So, okay, this is a little drabble dump that goes along with my story Frayed—so, it's set in the same verse and stuff. Basically, this is stuff I wrote for that story but will probably never actually make it into a chapter, because it just strays too far away from the actual storyline. And, erm, warning for this chapter: a 'lil foul language and allude to sex. This one features Ace and Monet exclusively but the next one will probably be Sabo and Koala as well as Usopp/Nami/Luffy's friendship.
melt you down
.01
Her hair is a faded-out green, bubbling like sea foam and eyes glittering like stained glass. The strands are coarse, frizzy even, barely being contained by her bandana—and the roots are coming out, black meshing with bleach.
Marco pushes at his left shoulder, impatient—they're here to get an estimate on the ink he wants done on his bicep. One of many lines covering his skin.
A bell chimes; cold, wet wind nips at Ace's fingertips, but he's still warm. Marco is already talking to his artist; a tough, old coot named Rayleigh. She leans over the counter, shoulders drawing together, and Ace finds his eyes lingering on her collarbone. Finds himself forcing the gaze to stay put, but god, does he want to linger lower. "And how can I help you?" The words twist around her lips coyly, smirk poised like a predator.
"By giving me your name. And preferably your number." The answer is steadfast.
She offers a hand. Her fingers are freezing against his own. "Monet."
.02
And he holds the stars in his hands, and he cradles the moon in his palms. In this darkness, there's a sliver of shimmer that shines from him. Those hands cradle her cheeks. They're warm, so warm; and calloused, rough to the pad. Homely.
.03
dirty cherry
Gradient lips pucker, sweet around a cherry lollypop. They're a blistering red on the inside, pale rose-pink, before coming out to the white of her skin. The sweet is covered with saliva and glistening with the light from his lamp. Her tongue curls around it, the tip pressing against the lolly's stick. Ace shifts, and for once, his guitar feels out of place in his lap. They're alone. Monet is a work of art and she's a fucking travesty at the same time. She's going to ruin him.
He props his guitar up against his wall and leans back further in his desk chair, legs spread out wide. He'd rather play her than his instrument right now. The palms of his hands clap against his thighs, rough against his ripped jeans. "Come 'ere."
She smiles slyly and it curls around the pink of her candy. The stick is poking out of the corner of her mouth, one cheek puffed, and her calves are now on the sides of his thighs, knees against his hips. She slips the lolly out of her lips with an obscene pop. "Wanna taste?"
.04
her heart was shattered
until he stitched it up
sowing his name
