there are no choreographies involved: people just seem to stand, swaying to the music, hugging a partner or in groups, at most waving their arms or jumping in place. As soon as you have reached the dancefloor, Cavendish’s hands find their way to your hips, which feels a bit premature since you have known each other for twenty minutes, but what do you know?, maybe this is how it works in places like this. So you look discretely around you to observe what other women are doing, and then circle his neck with your arms, which Cavendish seems to appreciate.

Neither of you notices a woman, dancing with two others nearby, whose eyes follow you intently, an expression of displeasure on her pretty face.

“You are very beautiful, you know.”

“Thank you.” you say, sincerely touched; you can’t help but wish Barto had been the one to utter those words, but he wasn’t, he didn’t want you when you proposed you go to the club together, and you have to forget him.

You remain on the dancefloor with Cavendish long enough to lose track of time; you enjoy dancing, but you keep bumping into other people, and at some point, you feel a hand -a masculine hand, no doubt- squeeze your backside. You cry out in alarm, and turn, and the closest people are laughing at you; you demand to know who touched you, and they ignore you. 

“You okay?” Cavendish asks when you tell him what happened; he seems to be genuinely sorry but, he tells you, accidents like that happen all the time at the club, and most girls get used to it.

“You mean they don’t fight back? And their partners and friends don’t intervene?” you ask, flabbergasted; you are the least athletic person in the world, and have been a victim of bullism since you started school, but the one time you were molested -you were fifteen, and one of the school’s rugby player decided it would have been fun to grab your skirt to tear it and expose your underwear in the middle of the corridor- you slammed a eight pounds physics textbook in his face. It was the one time in your life you were called to the principal’s office, but it was worth it.

“Sometimes they do, but it’s so dark here it’s hard to say who did what. Listen, I am very sorry; just don’t think about it. If it happens again I’ll intervene, I promise.”

You nod numbly, thinking, once more despite yourself, that Bartolomeo’s reaction would have been completely different, had he been present; he would have forced the people who might have witnessed the incident to listen, and then he would have beaten the crap out of the person responsible and forced him to apologise, even if it meant being kicked out from the club, even if it meant being blacklisted from the Dressrosa.

He would have done it; even if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, even if he considers you nothing more than a colleague he is forced to spend time with. He would have defended you, whatever the price. He would have done it for you. 

“You want to stop?” Cavendish asks kindly, and you shake your head; you remain on the dancefloor for a while, but the fun you were having until a minute ago seems to have evaporated. The smell of alcohol and sweat impregnates the air, the music is loud, and every single other patron of the club seems to have decided to bump into you before the end of the night. In the next hour you see Barto two more times, the first as he sits by himself on a sofa nursing a beer, the second as he talks to a very pretty woman -you recognise her by her long pink braid; her name is Rebecca, and she’s a student of your university, a friend of Vivi- a sight that you have no right to be sad about, but you do, almost as if you could feel your heart breaking in a hundred pieces.

Suddenly you feel suffocating; suddenly, even though the evening has been somewhat pleasant until now, you wish you had never set foot in the Dressrosa. 

“I’m going outside for a minute; I need some air.” you tell Cavendish, and he nods.

“I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need, really…”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” he says kindly, and you, who had actually hoped for a minute of peace and solitude, can do nothing but nod.

The bouncers standing guard at the entrance stamp your hand as you leave the club, so that you won’t have to pay again when you decide to re-enter. The landscape you find yourself facing is quite desolate: a large parking lot full of vehicles, a few people smoking, someone who didn’t even bother -or manage- to find a more secluded corner before starting to puke their guts out. You let Cavendish’s hand on the small of your spine guide you to the back of the building, where at least the music is a bit less loud, and you can finally breathe a little more freely.

The two of you rest your backs against the wall, alone save for a few garbage bins, full of bottles and plastic cups, and a cat huddled on the hood of a car. For a few minutes neither speaks; Cavendish has lit a cigarette, while you are still thinking about Barto, and wondering if he’s going to leave with Rebecca to spend the night with her, like part of you had hoped he would do with you, had he accepted your offer to go to the club together.

Well, he’s free to; Barto is not your boyfriend, he has a right to spend time with and date and sleep with whoever he pleases, and his life must be no concern of yours. It mustn’t; you can’t allow a guy who declined to be seen with you in public out of embarrassment to break your heart, because a man like that doesn’t deserve you. Still, you can’t help but feel sad about it, because you do care about Barto, and you thought he cared for you as well…

“You alright?” Cavendish asks after a while, the smoke of his cigarette spreading in the cold air of the night.

“Yes, sure; sorry, I just wanted…”

Suddenly he is smiling as he throws the cigarette on the ground and stubs it with his foot. “Yes, I know.” he interrupts you, and a moment later his arm has circled your waist, pulling you close “I know what you want, baby.”

And a moment later he is kissing you.

It is so unexpected, even though it shouldn’t be, that for a moment you don’t know how to react; you remain perfectly still, your mind gone blank because of the shock, as Cavendish kisses you passionately. It has been years since the last time something like this happened to you, and it should be pleasant, because he is attractive and he complimented and paid attention to you and his mouth is warm and soft against yours, but it’s not, it’s not pleasant at all!

Why the hell is he doing this? You barely know him, and you have not consented to this in any way! Could he not -oh God he just put his tongue in your mouth- could he not at least ask or make sure you also wanted this…?

For a minute, maybe two, you try to get used to the kiss, to find some pleasure in it, to feel what a person is supposed to feel in a situation like this; but you don’t, and when Cavendish pushes you against the wall behind you, gently but forcefully, and puts his free hand on your breast, you realise you need to stop this now.

You do. “Stop it; please, you need to stop.” you say, and push him away from you, in case he thinks you are just playing coy, and Cavendish does take a step back, looking at you with eyes full of disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you don’t quite know how to answer, because you don’t want to offend him, because he did treat you kindly and doesn’t deserve it, but you’re not sure you’d want to see him a second time. 

So you explain that while you do find him very attractive and had fun spending time with him, you are not interested in getting any closer, and poor Cavendish is completely flabbergasted.

“But… but you did dance with me, yes? We’ve been together for hours… and you let me accompany you outside…”

And this was enough to make him believe you wanted him to kiss you? Is Cavendish used to women falling at his feet five minutes after meeting him -it could be, since he is handsome and clearly knows it- or it is you who, since this is your first visit to a club, have no idea of how relationships develop in places like the Dressrosa?

In any case your decision is made and so, without hesitation, you tell Cavendish you are sorry to disappoint him, and that you never intended to let him on, but you have no intention of kissing him, never did, and you’d really like to remain alone now.

“Are you really sure?”

“Absolutely. Listen, I appreciate you keeping me company, but I don’t want you to waste the rest of your evening on me.”

Cavendish seems to agree, because a moment later you part, still amicably, and he leaves, in search of a woman more sensitive to his charm. The moment his blonde figure disappears from sight, you sigh to yourself, resting your back against the wall.

What a disappointment! Your first kiss in years -you could calculate how many exactly, but you are too embarrassed to- and you wasted it on someone you had no real interest in. You had expected so much from this evening, and yet here you are, head hurting because of the loud music, the packed room that made you feel claustrophobic, and you’ve been touched without consent by not one but two men!

Why the hell did you come here? This is not the right place for you, and you’re not the right person for a club like the Dressrosa, and there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to try something new, but this has been a completely wasted evening, and your desire to show Bartolomeo you could have fun without him and despite his declining your offer is beneath you, something you should and do feel ashamed about. Oh, why did you not stay home with a cup of tea and that book you wanted to start reading…?

Busy as you are feeling sorry for yourself, you don’t hear danger approach until it’s too late.

“Hey, you!” the woman calls you, marching in your direction “What were you doing with my boyfriend?!”

You blink, absolutely sure you have never met her before. “... excuse me?”

“I’m talking about Cavendish! I saw you, you know, flirting with him and rubbing yourself on him! He’s mine, and you have to stay away from him!”

Cavendish did mention, as you made each other’s acquaintance at the bar, that he has recently broken up with a woman he had dated for a while, because she had been too controlling and obsessive, to the point of following him around and forbidding him from hanging out with his friends; he could have lied, obviously, to attract you, but you are almost sure the woman is the one framing the truth as it suits her.

“Hasn’t Cavendish broken up with you a while ago?”

“He… shut up! You don’t know what you are talking about!” she orders, her pretty face now bright red “You slut, you need to stay away from my man!”

Not wanting to get involved in a -former- lovers’ quarrel, you tell the woman you have no interest in Cavendish and she is free to go get him if she wants, but she doesn’t believe you, already convinced as she is that you have somehow seduced her man to take him away from her. You are usually a non-confrontational person, inclined to solve problems with words and reasoning rather than arguing or worse with violence, but tonight your patience has reached its limits; so you bite back at her, making it clear that you have no interest in Cavendish and that maybe he’d be still dating her, rather than kissing other girls, if she were less controlling and obsessive…

“Kissing?!”

Shit.

It’s too late, unfortunately, to take your words back, and learning you have kissed her ex turns the woman’s anger into full-blown rage. She swears at you using words you had never even heard before, and then, still unsatisfied, starts threatening you. “I can find out where you live, you slut, I’ll cut your face with a knife!”

“You can try!” you answer, equally furious; how dare she?! Does she not know you could go to the police for words like these?! “Who the hell do you think you are? The only way you can get a man to date you is by intimidating other women to stay away? You are pathetic!”

You are really fed up with all of this; fed up with this idiot, fed up with this sordid place, fed up with yourself even, since you got yourself in this stupid situation to get back at a guy who never even wanted you. Why didn’t you stay home?

“You know what? I’m sick of this. I’m leaving.” you declare, turning on your heels -your poor feet hurt, after a whole evening with this stupid, uncomfortable shoes, and you can’t wait to take them off and make yourself a footbath- and that is your mistake, because there are few things more dangerous than to take your eyes away from a person who is threatening you. 

You had noticed the glass bottle in the woman’s hand, but you had paid no mind to it, just vaguely thinking her behaviour was due to the number of drinks she had imbibed, not imagining that the harmless container might be used as a weapon; you are grabbed by the shoulder…

“You bitch!”

… and the moment your body is forced to turn, an arm is raised above your head…

“Noo…!”

… the bottle is smashed against your forehead, and the world turns into pain and the red of your blood.

“(name)? Oh, fuck… (name), baby, please, talk to me, please… open your eyes…”

Obeying is the hardest thing you have ever had to do -and since you have once taken three exams in a day, skipped two grades in school, and enrolled in more optional courses than any other student in your year, that is saying something- but you have recognised the voice calling your name, and this makes you less afraid of the world you could find yourself in once you come around. 

“Are you alright?” Barto asks; he’s kneeling on the ground next to you, genty supporting your head with one hand while the other is holding a dirty napkin already soaked in blood - your blood. You can feel it on your forehead, on your hair, dripping down your cheek, syrup-like dense and sticky, and you’re terrified, because you don’t…

“... know.” answer in a small voice “W-what happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I… yes, a woman hit me with a bottle, but… am I hurt? Barto, I am bleeding… I can’t see well…”

It’s true, his face and the wall behind it swimming in front of you, first clearly visible and then shrouded in darkness and then somehow opaque, as if you couldn’t focus on them, but Barto assures you your eyes are fine, even if some blood trickled on the left one. “You are probably under shock.” he murmurs, and then anger fills his face - an anger that is not aimed at you “Where is the bitch who did this to you? I’m gonna kill her!”

“No…”

“Oh, yes! I know I shouldn’t hit women, but I swear, I’ll make her wish she was never born…”

And this is when you start to cry. Out of pain, yes, and of fear and anger, but out of relief and gratitude as well, because until a moment ago you and Barto had, if not properly fought, at least been more distant than you had ever been since the day you first met, and he still came to help you when you needed it… as if he cared for you.

“Oh, fuck… (name), I’m sorry…”

“I-it’s not your fault.” you stammer. You are pretty sure you’ve never looked worse in your life, between the blood, the tears, and the ruined make-up, and Barto is at the same time the first and the last person you’d want by your side in a situation like this “Please, I just want to clean myself… I need to go to the toilet…”

“Good idea. Give me your hand. Come on…”

In the end he has to almost lift you from the ground, and then his arm around your waist is guiding you back inside, as you cross the room in the direction of the ladies’ room.

“Come on, we are almost there.” Barto says encouragingly, and you nod numbly, still a bit wobbly on your legs, clinging to his shoulder to keep yourself upright as you limp by his side.

The white-tiled room is occupied by several women who fix their make-up in front of the mirror, smoke, or make out against the cubicle’s walls; they react with surprise when they see Barto, but then they notice you, still sobbing softly, and every one of those women you have never met before immediately offers their help, at first making sure this guy with the mohawk is not the one who decked you and then assisting you in cleaning the blood away from your face and hair.

“I’m afraid you need stitches, girl.” one of them says with a wince, as she observes the wound “There’s a clinic behind here…”

“Yeah, I know the place.” Barto points out, preoccupation evident on his face as he listens to your moans “Sorry, but can someone go take her stuff?”

One of the women volunteers, soon returning with your jacket and purse, while another gives you her water to drink and a third even offers to fix your make up. You thank them all profusely, their kindness so welcome in a moment you desperately needed some, and in the end you and Barto leave the toilet together, him once again holding you by the waist.

“I’m bringing you to the clinic, alright? My bike is right here.”

“I can’t ride a bike.” you murmur as you finally leave the large door of the Dressrosa behind you.

“You just need to hold on to me; we’ll be there in five minutes.” 

“Barto, I really can’t…”

“Yes, you can. (name), believe me.” he tells you, taking your face in his hands, large and rough, but so kind as they cradle your head, and suddenly you are so close he could kiss you, and the mere thought makes your heart tremble “I promise you won’t fall. I know it hurts like shit, but hold fast, alright? Five minutes, and we’ll be at the clinic. Can you do it for me?”

There is very little you would not do for him, but if there’s a right moment to tell him, this is not it. The truth is you have always wanted to ride Barto’s bike, a beautiful, powerful vehicle that is his pride and joy, but you refused the only time he offered to take you for a ride, afraid you’d be too scared and you’d make a fool of yourself begging Barto to slow down or to stop because you were feeling sick. He probably wants a girl who knows her stuff about bikes -“it has two wheels, and an handlebar”, that’s all you could say- you have thought ruefully more than once, a girl who probably has one of her own, unlike you, who take the metro to go to class and cycle around the rest of the time.

Still, that is a thought for another moment as well. The bike is parked on the back of the club; once you reach it, Barto helps you mount behind him, and you hold on tight, still too in pain and too scared of falling to appreciate the fact you can feel his athletic, solid body in your arms, the pleasant smell of his aftershave filling your senses. 

“Barto, please…”

“Don’t worry, baby.” he says, turning to look at you with a smile, as he starts the engine, the bike coming alive under him like a lion roaring “You’re safe with me.”

You believe him.

You reach the clinic less than ten minutes later, the brief journey at low speed and perfectly safe, and enter the waiting room, empty save for a clearly exhausted doctor taking a cup from a vending machine, a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair towards a corridor, and another nurse sitting behind the counter. 

It is she who Barto walks determinedly towards, having left you on one of the chairs available for the waiting patients. “Sorry, is Nico Robin here tonight?”

The woman Barto has asked for appears a minute later; she seems to be only a few years older than you, tall and slender, clad in an immaculate doctor coat, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. 

“Hello, Bartolomeo.” she says kindly, apparently not at all upset to have been called upon when she was probably already busy with something else “I’d ask what brings you here tonight but I think I can see it with my eyes.”

“This is my friend (name); some bitch at a club smashed a glass bottle on her face.” Barto succinctly introduces you “Can you give her a look? And she probably needs something for the pain.”

“Of course. (name), I am doctor Nico Robin.” the woman kindly introduces herself to you “Can you come with me, so I can get a look at your wound?”

You nod quietly, and five minutes later you are sitting on a hospital bed in a small, white-walled room, while Robin takes care of your wound and Barto stands guard by your side. He has taken your hand in his, squeezing it gently every time he sees pain on your face: you had never gotten stitches before, and you really wish that was a gap you wouldn’t have to fill.

“Alright, all done.” Robin announces in the end as she stands from her stool, to then retrieve a small mirror from a shelf “Have a look.”

You do, and fortunately now that it has been cleaned and closed, your wound looks… a bit less horrible than before. “Will it leave a scar?” you ask, dreading the thought of having a reminder of that horrible moment on your skin forever, but fortunately the doctor -Robin, please- reassures you.

“It shouldn’t; it’ll take a while to heal, but you should be fine. You will have to keep a bandage on it for a few days, though.”

That is a sacrifice you can bear. 

“That’s good; your face is too pretty to ruin it with a scar… even though you’d have looked badass, (name), I’m sure.” Barto points out; then, as if realising he has just paid you a compliment, he blushes furiously and looks away, hands in his pockets.

You thank Robin profusely for her help, and she just smiles in return, walking you to the door before returning to her job.

“How do you feel?” Barto asks quietly as you walk back to his bike; he seems nervous, as if fearing you could blame him for what happened, or tell him you never want to see him again.

Those are, of course, the farthest things from your mind, but you are too tired and in pain to focus on it; the only thing you want now is your home, your bed, and a cup of chamomile.

“Better, I think; I hope I’ll feel better tomorrow morning.” you answer, forcing a smile “Can you accompany me home, please?”

He nods, and so a minute later you’re riding through the night, the roar of the engine deafening you, and you are cold and tired and in pain and your feet are killing you, but you feel safe, clinging to Barto’s warm, solid body, no longer worried but sure that he’ll bring you home, safe and sound, just like he promised.

He does, and in the end it is very late, so late it is almost early, when Barto sees you retrieve your house key from your bag, standing in front of your complex and looking more ill at ease than you thought he could. 

“Listen, I…” he begins, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck “I… err…”

“Yes?”

“Shit… (name), I am so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault, Barto. None of it is…”

Your friend shakes his head, apparently determined not to be comforted. He found you outside the club because he saw Cavendish inside by himself and asked him about you, he explains, but had he arrived five minutes earlier he could have stopped that bitch from hurting you. Or even better, he should have accompanied you to the Dressrosa, so that he’d have been by your side at all times…

Ah.

“Barto?”

“Yes?”

You swallow, now turned to look at him; you have never been afraid of Barto, but suddenly asking the question waiting behind your lips is the hardest thing you have ever done. 

“Why didn’t you want to go to the club with me? Are you… ashamed of me? Of the way… I dress? You thought people would laugh at you, because you were with me?”

The ten seconds that follow are the longest, tensest of your life, but Barto seems too stunned to react, staring at you as if he had never met you before. 

“Oh, shit.” he says in the end, finally realising the effect his refusal had on you “Oh, God, (name), no! I could never… be ashamed of you! Do you really think I care about what people think?”

“Well, I thought… the clothes I usually wear are not exactly the sort you wear to a club… and there were so many beautiful women…”

Another shake of his head, before your friend rests his hands on your shoulders, staring at you like a man does when he’s making a solemn promise, or swearing on his life what he says is the truth. 

Bartolomeo, it turns out, is doing both things.

“The only beautiful girl I could see tonight is you.” he murmurs “And believe me, I would have been happy to go to a club with you; or anywhere really. Proud to.”

“But then why…?”

“The Dressrosa is a dangerous place, (name); you’ve seen it too. It’s nice, the drinks are good and the music too, but the violence… Police have to intervene all the time, one time  I’ve seen three stabbings in one night, and no girl goes there without at least two guys protecting her, because you never know what could happen. I just didn’t want something bad to happen to you; I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to think I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. I wanted to take you somewhere else, a nicer place where we could drink and dance and have time to talk, but…” 

“I beat you to it.”

“You did. I am so sorry, (name); it’s all my fault.”

You sigh, at the same time relieved you were able to clarify the misunderstanding, and feeling more stupid than ever; had you and your friend just talked, him admitting the reason for his refusal, and you being less petty and avoiding going to a place you weren’t even really interested in, all this mess could have been avoided. You could have spent a nice evening somewhere else, and now instead you have a new pricey outfit you will never wear again, and an ugly wound on your head that will take weeks to heal.

“I just wanted you to look at me.” you mumble; you can’t bear to look back at Barto, and suddenly you feel stupid, and childish, and so so tiny “Not as colleagues who help each other and spend their breaks together, and not like friends either. Girls like me are seen, but rarely looked at. I wanted you to look at me, and to want me.”

“But I do want you.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Barto. I ruined your night, I’m sorry…”

“You didn’t. Fuck, I would have been happy to have a bottle smashed on my face, if it meant I’d get to take you home.” he says, and you can feel him tremble  “(name), I… I do look at you, and want you. I just… I’m not good for you.”

“Barto, no…”

Another determined shake of his head. “You know that too. You’re good, smart, you don’t get in trouble… you’re probably gonna have a great career and make a lot of money; I’ll be lucky if I get to work at the shop for the rest of my life and pay my rent with that. I’m not saying my life sucks; I like my life. But you deserve better, (name); you deserve a guy who can study with you, and who can afford to buy you nice things, and-and bring you to all those places for brainy people like museums and…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence; he can’t, because you have grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and smashed your mouth against his in a kiss that is passionate, fierce, and expresses everything you haven’t dared to utter in words. Barto is clearly taken aback, but a moment later he’s moaning in your mouth, one of his arms holding you by the waist while the fingers of the other run through your hair. 

“Shit, baby…”

“Don’t talk; just kiss me.” you tell him, without breaking the kiss, and you can feel Barto laugh softly against your mouth.

“As you wish…”

You could get inside, you have the keys to the complex in your hand, but you can’t stop, you can’t stop kissing him and holding him and having your hands discover his skin through and under his clothes. Barto is holding you as if never wanting to let go, his strong hands moving up and down your sides, his tongue doing something so unspeakable to yours you can feel your knees buckle, if it weren’t for the wall now pressed against your back. You are kissing near the complex’s trash bins, in sight of any tenant who just decides to look out of their window, your wound is still hurting and Barto tastes like cheap alcohol and smoke, but it is your first kiss, and it is perfect the way it is.

The moment Barto’s hands touch your buttocks, you jump.

“Shit, sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine.” you hurry to answer; you’re bright red in the face, he can see it, and you don’t care “I-I don’t mind; quite the opposite in fact.”

Barto laughs, clearly pleased as his hands slide downwards, his fingers grabbing at your flesh. “This is a side of you I didn’t think existed.” he murmurs.

“These stupids clothes don’t count?”

“I think you look very pretty tonight; but you always look nice.”

“Seriously?” you inquire, breaking the kiss to look at him; maybe it’s stupid to ask for reassurance in a moment like this, since Barto is clearly doing his best to prove how much he likes you, but you can’t help it “I thought… I mean, my long skirts and blouses and all the rest are pretty boring compared to what other girls wear…”

“I like your long skirts and blouses and all the rest just fine; and you are sexy as hell whatever you wear.”

“Barto…”

“I’m serious, (name).” he insists, and he really is, as he takes your face in his hands once more “Do you really think I care about the sort of clothes you wear? I know you, and I want you; I want you so much it hurts. And I know I’m not good for you, and that you deserve better, but if you actually give a damn about me, if you just give me a chance, I promise…”

“Ssh…”

A finger on his lips silences Barto. “I do much more than care for you.” you reassure him “I want you too, Barto; because I know you too. I know how clever, kind, and protective you are; I have wanted you for a long time, and I am so happy I got to tell you.”

You share a smile, still holding each other tight; no more words are necessary as Barto lets you lead him to the complex’s door, which a minute later closes behind you.

You find yourself whistling softly, something you only do when you are particularly happy or relaxed -or both things together, like in this particular instance- when, thirty-six hours later, in a sunny early afternoon, you leave the faculty building where most of your classes take place. Your bag, hanging from your shoulder, is as usual heavy with the weight of your books, but by contrast, your step has never been so light as you move towards the main door, walking past students and professors, some of which you greet with a nod without lingering. 

On a day like this you would normally spend the little time before you’re due at work in the library studying, but not today; today you have plans, plans that made focusing on your morning classes harder than ever, but the moment has finally come, and you can’t wait to…

You are so deep in your thoughts, it takes you a moment to realise your phone is ringing in the back pocket of your slacks; you plan on not answering unless it’s an emergency, given the fact you are expected, but reading the name of the screen makes a smile appear on your face.

“Vivi, hi! I’m sorry, I had promised I would…”

“(name)... hi, it’s Cavendish.”

You stop in your tracks, momentarily stunned. “... Cavendish?!”

“Yes, that’s me. I was talking to Vivi, we are old friends, and when I mentioned the Dressrosa we realised we both knew you.” he explains “I thought it wouldn’t be fair to ask her for your number without your permission, but I hope you don’t mind if I called you.”

Glancing at your watch -five minutes more and you’ll be late- as you force yourself not to sound too frustrated, you assure him that no, of course you don’t mind. Cavendish then tells you he heard about your misadventure with his ex, and he can’t help but feel guilty for what happened, even though you assure him he has no fault, especially since your wound will heal soon.

“That is very good to hear. The truth is… well, I was wondering if you’d let me buy you a drink sometimes? I know you… well, you didn’t let me kiss you, but we did have fun together, didn’t we? I’d really like to get to know you better. Just a drink, I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

You thank him for the offer, and admit you enjoyed spending time with him at the club, but, you add, you are going on a date right now, and at the moment you are not interested in seeing anyone else.

Cavendish, to his credit, takes it pretty well. “I see. Well, have a good-day then.”

“You too, Cavendish. Thanks for asking, and will you please tell Vivi I’ll call her soon?”

He promises he will, after which you say your good-bye and finally close the call. 

Well, that was unexpected, you think as you put your phone away, but you know declining the request for a date was the right thing to do; you doubt you and Cavendish would have much to talk about, and he’ll surely find someone else to date soon… just like you have.

Barto is waiting for you in front of the university’s courtyard, sat on his bike, and grins happily when he sees you approach. “Here’s my woman!”

“I’m here! Sorry, I got caught up.”

“I already thought you had changed your mind…”

“Never.” you assure him decisively “Now come here, I need a kiss.”

You share one, long and passionate, indifferent to the many students and professors, some of whom know you personally, surrounding you; both of you are smiling when you part.

“Are you sure you don’t mind coming?”

“Of course not; if you like this bar, I want to see it as well. We have just the time for a drink before work.”

“Can’t we skip it and spend the rest of the day in bed at my place? I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Barto laughs, before opening the tail box “You can put your books here.”

You do, and a minute later you are sitting on the bike behind him, happily holding Barto’s warm, solid body tight; he grins as he starts the engine. “I won’t let you fall, I promise.”

“I know you won’t; I just like hugging you.”

“Ah, well, in that case…”

You are both smiling; a moment later the roar of the engine has filled the air, and the bike is speeding down the road, carrying you both away under the early afternoon sky.