#I guess this post is me taking a tiny step to not do that bc so far I truly have only talked about it with my therapist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckymorelikefuckme · 18 days

Text

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #i can't remember how to tag bye

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nattyswann · 2 months

Text

Red-haired hero

Parings: captain!shanks x female!reader

Warnings: Smut, Established relationship, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hella dirty talk bc I can’t help it, shanks cums inside reader, threats of murder, mentions of alcohol, mentions of abuse? (Not from shanks), some of the known crew members are mentioned, shanks is a bit evil bc I believe in evil shanks and love mean shanks

Summary: You get assaulted in a random bar for being a pirate but your captain and crew comes to save you just in time. Shanks then comforts you after you get frustrated about the whole situation, always being there for you.

• Being a female pirate is hard. You get no respect and everyone just always assumes you’re the weakest link. I mean you aren’t as strong all the other all stars but you’re apart of the crew and deserve just as much respect and recognition for what you do.

• Even with the knowledge that you were apart of the red-haired pirates, that didn’t stop people from messing with you.

• All you wanted to do was sit at a bar and take a break from your loud crew full of reckless men. That peace was broken when even more men came to disturb you. “Barkeep!” A loud crash was heard behind you as a group of people came rushing inside the tiny bar. “Get a few bottles ready! We just caught a large bounty!”

• Ugh. Of course it was pirate hunters too. You now wanted to get out of there as soon possible in order to avoid these buffoons. Before you could finish your sake, a man sat near you. “And how about you bring out an extra bottle for this pretty lady right here.” The man leaned towards you as the barkeep slid a bottle over to you.

• “No thanks.” You smiled sweetly at the stranger before standing up. “I’m far too tipsy to accept that. How would I make it back to my ship?”

• “Ship?” The man glared at you. “Ah. So you’re a pirate.” It came to him when he peeped the device around your wrist. “That log post is a dead giveaway.” He smirked. “Yeah, captain obvious. I’m holding it for our navigator.”

• “Speaking of..” Snatching the bottle of the bar top, you turned to strut out the bar. “And I changed my mind. I’ll take this bottle for my captain.” You giggled.

• Before you could reach the door another man stepped in front of you. “Your captain?” He leaned down to your height. “Why don’t you tell me their name? Maybe when I beat them and get their bounty you’ll realize that playing pirate is stupid.”

• “She’s only acting so big cause she thinks red hair is gonna get here in time to help her.” You lightly growled under your breath. This sleazy guy is definitely gonna get what’s coming to him, Shanks surely would be here soon, but that was the last thing you wanted to happen though. It would only prove their point. Everyone already agreed that Shanks saved your ass everytime there was trouble. “He’s my captain. Why wouldn’t he save me?”

• “Shut your mouth.” The stranger proceeded to take his bottle and pour the rest on top of your head, drenching you in booze. “I guess we’ll just wait here for your captain to come get you then. Since you refuse to tell us his name.”

• “Want my name?” A ominous voice came from outside the door to the bar. You knew exactly who was behind that door and the voice that was attached to it. When he finally arrived to the scene and bust through the door with the whole crew you bit your lip in embarrassment. You hated this part. The part when all the strong men came to save your ass. “It’s Shanks.”

• You could hear gasps and gulps the moment shanks revealed himself. Some knew him by face but everyone knew him by name. An infamous emperor of the sea.

• “There’s so much commotion coming from this dainty bar.” Shanks said while he slowly strutted towards the bartender.

• “It’s like you guys are having a party!” Yassop leaned near you on the ground and put a hand on your back to help you sit up. “It’s funny seeing our crew member here.” Yassop gazed up at the man who grabbed your hair earlier. “All these men in here and not one of you helped her up?” Everyone avoided Yassop’s gaze and looked as if they wanted to piss their pants.

• “Can hardly call any of them ‘men’, can you?” Benn grunted out.

• “So.” The red-haired man pulled his sword out and stabbed it into the wooden bar top. “Why’d everyone go quiet? Weren’t we celebrating something?”

• Lucky roux pointed at the wall and let out a loud laugh. “Heya, captain! Come check this out!” When the other crew members looked over, they also let out laughs across the room. “They got all our wanted posters hung up on the wall!”

• “Awee. You guys must be big fans of us.” Lucky roux said as he snickered.

• The bar goers who were all bullying you so viciously earlier, were now as quiet as a mouse. Sure they had no problem when it was just a defenseless woman but now that the others arrived, they wanted nothing to do with you. “Well..emperors don’t t-typically dock on our little island..haha..” the bartender peeped out quietly. “I don’t really care about all that.” Shanks stayed serious, unlike his crew mates. “I wanna know why our crew member is on the floor and drenched?” Shanks then lifted his nose up in your direction and shook his head. “Drenched in what appears to be alcohol no less.” He scoffed. “What a waste of good booze.”

• “Please, sir!” The bartender put his hands up. “We’re all very sorry for what we did.” Shanks grabbed hold of his sword again, pulling it out the wood and pointing it in the air. “The person I point this sword at better run.” Everyone in the bar went still.

• The stranger from earlier that poured his drink on you had begun to run before shanks even let his sword leave the air. Benn made sure to trip the dude before he could get too far. Shanks turned in his direction and chuckled. “How did you know it was gonna be you?”

• “Are y-you really gonna kill me?” Only Shanks could make a grown man truly cry in front of an audience.

• “Nah. That’s not up to me. Y/n’s a big girl, She can make her own decisions.” He looked towards you. “If she doesn’t want us to cause a riot then I won’t.” The pirate then faced and walked towards the crying guy on the floor. “But if she decides that you hurt her too badly..” shanks glared the man down so harshly that the drunken fool had started trembling. “Then I’ll fucking kill everyone in this bar and spray your blood on the walls for the next fucker that decides to screw with y/n.”

• Yassop hollered out a loud laugh while smacking his leg. “Whew. You guys really made our captain mad.” Lucky roax joined in on the laughter. “That’s a recipe for disaster!”

• “More like a recipe for death.” Benn chimed in.

• “Enough.” You called out from the corner of the bar. “I’ll be fine.” You quickly walked over to shanks and put a hand on his chest to calm him down. “I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

• “You sure?” He lowered his weapon momentarily to look into your eyes. Making sure his full attention was on you. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. “You know what I’d do for you. Just say the word.” He put his sword back on his hip so that he could stroke your arm with his hand. “Don’t be afraid to speak up.” “I’m not afraid of these fools.”

• “I mean don’t be afraid of what I’d do.” “I’m serious, shanks. I’m fine.”

• “Fine then.” Shanks smiled and turned back to the guy on the ground. “See how sweet she is? She just saved your life.” The man nodded. Shanks got serious again. “Say ‘thank you’ to her.”

• “T-thank you! Thank you ma’am!” He clasped his hands together to show his appreciation.

• “Let’s get outta here, captain.” Benn said as he flicked his cigarette and stepped on it. Shanks led the way and the rest of the crew followed him out of that crummy bar. Leaving all of the destruction behind. That place definitely lost a few customers that day.

• Once the two of you were back on the ship, alone in his room, you finally let off some steam. “It’s not fair.” You grunted as you kicked the wall. “I know.” He reached out to hug you and held you close against his chest. “It must be so frustrating.” You accepted him taking you into his embrace but still scoffed. “Im serious, shanks.”

• “I’m serious too, y/n.” He said as he stroked your hair with his one hand. “I hate it when someone treats my crew members like their weak. Especially over something as stupid as their gender. I mean, I didn’t add you to my crew because you’re weak.”

• You pushed away from him a bit to look up at him. “No, you added me because you wanted to fuck me. That’s even worse.” Now looking down at the ground in embarrassment. “All the other crew members know it too. I’m not an asset and I just keep your bed warm.”

• Shanks let go of you and bent down to your height to meet your eyes that were avoiding his. “Is that seriously what you think?” When you gave him no answer, he grabbed your chin to make you look at him. “If that were the case then you woulda been out the crew a while ago.” He just giggled and patted your head. “Think about it, y/n. It’s a crew full of dumb men with guns and swords.” Shanks laughed even harder like you said something hilarious. “We woulda been dead ages ago without you. All of the best crews have a smart woman secretly running shit.”

• Looking into his grey eyes mixed with his sweet words made you so weak. Only with him could you let your guard down so much. “Do you really mean that or are you still just trying to get me in bed as we speak.”

• “Oh I’m telling the full truth..” He leaned his hand against the wall behind you as he also leaned his body in for a kiss. Of course, you accepted the kiss and opened your mouth for him. For a moment he broke the kiss just to finish his sentence. “If I happen to talk my way into your pants in the process then that’s just a plus.”

• “Well it’s working.” “Good. You wanna take it to the bed then?”

• After you gave a small nod, Shanks took his arm and used it to throw you over his shoulder. Ugh. It’s not fair. Even with one arm he was still so strong. It wasn’t long before you reached the bed and he lightly tossed you down. “Since my poor baby was having such a bad day, I’ll give her a present first.”

• Shanks spread your legs and used his hand to hold your hip. He sat down in front of you so he could lean forward and place kisses all over your beautiful thighs. “I always love the way you taste. It never gets old.” While shanks continued to set kitten licks on your clit, he put one finger inside you just to be a tease. “I know I’m doing you a favor but could you do me one and beg for me?”

• “Ahh..it’s soo good, shanks.” You said while clutching onto his beautiful red hair. “Gonna cum soon!” Shanks hummed as he lapped at your pussy like it was his salvation. As if your juices and slick was holy water to him. “I’m waiting.” The moment Shanks felt you tighten around his tongue, he sent his fingers to rub quick circles on your clit to send your senses into overload. Momentarily kissing your thigh to give you extra comfort and to show his attention was fully on you. “Cum on my tongue and lemme taste all the juices this yummy cunt has to offer.”

• That was it. Just then you felt an explosion of orgasmic pleasure run through you. While you shook, shanks made sure to hold you close to him. He took his arm that was wrapped around you and reached back down to stick two fingers back in your hole that was already so sensitive. You whined and let your head fall forward onto his shoulder. Shanks only put them back in to feel your pussy clench over and over while you finished your orgasm.

• “Wow..Look at you. Haven’t even taken my cock yet and you’re already such a fucking mess. Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you tonight..” Shanks said in a teasing manner. You shook your head and reached out for him. “No! Please, I want you right now!”

• Shanks smirked and kissed your collarbone. “I know, baby. I’m just teasing ya.” Your man spent no time stripping himself of his clothing, You making sure to help him (since he only has one arm). He yanked his pants down, revealing the cock he was about to split you in half with. You’ve taken him several times but it still took some preparation for him to be able to slide in with utter ease.

• When the two of you got situated, shanks got on top of you and spread your legs, using his arm to put one of your legs up on his shoulder. “I just know your cunt can’t wait to take me.” He said as he put his tip on your clit, rubbing it a bit to see you writhe. “Look at how messy you are. Getting slick all over my sheets. You’re about to make my cock so messy too.”

• “Shanks! Please stop teasing me!” You moaned out when you felt him poke only his tip in your entrance. “I’m sorry. I’m being mean again..I forgot I’m supposed to be making you feel better.” He kissed you on the cheek as he finally pushed the rest of his shaft inside of you. He dips down and you wince at the stretch you start to feel. Shanks only just started but you already felt soo full. Groaning when he could finally get his honey around him. “Please make me cum quickly shanks..I need it now.”

• Shanks would fuck you forever if he could. It’s like your pussy was made for him. To be fair, was the one who took your virginity and he’s told you multiple times how he’d make sure that he’s the only one fucking you. The only one who gets to taste your delectable cunt. No one else would get to see you become undone the way you do with your man.

• “You are so antsy. Since it’s all about you this time, I’ll give to you quick like you asked.” Shanks took hold of your thigh again and started to pound into you at a rough pace. “Since you want to rush me you better hurry up. Cum on my dick like you did my tongue and fingers. Such a dirty girl.”

• His thrusts began to speed up and get more sloppy as he was closer to bursting inside of your warmth. “Your fucking pussy keeps clamping down on me. His lips found their way to your neck. Then your lips, Licking and sucking in an attempt to rip more moans from your plump lips. “You’re seriously the light of my life. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. I’ll protect you no matter if they laugh.”

• Through your loud pleas for more, you could hear a light chuckle slip past his lips. “They’re all just mad that I’m the one gets to fuck you this good every night.” “Shanks..I love…I love you.” Before you could even process what you were doing, your arms flew to wrap around his broad shoulders and hug him closer to you. “Don’t want anyone else but you.”

• The red-haired man just smiled at the rose tinted expression you wore and caressed the soft skin on your cheek. “I love you too, princess.” Those fives words are the most simple in the world but it meant so much to you. Knowing that he reciprocated your feelings made the upcoming orgasm that much more important than the last.

• Beforehand, you believed he only wanted you for your virgin body but after hearing shanks actually say it, made up all the difference. “Do you mean it..?”

• “Hmm. Let’s see..” before answering your question, shanks gave a few more rough thrusts to get to his finish. “If I didn’t..I wouldn’t have just came so much in your raw cunt.” When he seen your shocked yet relieved expression, shanks knew how much you loved the feeling of his cum filling you up. Fingers grasping the sheets while you dry heave and try to regain consciousness.

• “Don’t forget that I’d do anything for you.”

#one piece smut #shanks one piece #shanks smut #one piece shanks smut #red hair shanks

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maybank-archives · 5 months

Note

Reader and JJ are in a relationship despite her father telling her to stay away from him. One day she gets a call from Sarah or Kiara that he’s in the hospital- his dad beat him within an inch of his life. Luckily her dad is somewhere on the mainland for the next two weeks so she can sneak out. She doesn’t leave his bedside for anything but using the bathroom until he can leave the hospital. Maybe he’s in surgery when she gets there, and/or has to have emergency surgery, maybe his heart stops a few times from like internal bleeding or something.

by your side - jj maybank

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

warning: a tiny angst

word count: 0.4k

author's notes: i'm back! since kinktober i took a little break just to organize some personal/work related things but i'm back! this is one of my late request that i didn't posted on october bc of the kinktober works but now it can see the light of the day! hope yall like this! love ya :)

masterlist | join the taglist |

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The hospital room was eerily silent, so quiet you could've heard a pin drop. All you could hear was the steady beeping of the machines scattered around JJ's room. JJ looked like he'd been in a fight with a truck. The amount of bruises on his face and body was seriously scary. I took a seat in a chair right next to JJ's bed, gripping his hand like my entire world depended on it.

I’ve been glued to his side since I got the call from Sarah a day ago. I rushed to the hospital immediately, my heart was heavy with fear. I knew how shitty Luke Maybank was, but I would never imagine he could do something like this. When I saw JJ I collapsed into Kie’s arms, it was painful to see him like this.

I guess having a rough relationship with our father was like an invisible connection between me and JJ. Right after my dad found out about my relationship with JJ, I had been “forbidden” to see him, no matter how much I argued, my dad insisted on making the same stupid comments about how low-class, worthless, and dirty pogues are.

I couldn’t care less about his opinion, JJ and the rest of the pogues have been my family more than my actual family, and that’s why no matter what happened, I’m not going anywhere.

The door to the room swung open, the doctor entered with Pope, John B, Sarah, and Kie right behind him.

“You must be the persistent girlfriend, huh?.” He said picking J’s chart. “Well, he suffered severe internal bleeding, and his heart stopped a few times during the procedure. We managed to stabilize him, but, he'll need time to recover.”

I nodded feeling the tears welled up in my eyes. Kie reached your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We will keep him under our watch until he’s better.” He added heading towards the door “He will be fine, kids.”

“Thank you,” I whispered sobbing.

“C’mon J, hang in there.” John B said with his eyes watering as well.

I sank my face into my hands; my mind was frantic, I kept reminding myself to take deep breaths to control my anxiety.

I step out of the bedroom and head to the bathroom, I splash water on my face trying to stop the crying, I suddenly realize I haven’t left JJ’s bedroom since yesterday, Sarah and Kie were alternating bringing you food and water but besides that, you just sat there.

When I walked back into the bedroom, I saw Pope, John B, Sarah, and Kie, all crashed out on the couch. I took my seat again, holding JJ's hand, as I got comfortable in the chair, I felt JJ’s hand twitch. I snapped my head in his direction, and there he was, slowly fluttering his eyes open.

“You're here,” he said with a weak smile crossing his lips.

My eyes welled up with tears, but I couldn't hide my own relieved grin as I leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Of course, I am," I murmured.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

✧˚ . taglist ˚✧ (join here): @loverofmarsss | @jjmaybankisbae

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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fowlfics · 1 month

Text

How Frog Earrings Saved the World

Short fic written entirely within discord based on a picture of tiny clay frog earrings one of my friends made!! I might clean it up and post on AO3 later bc it ended up at nearly 1.3k, but for now, here it is

Contains: Sabo, Luffy, Ace, cute earrings, brotherly bonding & potential spoilers for Dressrosa if you're reading this before then, light angst

"Ooooh, this looks fancy!" Luffy absently called out towards his brothers, digging a small jewelry box out of the pile of trash.

He dusted it off as his brothers approached, only opening it when they were right over his shoulders.

".....whoah," Luffy gasped out, staring at the contents with stars in his eyes.

"That's rubbish," Ace scoffed derisively, moving back to the pile he had been digging through before.

"Ace is mean and grumpy," Luffy stuck his tongue out at Ace's turned back. The boy seemed to have sensed that - or he just knew Luffy far too well - and had raised a middle finger over his shoulder.

"He's right though," Sabo said, straightening up. "It might be pretty, but it's rather worthless."

Pouting, Luffy turned to look at him, pushing the small box with two very tiny clay frog earrings inside into Sabo’s face. "But I like it!"

Sabo smiled. "That just means you can keep it, yeah? It could be part of your treasure that you wear- or, well, I guess you can't, but-"

"I can wear them?" Luffy repeated eagerly.

"Well, no, your ears don't have the holes-"

"I can wear them in my ears?!"

"I- You know what," Sabo sighed. "Yes, you can wear it in your ears."

***

"Stop. Wriggling," Sabo said, exasperated, putting the needle down from where he had almost pressed it to Luffy's ear. "I can't do this if you keep moving!"

"Sorry," Luffy said, but didn't seem to be able to stop waving his legs excitedly.

"Here," Ace passed by, grabbing one of Luffy's hands and dropping into it a random beetle which he had probably just picked up from the ground. "That ought to keep him busy."

He was right, of course. Luffy stilled completely, his hand brought up so close to his face that his nose was nearly touching the beetle.

Sabo didn't waste the opportunity. It was a testament to how engrossed Luffy was - or how large his pain tolerance was - when he didn't even wince at the feeling.

By the time the beetle finally remembered it could fly away, Sabo had pierced both of Luffy's ears and placed the frog earrings in the holes.

"Okay!" Luffy straightened out. "I'll stay still, I promise!"

...Seems like he had genuinely not noticed anything Sabo had just done.

"No need," Sabo smirked and continued before Luffy could complain. "Go take a look in the mirror."

"!!!" Somehow, Luffy was capable of perfectly conveying that with his whole body. "You put it in!!! That's so cool!!! It's so- Oh, you put both of them in my ears?"

Frowning at the sudden change in tone, Sabo stepped closer to Luffy, looking his reflection in the eye. "Did you not want that?"

Fiddling with the earring, Luffy had somehow managed to pull it out of his ear without causing any damage. "There's two of them, so one's for you!"

"Oi!" Ace, the eavesdropping idiot, butted in. "What about me?"

Luffy didn't even look his way, too focused on Sabo. "Ace called these ugly trash so he won't get one."

Sabo couldn't help but snicker at Ace's outraged grumbling.

"Alright," he said, gingerly taking the offered frog and putting it into the ear holes his parents had insisted on.

For the first time, Sabo didn't mind them forcing him to get a piercing anymore.

"Now we match!" Luffy exclaimed excitedly, throwing himself at Sabo.

"Now we match."

***

Luffy spent a lot of time on the cliff overlooking the sea, one hand always resting on the frog earring.

He only had one, now. One frog. One brother.

"Ugh, you gotta stop being so... so maudlin!" Ace complained, pacing behind Luffy as he had for the past half an hour. "Sabo's gone, so what? We're still here! And, more importantly, our treasure is gone, so we have to start from scratch-"

"I don't care," Luffy mumbled into his knees petulantly.

Ace's sigh was unnecessarily loud.

"Look, I-!" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Would it make you feel better if I had a matching earring with you, too?"

Luffy straightened up, looking over at Ace in surprise. His oldest brother had always scoffed at the idea before; For him to offer...

"YES!" Luffy jumped up, throwing himself at Ace. "YES PLEASE!"

***

Makino didn't know how to make earrings, but that was okay. Luffy could figure it out on his own. He just needed some thin wire and black paint and the resulting beetles were pretty misshapen, but they were still recognizably bugs, and that's all that mattered.

(Ace winced when he saw the results, but didn't comment. )

Makino did know how to pierce ears, though. She did Ace's right one only - he insisted on that - and re-did Luffy's free one, seeing as the hole Sabo had made had closed already with nothing to hold it open.

As they both looked into the mirror - Ace with his arms crossed, Luffy with his full of snacks - for the first time sine the Terminal fire, Luffy smiled.

***

"Hey, Sabo!" Koala called, waving a newspaper at him. "Come look at this!"

It could have been anything - with Big News Morgan's style of sensational writing, "have been published in a newspaper" wasn't really as much of a filter as Sabo would have liked - but knowing Koala, this expression spelled shenanigans.

Sabo approached cautiously, in case the newspaper was just an excuse to prank him.

But no; As he got closer, Koala folded the paper to show the bounties, pushing it towards Sabo.

"This new guy who just got a bounty has the same earring as you do!"

"...That's weird," Sabo said, taking the newspaper. "Maybe it's a really popular design in the East? Damn, 30 mil as his starting bounty is pretty wild, though."

"And we've never seen it before?" Koala said skeptically. "Oh, the bounty's one thing, but also! He's not just from the East; He's from Dawn Island!"

Sabo blinked. "Maybe this kind of an earring is just... Really popular on Dawn Island?" He repeated his earlier suggestion.

He's not really sure what Koala had been expecting. For him to magically regain his memories just because a guy was wearing a frog earring-?

"And!" Koala raised a finger, taking the newspaper back. "Not only does he match with you, he also matches with-" She triumphantly held out two bounties. "This guy! They both have a... Well, I don't know what it's meant to be, but it's clearly the same thing."

Sabo blinked as he glanced between the posters. There and back, Strawhat and Firefist, Luffy and Ace.

"...He said he would never get an earring," he mumbled. "Called it trashy. Called it a risk in a fight. Called it _ugly_. Who's wearing ugly earring now, huh, Ace? At least mine's a fancy one..."

"Uh, Sabo?" Koala looked over the top of the bounties. "You realize you are talking to pictures, right?"

"Never mind that!" Sabo groaned, rubbing at his eyes. "Where the hell am I meant to find someone to do custom earrings for me?"

"...?"

"Luffy's going to be easy," Sabo motioned towards his bounty. "I'll just find him and tell him I'm alive and he'll be happy as a clam. But Ace? I'm going to have to do some SERIOUS grovelling for all those years-"

Koala seemed rather baffled at that idea. "... You have - had? - amnesia."

"Yes," Sabo nodded. "And he's going to give me so much grief about forgetting him."

"I... don't think he would hold this against you?"

"Then you clearly don't know Ace. Anyways, that's why I need the custom earring; We both match with Luffy, but if I want to get away only lightly maimed, I'll have to find something cool to match with him. Do you think he'd like a scorpion?"

#one piece #one piece sabo #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #fanfic #asl brothers

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myjunkisyuzuruhanyu · 5 months

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Is there a way to watch a competition without caring for scoring? I try but can't accomplish. Not only Shoma but also my other favorites looks like they are victim of scoring all the time. I don't know if I enjoy the competition when especially younger skaters look heartbroken.

Unfortunately I have no solution to offer for this.

As my posts very much show that I am not able to not care for it either...

I think the only way to not care is to either have absolutely no clue on scoring and believe the judges know what they are doing (which was me at the start of following skating back in 2008-2012) or to just not have emotional attachement to any skater and neither is a thing I am capable of.

I think I kind of accomplished that feeling of not caring of scoring for ice dance and rhythmic gymnastics to a certain extent that I am not bugged that much with the scores. But that is only due to the fact that politics play an even greater part there and there is absolutely nothing in the capability of a skater to change this. In singles or pairs you at least have the BVs that if a skater does a higher BV their scores cannot be kept too low even if there are countless ways to still underscore skaters with UR calls or little GOEs, PCS etc...but even the nastiest scoring will not put someone with a terrible skate into first place and therefore there is still some sort of hope that the scoring may be correct or at least understandable...but well it isn't but hope dies last I guess...

I do think though even with all the lamenting about scoring most of the time the right skaters win the medals - not always, but most of the time. Like today I can lament about Shoma's scores but still the final placement is not a discussion for me.

This is may sound a bit harsh but I think it's the only way:

I can only advise that if you personally suffer emotionally too much from the scoring issues, you probably should take a step back from watching competitions. This is not our life, this is a hobby and it should be fun to watch. And even if we do care a lot for those skaters, these skaters don't know us, they aren't our friends and they don't gain anything from our suffering. I know it's hard to step away from something you love, but your own happiness isn't worth it tbh.

For the skaters the scoring issues are a totally different matter - it can destroy careers - but it's not in our hands to change the system and the skaters know better than anyone else how politics and judging goes. I think we as fans can make our voices heard by the ISU and skaters will feel the support by an audience, so we should not stop adressing issues and supporting the skaters but in the end we are just fans and it's also understandable that our opinions don't matter this much bc look how different the opinions about scoring and skaters are from different fan groups.

I think that as much as I personally feel involved into the skaters I like we should not forget that it's our life, our personal wellbeing we need to keep care of. Pls don't forget to live your own life and if skating doesn't bring you joy anymore, take a step back.

I can only say for myself that I do enjoy to watch competitions and as much as scoring often sucks and even if my lamenting is a lot and sometimes it's bringing me personally pain, but not as much as that it influences my daily life in any negative way. I do enjoy skating a lot, unfortunately it comes with a scoring...but that's also making it excited and interesting....

I already said too much again...but I hope that helps a tiny bit.

#figure skating #scoring discourse

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inchidentally · 5 months

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(not gonna post the link you sent bc I don't wanna tread on other people's stuff since we're all out here in the tumblr wild to talk about these rich men and their problematic silly sport in any way we want to. I'll reply with my thoughts but remember that they're my own and I am NOT telling someone else how to feel)

okay so fully removing the ship lenses and assuming they're not wishing any hostility towards Oscar or any future teammate of Lando's at McLaren: holy SHIT no. fuckballs NOOOO.

ok from a purely practical/realism standpoint Carlos will not be taking any steps backward. based purely on Ferrari's overall performance and the fact that Charles is a damn good match as a teammate (hi Singapore) Carlos is exactly where he should be for WDC contention. McLaren are out there competing hard with them and with the Mercs but to see them outpacing those cars would be solely down to the youth and combined competitiveness of Lando and Oscar they've invested in - so still no dice for Carlos in the foreseeable. I'm not F1 smart enough to know how likely it would be that he'd go to RBR but even there I'm not sure how he and Max would work together again with Max's dominance and ummmm Carlos' least favorite thing being following team orders to concede to his teammate. followed by what would become Carlos' first least favorite thing which would be to drive Max's car since development only works one way at RBR. and that's all assuming that Lando stays with McLaren and that Oscar chooses to leave. the first being reasonably likely and the second is too soon to tell. then there's the fact that by that point Lando would not be considered McLaren youth anymore and they'd be highly unlikely to bring on someone even older to partner him. ((add to that the fact that Carlos will never be an Alonso and will definitely get married early in his thirties and move on to different types of racing or maybe even a different field in racing)) Lando will be a Lewis and stick with F1 competitively chasing wins and WDCs (especially if he can outlast Max's boredom threshold) and he won't be interested in nostalgia hires unless they can help him with that goal.

but moving on to the more parasocial fandom side of it…

honestly the biggest surprise to me is seeing people think that they were equals ??? during their season together?? Lando was a tiny baby who has talked about how being partnered with Carlos fed his anxieties and insecurities! he saw this seasoned driver learning the car faster than him, knowing the circuits better than him and speaking to the team with more confidence than him. lbr when his "trophy" was Carlos' champagne while Carlos celebrated his podium, Lando did NOT look completely happy being forced into that celebration (and I seem to recall later on him even ruefully saying "it wasn't my celebration but anyway"). Carlos literally saw Lando as a baby brother and treated him as such but he also had no clue what to do with Lando's darker moods besides try to cheer him up (and sometimes fail).

I am someone who likes to keep the streams of real life and rpf totally crystal clear and separate and I also like to keep the reality of who these drivers are free of anything I imagine about them for fantasy. when Carlos isn't winning or at least happy with his result, he isn't remotely a team player (and with a team like Ferrari it's hard to blame him sometimes lol). I guess for some people? it's easy to think that Carlos would become a totally different driver when on a team with Lando from ~the power of love~… but that would also have to hand-wave when he actually was Lando's teammate. (it would also hand-wave that Carlos and Charles are also good friends and much more flirty and lovey dovey but Carlos still fights against Charles like a beast when he's in the car)

this man is in it to win it. if you called him soft for a teammate or said that the foremost reason he gave Lando DRS in Singapore was for Lando's benefit he would laugh in your face. at no point in the incredibly stressful final laps was Carlos going "aw shucks I hope my lil buddy can be up there with me let me rig this to make it happen" bc by that point in a race they are thinking in nothing but driving binary and /how do I cement my win against all the bastards behind me/. Carlos does NOT revolve even a small part of his racing career around Lando or any other driver. he doesn't even regard much of his team's input (again, probably for the best with Ferrari). even when he gets direct help from Charles following Ferrari strategy (see Singapore) I still can't really recall that he was overly effusive in acknowledging that fact. he's modeled himself much more on the F1 generations of more like two generations back. and why shouldn't he? so I do not get how people can still think that drivers - especially Carlos' type - are remotely friendly with anyone when they're on the circuit. sure they might get even more pissed off at a driver they aren't keen on but literally /everyone/ is their enemy and their own result is their one goal. that's literally their job.

and as Lando says himself, no one in F1 including him wants to beat anyone more than their own teammate. again. how do people think that Lando would take this entire career he's worked so incredibly hard for and make it about a guy he golfs with (in groups, folks) and occasionally goes to dinner with (which he also does with Daniel) and talks to during the drivers parade (he also consistently seeks out Max, George and Yuki) but has a thriving professional and social life that has nothing to do with Carlos? yuk|erre, maxie| and ga|ex are out there doing far more shippy type things than car|ando all the damn time but when have they ever let that affect their desire to win or beat each other??

nothing about little unseasoned raw lamb cutlet Lando with hairy alpha Carlos at McLaren at all resembles what their dynamic would be as teammates. and the fact that Lando is really liking this new feeling of being the superior favored driver bodes horribly for how he'd react to Carlos swinging his huge sexy cojones back into McLaren expecting to be the number one again by age and experience. folks should enjoy getting to see them during the drivers parade and out golfing as non teammates bc the adorable content of 2019 would curdle into something grotesque if they now had to do goofy challenges while slowly learning to hate the sight of each other during briefings as they sought to supplant the other in the standings.

in no way on this or any other earthly planes can I be convinced that having them compete on the same team again would be anything other than a trainwreck and result in them not even speaking for the next 10-15 years.

#inchreplies

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defeateddetectives · 3 months

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had the year end fic review meme brewing in the drafts and forgot all about it until now so for my own reference and posterity's sake: 2k23 edition (while its still uh january!)

apparently i used to do this every year for a while and then had several years of writerly drought so here's manifesting more words for the years ahead!! as with previous years, using metrics from ao3

Total number of completed stories: 8

Total word count: ~8k or so

Fandoms written in: drrr!! (gasp), project k, jjk, natsume yuujinchou (really truly bar revival 2k23 or die trying!!!!!)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? the last few years had totally sapped me creatively so the bar was on the floor. more than expected by that metric even if much less than i had relative to years before that.

What's your own favorite story of the year? kirigami probably! i guess the good thing about doing this a month into the new year is i dont have to mysteriously redact the yuletide reveal anymore :)

Did you take any writing risks this year? i posted drrr!! fic after ages and that wasnt bb gangsters-centric! and tried my hand at jjk characters' voices (posted only a tip of that iceberg) which was ~adventurous even though i still dont rly have a handle on em! birthright was a risk bc it was a total shot in the dark about a dynamic we havent even seen play out yet??? (more matoba siblings lore when, ms. midorikawaaaa)

Do you have any fanfic or ofic goals for the New Year? just telling myself to keep writing, dont overthink it, and remember everything you write will generally sound awkward and clunky after reading it for the 100th time without stepping away

My best story of this year: i never have an objective measure on this so my fave(s) are typically the best to me

My most popular story of this year: parthian shot & saccades are tied at this moment by ao3 kudos science if we're going by that!

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: nothing stands out over the year

Most fun story to write: a few come to mind. though it was a v tiny memefill, i had a lot of fun with where the hours bend and it came very easily! fun fact: i was in the vicinity of houjicha cheesecake at the time and it subliminally crept into the fic which i only realized much later :')

more beautiful than night was also written amidst a self-indulgent single-sitting whirlwind with so much love and really felt like going back to basics because 2nd person mkiz nonsense is my brain's default state of being apparently <3

kirigami was wildly fun in a very different way like a puzzle i needed to crack and couldnt step away from until i did

Story with the single sexiest moment: mayhaps natori shuuichi ready to throw down at his first appearance in kirgami :D while maybe not what most people would call sexy, the entire dynamic and vibe throughout (anguished repressed bidirectional longing and all) was very sexy To Me!

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: wound up contemplating izaya and celty's absolutely bonkers dynamic via zero sum game in a way i dont think i had before

Hardest story to write: kirigami bc of the mental gymnastics of remixing that original vol 28 canon arc that is an absolute masterpiece in storytelling in its own right. i was very intimidated about doing it justice and as a gift-fic as well! the months leading up to yuletide were also bananas overall so, all things considered, it's a miracle that it came through on time!!

parthian shot also comes to mind bc the current canonverse exorcists dynamic, as delicious as it is, feels so frail and tenuous and i find myself wanting to handle it with the utmost care and respect when trying to show it

Biggest Disappointment: the stories i invested a lot in, i wound up fairly happy with! [endless number of ancient wips glare at me in disappointment]

Biggest Surprise: bar revival 2k23 in its entirety tbh :') also probably the extent to which i fell into jjk/stsg hell but i guess you cant really tell from the finished works for better or worse!!!

#memetime #for reference #year end fic review

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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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to be a captain is to be brave, to care, to love

Congrats--I’m the dumbass who posts fic for the wrong Straw Hat on another crewmate’s birthday lolol

9320 words; this hit me hard recently because, well, it just did (as in: I wrote most of this within the past few days); I have complicated emotions about Deadbeat Dad Yasopp and I guess this is my brain working through it; this does not take place in a continuity that contains Uta, mainly because I don’t really want to write her being a bratty little bully bc you know that’s what would happen; not an entire rewrite but does shift things a little bit to the left

to be a captain is to be brave, to care, to love; something very different happened on the day Banchina passed away: her son told the truth. [Usopp-centric slight AU]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

She is dying.

That was the only thing that the doctor wrote on the paper before stuffing it in an envelope and sending it with a News Coo. That had been the week prior, and now it seemed as though the message was going to be for naught. He was sitting at the sick woman’s bedside, changing the compress on her forehead for a cool, fresh one.

“Where is Usopp?” she asked. The doctor shook his head.

“He ran off soon as I got here,” he replied, tone hiding the fact he’d told her twice already. “He’ll be back.”

“He’s such a silly boy.” She tilted her head and looked out the window at the clouds, bright and fluffy. “He has his father’s spirit.”

“Banchina…”

“No, he does; he’s going to become a wonderful person.”

The doctor sighed heavily. “I wrote to him.”

“Why…?” Her attention went back to the doctor, her eyes now sharp, all of her strength put behind them. “He was not supposed to know.”

“It doesn’t matter; he hasn’t come.”

“So you’d rather ignore the wishes of someone on their deathbed than let a free man enjoy the last moments he has at peace?” There was fire and venom in her voice, not heard by the doctor since they were young children. “It’s bad enough Usopp has had to watch me…”

“He deserves to know.”

“He deserves to be free.”

“He’s your husband; he should be here.”

“So you can torture him more?!”

“That’s not what this is and we both know it! It’s…!”

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Usopp shouted from outside. Banchina gave one last glare before softening her face, not wanting a scowl to be how her son remembered her. “Pirates are coming! Pirates are coming up the slope!” The boy burst into the house and barreled towards his mother, tears streaming down his face. “Pirates are coming! That means that Dad’s back!”

“Usopp, sweetie, I need you to listen to me,” she said. “You’re going to have to be a good kid for me, alright? Make sure you grow into a good man, a good person, and never let them look down on you. Do you understand?”

“…but Mom…”

“I know your dad’s not there—please, don’t hate him for that. He’s very far away and can’t come back safely. It was my choice to stay here with you, and I’d do it over and over again…”

“Banchina, please…”

“I am talking to my son.” The doctor stepped towards the other side of the room at that, keeping his distance. “Please, Usopp, promise me you’re going to be brave, alright?”

“Mom…” Usopp’s tiny frame shook as he tried not to cry. “Just a little bit! Please!”

“I know what you’re doing, darling; don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“…’China…?”

Banchina froze as her eyes went towards the door, seeing Yasopp standing in the threshold, body frozen in shock. All at once he stumbled into the house, nearly tripping over himself as he went to sit on the edge of the mattress at his wife’s side. Tears began to escape his eyes as he brought her limp, cold hand in both of his.

“I told them not to tell you,” she said, looking away in pain. “I didn’t want your last memory of me to be like this.”

“No, I’m glad I could come… I’ll take seeing you one last time while sick than never see you again at all.” His voice cracked and squeaked in pain—this was never what he had planned on when he left those years ago. “I’m so sorry… you were the only one who made this place worth it for so long…”

Banchina simply hushed him and offered the strongest smile she could. Yasopp bent down and pressed their foreheads together before kissing her gently. A sob escaped him as he pulled away, confirming to the little boy in the corner precisely what he had feared.

Banchina of Syrup Village was no more.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, how old are you, lad?”

“Uh… six…?”

“Oh… well, that’s a fucking bummer.”

Usopp stared at the red-haired man sitting at the table in the town’s only restaurant, who was currently involved in taking a large swig of beer. He didn’t want to be around his house at the moment, since his father and the village doctor were currently having a shouting match. The boy escaped the row by heading into town, where he saw the rest of the pirates his dad had come in with.

This one was apparently the captain.

“Everyone in town says that you’re the one that stole Dad from Mom and me,” Usopp said. The captain shrugged noncommittally—couldn’t refute that.

“What did your mom always say?”

“She said that ‘Dad left following his dream, the sea, his freedom’.”

“Then I think you should listen to your mom, kid.” The man adjusted the straw hat perched atop his head and took another drink. “You know, soon as your dad got news about your mom, we came straight here. I wouldn’t keep him from what he needs for anything.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s my obligation, as the captain.” He paused as the waitress returned with food for the table, which he encouraged Usopp to sit and eat. “See, when you’re a captain, you need to figure out what it is that people need and how that’s different from what they want, and make it happen. Your dad always wants to travel the seas and very often needs to, but right now, what he needs is to be here.”

“You have a big crew—did they need to be here too?”

“No, but they wanted to come along, to support your dad, and it wasn’t anything that put a damper on their needs, so we all came along.” He watched as the boy’s face scrunched in thought. “It’s a lot to think about, I know. Don’t worry—you’re just a kid. You got time to figure it out.”

“What we don’t have time for is figuring out how this pit stop is going to impact our making it to the Grand Line without attracting too much attention,” said a tall, severe-faced man with dark hair. He took the smoldering cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out before beginning to eat. “We had a route, a plan, and none of it involved Yasopp’s hometown.”

“You can’t be so serious, Beck,” the captain chuckled. “We were planning on docking someplace for about a year anyhow… why not make it here?”

“…because I remember part of why it was so easy for him to leave to begin with.” He looked at the child currently nibbling on a fried chicken tender and sighed. “He really should have come here on his own and met up with us at the rendezvous point.”

“…and become a widow by himself…?”

“Minimize the impact on the locals—you know that.”

“Fuck…” It was then that Yasopp barged in the front door, looking fresh from a fight with a split lip and an impressive shiner. He found where his son was and blanched, going to his side immediately.

“You know better than to wander off on your own,” Yasopp gently chided. He removed the child from his seat and sat down, keeping his son in his lap. “We’re leaving soon as the captain is able to, okay?”

“Leaving…?” Usopp almost dropped the rest of his chicken tender. “Why…?”

“There are bad memories here,” Yasopp replied gravely. “I’m not going to make more by staying.”

“We can leave by nightfall,” the captain shrugged. He looked at the kid and raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure this is a good idea…?”

“If you grew up on a pirate ship, then I see no problem.” Yasopp picked up one of the neglected glasses of ice water and pressed the side against his black eye. “I’ll make sure to grab some things before we leave…”

“I’ll meet you at the house then, bye!” Usopp said. He wriggled out of his father’s grasp and ran out the door before any of the crew could snag him. Yasopp started to go after him, but was stopped by the captain.

“No,” the red-haired man said firmly. “He just learned he’s leaving. Let him make his peace with this place. Just because you never could doesn’t mean he can’t.”

Yasopp grumbled as he concentrated on the glass of water to his eye and grabbing a beer to occupy his other hand—captain’s orders sure were a bitch sometimes.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Usopp ran as fast as his tiny legs could take him. He ran through Syrup Village, dodging other residents, until he found a hole in a stone wall just big enough for him to shimmy through. On the other side was the expansive grounds of a mansion, which he rushed up to in order to knock on a very specific window. The little girl inside jumped in fright before running to open the pane.

“I’m leaving,” was all Usopp could get out, gasping for breath. The girl stared at him.

“What do you mean…?”

“My dad came… I’m leaving… today…”

“He what?! No way?!”

“Kaya, I’m scared!” The little boy began to shake terribly. “Dad came back, Mom died, and now we’re leaving and I don’t know when I’ll be here again!”

“…but why tell me…?”

“...because you’re the only one who’s nice to me!” He couldn’t bear to look at his friend, so instead he glared at a bit of wall as he cried. “I’ll come back to visit someday… I promise!”

“You gotta shake on it!” Kaya insisted. She stuck her hand out the window and waited for Usopp to take it, making direct eye contact. “You’re always talking about becoming a great warrior of the sea! Come back before you get too great, okay?”

“I promise!”

“Kaya? Sweetie? What’s going on in there…?”

“Usopp, run!” Kaya whispered. Her eyes were wide in not only fear, but excitement as well. “I’ll see you later, okay?!”

“Okay!”

The child sprinted off before his friend’s mother could investigate the room.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It had been an entire week and Yasopp wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

After making sure that his wife would get a proper burial and his son had everything he needed, he had returned to the ship with his six-year-old in-tow and the determination to do what Banchina would have wanted. Ever since they were young, she had encouraged him to find solace on the sea, to escape the glares and mumbled words of spite that came from the other villagers. She had always been too uneasy on the sea, and had insisted that she would be fine as he chased that freedom and acceptance he craved without her, and now… now she was gone and he had their kid, which was a bit more of an adjustment than he thought it was going to be.

Kids, for the most part, were messy creatures, and there wasn’t a lot of room for messes on a pirate ship. While Usopp didn’t have a lot of toys, he did have clutter that was liable to be underfoot, which wasn’t exactly a good idea. Limejuice had already fallen flat on his ass thanks to some marbles the boy was experimenting with, and Yasopp himself was already victim to a variety of mishaps involving the aforementioned marbles, a chemistry set that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and a slingshot armed with all sorts of things sticky and stinky.

“Thank fuck we’re almost at port,” the man grumbled. He watched as Usopp bounced around the galley in excitement at the prospect of somewhere new. Hongo nodded in commiseration, the pair both below deck due to particularly troublesome hangovers.

“Letting the kid run around on land would definitely be for the better,” Hongo said. “He needs to eat dirt.”

Yasopp turned slowly and stared at his crewmate. “What…?”

“You know—get dirty. Play with other kids.”

“I know you might have forgotten, but it’s not like the boy comes from a long line of kids everyone wants to play with. Banchina…”

“… was the only one to ever give you the time of day, I remember.” Hongo sipped at his water and grimaced at the sounds coming out of the kitchen. “Maybe some of her openness rubbed off on him?”

“If it did, then I hope the world is kinder to him for it,” Yasopp frowned. He was about to reach back into his memories when he heard Shanks’s voice from above, filled with both authority and excitement.

“LAND AHEAD! ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

“Oh! Did you hear that, Dad?! Land!” Usopp seemed to almost vibrate in anticipation. “An island!”

“I heard him, I heard him,” Yasopp grumbled. He and Hongo both knocked back the rest of their waters before depositing the mugs and heading above deck, with the small child all but dragging his father along.

A few minutes of the sea air rejuvenated Yasopp and soon he was helping out with the rigging, with Usopp standing by the prow in an effort to see where they were sailing. Shanks went up to the child and patted him on the head.

“That’s called Foosha,” he said. “We’re gonna stay there for a while, if the locals are amenable.”

“What’s that?”

“If they don’t mind that we’re pirates.” He saw that the boy’s eyes were still locked onto the small village at the island’s edge and smiled. “We need a place to operate out of—a base of sorts—in order to help build a name for ourselves.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. Now get ready to go! You’re coming along on the first boat!”

The boy’s eyes went wide—he got to go! Important people got to go on the first boat! This was going to be great!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As it turned out, getting to go with the initial landing party was less exciting than Usopp imagined it would be—it was actually kind of boring. He had to stand there with his dad, Shanks, and Beckmann as the captain talked with this old man about terms of their stay and what the rules were and things like that. The boy fidgeted in place, which the village elder took notice.

“How very shrewd of you to bring him along,” the old man said. “I suppose you need a place for him to stay so he doesn’t see what you get up to?”

“Possibly, but I still take responsibility for my son,” Yasopp said, giving a short bow. “I can no longer leave him with his mother.”

“Ah.” The elder nodded knowingly. “We have a child like that here. Maybe your son will be a good influence.”

“Excuse my laughter,” Shanks snickered, “but that must be some rambunctious kid you got there if a pirate’s child is the better influence.”

“You’re just upset because Gramps didn’t take me!” shouted a tiny voice. The pirates saw a small child poking angrily around a woman’s skirt. “Maybe they’ll take me with them! Then I can finally get out of here!”

“Over my dead body, you little brat!” the elder snapped. The boy stuck his tongue out at him and the old man sighed. “The whole family is an odd bunch; it’s a long story.”

“We’re pirates—what do we care?” Shanks chuckled. He then put his hand on Usopp’s back and urged him forward. “Go play while us adults talk more boring stuff. How about it?”

The boy grinned at Usopp before coming out from behind the young woman. He launched himself at Usopp happily, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Alright! A new friend!”

It might have been shrewd of Shanks, but it did work.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, you don’t have parents?”

“Nope!”

“…and it’s just you and your grandpa?”

“Yup!”

“…and he leaves you here because he’s a Marine?”

“Pretty much!”

Usopp stared at Luffy as the other boy poked at a beetle. He had spent almost the entire day wandering around with the kid and was trying to wrap his head around him, yet couldn’t. They were almost the exact same age, and yet he was being left alone? It didn’t make sense. Even when his mom died, at least his dad was there…

“What do you think he’d do if he came to town while the crew’s docked here?”

“Probably laugh and have a drink,” Luffy shrugged. “Gramps is never working when he’s here, so he doesn’t really care who does what unless it’s really bad.”

“…but we’re pirates. We’re supposed to be bad.”

“You don’t seem that bad to me.”

“Luffy, we’re six.”

“Yeah? And?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Usopp frowned. He looked over his shoulder and saw that more of the crew was coming into port. Even Bonk Punch seemed small from this distance. “We’re brave warriors of the sea! We fight guys like the Marines!”

“You don’t.”

“Well, yeah, not yet… but I will!” Usopp stood atop a rock and pointed at the sky. “It’s my dream to be a proud and brave warrior of the sea one day! Just like my dad! I’ll even have a crew under my care!”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’?!”

“You might be part of my crew!”

“Your crew?!”

“Yeah! If you’re gonna be like your dad, you’re gonna need a captain. You’ll need a Shanks! I can do that!”

“Then you’d have to fight your grandpa!”

“Oh, that’s just what we always do.” Luffy grinned and held up the beetle. “Isn’t this cool?!”

“It is…” Usopp agreed. The boys marveled over the bug for a moment before Makino popped her head out the back of her bar, calling them in to wash up. “Is she, like, your sister? She’s not your mom.”

“I guess? I dunno. She feeds me and makes sure I’m okay. Is that what sisters do?”

“It’s what my mom did for me, but I guess a sister can too.”

The boys piled into the back kitchen and went directly to the sink. “Makino? Are you my mom or my sister?”

“Luffy!”

“He’s alright, Usopp,” the woman laughed. “Now, are your hands clean?” Both finished washing their hands quickly and showed her for inspection. “Good, now your dinner’s at the bar.”

“Alright!” Luffy cheered. He brought Usopp into the main of the bar, where the Red Hair Pirates were already beginning to settle in for an evening of partying. Two plates of food and glasses of milk sat on the bartop, where Luffy and Usopp both sat down and began eating.

“Wow! Miss Makino’s cooking is really good!” Usopp marveled. “It’s amazing!”

“Yeah!” Luffy agreed. “She’s the best!” He then chewed the food he already had stored in his cheeks thoughtfully. “That’s someone I’m going to need for my crew: a really good cook!”

“I can cook!”

“No you can’t—you’re six.”

“Yeah, and I cooked for my mom! She showed me how to make sandwiches and boil macaroni for cheese!”

“That’s not real cooking! Real cooking needs meat!”

“Boys, boys, relax,” Shanks said, coming up to the bar to grab a bottle of grog that had been left out for him. He tossed it over to Snake, who pulled the cork out with his teeth before he began drinking. “Let’s focus on the fact that you agree the lady’s cooking is superb.”

“Flattery will not get you very far here, I’m afraid,” Makino chuckled as she came out of the kitchen. She passed Shanks two plates of food, which he took with a suggestive wink. “I should rat you out to Woop Slap.”

“I do enjoy living dangerously,” he laughed, bringing the plates out to the crew. Luffy and Usopp simply stared at each other, confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Makino chuckled. “Now finish your dinner and you can go play upstairs, okay?”

“Okay!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The next morning, Usopp and Luffy went down the stairs to find the entirety of the Red Hair Pirates still passed out in the main area of the bar. Usopp even poked his dad, who kept on snoring—no luck.

“Come on, you,” Makino said, guiding the boy over to where she had set out food. “If you don’t eat, Luffy will finish your plate for you.”

“No! Don’t you dare!” The boy hopped onto the bar stool and began hoarking down his food, needing to smack Luffy away a couple of times in the process.

Yeah, Makino thought, this was right.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Time passed.

The Red Hair Pirates would leave Usopp in the care of Makino, returning a few weeks later with all the treasure and tales of adventure the boy and his friend could want. He would practice with his slingshot, or his chemistry set, or anything else he could while they were gone, making his dad beam with joy and pride when he told and showed him everything he accomplished.

Time passed, and the year mark crept ever-closer.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Makino let out a blood-curdling scream, the sound of which went directly into Usopp’s young bones. Both of them were standing on the edge of the harbor, watching as Shanks intimidated the Lord of the Coast with just a glare, but not after losing an arm as he went and rescued Luffy.

“Fuck! We need to get out there!” Yasopp cussed as he ran towards the pier.

“Everyone! Clean up the rest of the bandits!” Beckmann ordered. “We got this!”

“Aye, aye,” Roux said. He and the rest of the Red Hair Pirates charged at the last of Higuma’s gang, while Yasopp and Beckmann rowed out to where Shanks was treading water. This left Makino alone to sink to her knees, completely in shock, as Usopp trembled next to her.

“I told him not to make them mad…” the boy shivered. “Why didn’t he listen?!”

“I… I don’t think it would have mattered,” Makino said, her voice quiet. She looked at Usopp, her eyes glassy with tears, and held him by the shoulders. “This is not your fault.”

“…but Miss Makino, I…!”

“The only person who’s at fault is the bandit, and he’s now dead,” she insisted. She then brought him in close for a hug. “Don’t you ever think otherwise, you understand?”

“…but…!”

“I know you plan on being there for Luffy, and I need you to know that it’s not your fault, got it? Sometimes… things happen… and we can’t change it, but we can control how we act for them.”

“O… okay…”

It was then that Yasopp finished rowing back to shore, with Beckmann attempting to hold Shanks still while Luffy sobbed uncontrollably. Hongo appeared with his emergency kit, attempting to stop what was left of his captain’s arm from bleeding out right there on the dock. Yasopp threw Luffy over his shoulder and brought him to Makino, who grabbed onto him tightly.

“I thought… I thought he could…” she said unsteadily.

“He was so concentrated on saving this little guy that it was too late,” Yasopp replied. He stroked Luffy’s hair as the boy cried into Makino’s shoulder before turning his attention to his own son. Scooping up Usopp in a hug, he ignored the fact that he was currently sopping wet and covered in his captain’s blood—all he needed right now was his boy. “I’m so glad he didn’t get you too—the fact both of you are safe… it’s worth more than any treasure.”

Shanks bellowed in pain, causing all four of them to recoil. Usopp stared at the man as he writhed under Beckmann’s hold and Hongo’s attempts at treating him.

‘A captain has to know what his crew needs,’ he thought. ‘He needs to make it happen. Luffy needed to live… and he made that happen…’

There, on the little pier at the edge of the little village, the little boy in his father’s arms realized something very, very important: a captain was not a captain unless he had a crew, and once he had them, he should be prepared to do everything for them… even die for them… just like his mom died taking care of him.

A captain took care of his crew.

A crew is a captain’s greatest treasure.

The people one cared for are worth more than all the gold in the Grand Line.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It took a few days until Shanks was able to be let out of bed. Hongo and Makino took turns watching him, waiting for the fever that set in to break, hoping he hadn’t lost too much blood. Once he was up and moving, Luffy seemed to completely forget that Usopp existed, instead clinging to the man who saved his life. It made sense to the other boy, but it still didn’t mean that he wasn’t at least a bit jealous.

It was a week since what the village was officially referring to as the “Bear Incident” and the Red Hair Pirates were enjoying themselves in Party’s Bar. Usopp was sulking in a booth while eating with his father, with Monster passed out on the opposite bench seat. Yasopp looked at the pouting lad and felt his nerves messing with his stomach. Fuck… why was this so difficult? He leaned in and lowered his voice so that only his son could hear.

“Usopp…?”

“Yeah, Dad?” He put down his fork as he saw that his father’s face was sad and full of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to know if you like it here.”

“I do!” the boy replied, perking up. “Makino makes good food, and the people here are really nice, and Luffy’s, like, my best friend! After Kaya of course! Why?”

“Well… because…” Yasopp exhaled heavily, not enjoying his position. “Shanks wants to move on soon.”

“Move on…? To a different island…?”

“To the Grand Line.” He scratched his son’s scalp and watched as he grew quiet. There was something criminal about the boy having his hair and complexion, but his mother’s nose. “It’s very dangerous, you know, to be on the Grand Line. It’s more dangerous than fighting the Lord of the Coast. Even people who are born and raised there can’t survive.”

“I don’t think I want to go to the Grand Line.”

“…which is why I was talking with Miss Makino earlier, and her and I think it would be better if you stayed here, in Foosha.”

“What about you…?”

Yasopp bit his lower lip and breathed in deeply, trying to keep himself composed. “I can’t stay. I’m a sailor, and the sea calls to me. It’s why I never was around before—it’s too strong for me to resist.”

“Oh… is that why everyone but Mom said bad things about you back in Syrup? Because you can’t tell the sea no?”

“Yeah… something like that.” He then let out a slight chuckle. “Besides, not only am I a sailor, but a pirate. Mister Woop Slap says pirates can’t stay here for too long, or Luffy’s grandpa might come and beat them up.”

“Luffy says that’s just what his grandpa does like normal,” Usopp deadpanned. Well, it had been worth a shot. “It’s nice when you’re gone, but it’s better when you’re here.”

“Tell you what: I’m going to let you stay here with Miss Makino, where it’s safe and you have good people around you, and in the meantime you are going to do your best to become big and strong. When you do, come to the Grand Line and find me. How does that sound?”

Usopp broke into sobs, clinging to Yasopp’s shirt. The kid was unintelligible through his tears, but his father held him in his arms and pat him on the back, soothing him best he could.

“You’re one of the best things I’ve ever done, you know that?” he crooned. “I can’t bring you to the Grand Line and let you die. Then who will I have to live for?”

“I’ll miss you so much!”

“I know… and I’ll miss you too… but you have to be brave, Usopp. Be brave for me… and be brave for your mom. Please?” His son nodded into his chest. “There’s a good lad. I’ll always be proud of you… for everything that’s happened to us in the past year, you’ve been taking it very well.”

“When are you going to leave…?”

“Tomorrow.” He offered Usopp a smile and pat his hair. “Just remember that you have to let whatever happens to you push you forward, not back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Different people get pushed differently by the same things, so don’t compare yourself or get too worried. You’re your mother’s son—nothing is going to keep you down for long. I know it.”

Usopp wiped his nose on his arm and laughed weakly. Yeah… he guessed so.

“Until then,” Yasopp said, “let’s party! Go get some cake from Lucky Roux! Big slices! Go on!” He shoved his son from the booth and watched as he scurried across the dining area to where their large crewmate was lording over an even larger cake.

What was harder? Leaving his kind and understanding wife and a baby who didn’t know him or his son just as they were just becoming acquainted? He didn’t think he had the answer, nor did he want one.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Dawn was just beginning to break and wash Foosha Village with a lovely golden glow. The Red Hair Pirates all were asleep where they had been partying in the bar; even Usopp was curled up in his father’s side… that was… until Luffy began to shake him awake.

“Hey, Usopp! Get up!”

“What is it?” the boy asked groggily.

“I’m hungry, and no one else is awake to cook.”

“What about Miss Makino?”

“Her door’s locked.”

Usopp groaned and tried to shake his father awake—nothing. So, instead, he found a lockpick set on one of the other pirates and went up the stairs with Luffy. He worked patiently, eventually getting the door to give way. The pair went into the dark room and tugged at the blankets, rousing the sleeping adult.

“Miss Makino!” Luffy whined. “We’re hungry!”

“Oh fuck…” was the reply, except it wasn’t Makino…

“Captain…?” Usopp frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I… uh… fell asleep talking to Miss Makino. She’ll be down in a minute.”

“…but Shanks! You’re naked!”

“I know Luffy, just… fuck… go play until Miss Makino calls for you, alright?”

The boys left the room disheartened, but also very confused. Why was the Captain in Miss Makino’s room? It took until they were outside watching the bugs hum to life in the sunrise before Usopp realized what had happened, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Luckily for him, the scream he let out was the same he made when a bug took him by surprise, so no one awake in Foosha paid him any mind.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

After a tearful goodbye at the docks, the Red Hair Pirates sailed off without their youngest member. The boy and his friend watched until the ship could no longer be seen on the horizon, heading off to the forest afterwards to go play with bugs. They did that for a couple months, playing during the day and pretending to be pirates up in their rooms at night, until one morning, Usopp came down the stairs and saw that Luffy was not there.

“He’s gone?!”

“Yes; his grandpa came this morning and took him to the mountains,” Makino said. “We can go visit him in a couple weeks, if you’d like.”

“A couple weeks?!”

“We’re supposed to take food up to the Dadan Family around then—that’s who he’s staying with.”

“Th-th-the D-d-d-dadan Family?! Is Luffy going to be okay?!”

“Pretty sure; his grandpa wouldn’t take him there unless the thought it would be for the best.” She watched as Usopp sat down at his usual bar stool while seeming very conflicted. “I told him about you, by the way.”

“You did…?”

“I did. He likes that Luffy has a friend in you. For the meantime, it’s probably better you stay here, with me, in a place that’s not a bandit-infested forest.”

“True, true,” Usopp nodded. A plate of food was then placed before him, brightening his expression considerably.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Kaya,

It’s me, Usopp! I know we haven’t spoken in a long time, but I thought I’d write to you now that I know where I’m staying! There was enough left over in my allowance to get some paper and Coo fee, so here I am!

How are you doing? My dad left me in a different village, where people are nicer than the ones in Syrup. It’s called Foosha, and it’s in Goa Kingdom. I live with a lady named Makino—she’s really nice! You’d like her! She owns a bar and I help out sometimes. It’s the only one in town, so lots of people come by. Pirates, Marines, bounty hunters, bandits—we see them all! I’m saving the money I make so Luffy and I can sail to the Grand Line when we’re older! Maybe you can come along too?

Oh, yeah, that’s right: you’re my first best friend, but Luffy’s my second best friend. He used to live with Makino too, but now he lives in the mountains with his brothers Ace and Sabo. Luffy ate a Devil Fruit! He can stretch! It’s pretty cool, but not as cool as my shooting skills! I’m getting really good and some day, I’ll be better than my dad!

Okay, it’s time to wrap up now. It’s almost time for bed. I’ll send this in the morning.

Usopp

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Luffy! Luffy, where are you?!”

Usopp looked around the treehouse, trying to find his friend. While it wasn’t unusual for him to not be there, at the same time it felt as though something was off. The boy shuffled around in an attempt to find any of the hideout’s usual suspects and got nothing.

Huh.

Shifting his backpack, Usopp cautiously wandered the forest in search of his friend. It wasn’t really like Luffy to not be around during Supply Day, when he and Makino brought food and drinks and other things up to Curly Dadan and her bandit crew. He was getting pretty good at dodging the dangerous parts of the forest—the things that Luffy’s grandpa said would make him stronger—and was actually beginning to like the place.

Except, when he finally found Luffy, he and Ace were standing near a cliff, the younger sobbing as they watched the Grey Terminal smolder in the distance. A couple sticks tied together into a cross had been stabbed into the ground and something sickeningly familiar coiled in the pit of Usopp’s stomach.

“Luffy? Ace? Where is Sabo?”

Ace was the one to turn around first, his face more dour and serious than the other boy had ever seen. “The Celestial Dragons murdered him. They didn’t care that he was just a kid.”

“I hate them!” Luffy hissed. “I want Sabo back! We made a promise…!”

“That’s not gonna help!” Usopp snapped. He then gasped, shocked at his own outburst, and softened his tone. “Wanting a dead person to come back isn’t going to do anything, like when my mom died. You have to be brave…” He then looked down at his hands—chapped from experiments with his chemistry set and wiping tables at the bar—and began picking at his fingers. “You have to let it push you forward.”

“Smart,” Ace nodded. He watched as Usopp pulled some food from his backpack and offer it consolingly to Luffy. “You sure you don’t want to stay here with us? There’s an opening now and… well… Sabo did like you. He’d like you being our third.”

“I can’t replace him,” Usopp said, shaking his head. “Besides, I learn a lot in the village! I don’t want to stop learning because I’m out here fighting to survive!”

“Fair,” Ace chuckled. The smile on his face was genuine, which made Usopp feel better.

“Then you and I can go!” Luffy insisted. “Ace and Sabo were already going to leave me behind! I can be co-captains with Usopp!”

“Luffy, that’s a lot of responsibility,” Ace warned.

“Well, yeah, but I’m gonna get stronger! And stronger! And stronger! And Usopp’s gonna get smarter, and we won’t let anything beat us! We won’t let anything like what happened to Sabo happen again!”

“We’ll do our best,” Usopp agreed. “Because that’s what friends do, right?!”

“Shishishi—right!” Luffy grinned through the remainder of his tears and snack. He and Usopp clapped their hands together, sealing the deal.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a busy afternoon in Foosha Village, with many ships at the port on their usual trade stops. In Party’s Bar, the young teenaged busboy hurried to clear tables and wipe down surfaces, moving quickly as he worked.

“I’m gonna go wash some dishes, Miss Makino,” Usopp said, presenting her with the full tub. His boss was mid-pour of some beer and nodded as she finished it off.

“Let me know when you’re done, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am!” He carried everything into the kitchen and found that the water from when he did glasses a few moments earlier was still hot. Taking advantage of that, he got right into washing dishes, not even noticing that someone else had slipped into the kitchen behind him.

“Usopp, I’m bored!” The teen nearly dropped the plate in his hands at the sound of his friend’s voice. Turning around, he saw that it was definitely his best friend and co-captain, having snuck his way in without a problem.

“Luffy, I’m working.” He put his hands on his hips and scowled. “Don’t you know what a job is?”

“Jobs are boring—let’s go have fun!”

Usopp stuck his head out the kitchen door with a scowl. “Miss Makino! Luffy’s being a bad influence!” The woman in question simply smiled as she dried a glass with an expert hand.

“You’ve been working very hard, Usopp,” she said. “I think you’ve earned a bit of time with Luffy being a bad influence. Go on.”

“…but…!”

“Go! Go!” She shooed them both out through the back, insisting she had things covered until dinner. The teens then found themselves wandering around, with Luffy eventually bringing them to sit on the cliff overlooking the harbor.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Luffy wondered, his gaze unfocused over the ocean. Usopp shrugged.

“Ace might have made it to Logue Town by now… and my dad’s in the Grand Line, so I dunno…” He looked at his friend and wondered. “Are you sure you want me to sail with you?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do,” Luffy insisted. “You’re my friend and co-captain! Like how Ace and Sabo were gonna be co-captains!”

“…except, Ace and Sabo were brothers—your brothers—and I’m just a kid who lives in town.”

“That doesn’t make it different.” Luffy then laid down, turning his face to the sky. “We’re gonna do great things once we get to the Grand Line!”

“The two of us?”

“Well, yeah, but of course we’ll have a crew first. I’m sure Shanks and your dad will laugh at us if it’s just us two in a dinghy.”

“Ha, yeah…” Usopp hugged his knees and frowned at the ocean waves. “Doesn’t mean it’s not scary.”

“Shishishi—of course it’s scary!” Luffy laughed. “That’s the whole point of adventure, isn’t it? Doing things and seeing places other people are too scared of? Being more free than anyone else out there?”

“I guess, but…”

“You worry too much, Usopp.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t worry enough.”

“Mmm… probably. But that’s okay. We’re still the captains, and that means we’ll take care of the crew and each other. That’s what counts, right?”

“Yeah… I guess it does.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Usopp admittedly wasn’t entirely prepared for when he set out from Foosha Village with Luffy, but he didn’t think that things would be as crazy as they became.

Making a new friend while surviving a mace-wielding nutcase? Check.

Recruiting a bounty hunter to the crew so powerful he was referred to as Pirate Hunter? Check.

Letting their new friend go off to do something as insane as join the Marines?! Check.

Team up with a girl to fight against a murderous clown that could slice himself into tiny bits? There was not enough insanity Usopp could conjure to have predicted that one.

However, when the young woman said that she was a navigator, there was a single request he had for where they would go next.

“So, this is where you’re from?” Nami asked. She raised an eyebrow at the sleepy little town. Their small boats were moored by the harbor and they were now walking along the path that led into the village. “There’s not a lot to it, is there?”

“No, but it’s still important to me,” Usopp said. “Let’s go see what’s going on these days!”

“Are we going to visit Kaya?” Luffy asked. Zoro and Nami looked at each other, then Usopp.

“Who’s Kaya?” Zoro wondered.

“Oh, that’s just Usopp’s super-best friend when he lived here!” Luffy explained. Usopp began to blush, which made the other two smirk. “He only talked about her, like, all the time when we were growing up!”

“We wrote a lot after I left, so we’ve been keeping in touch.”

“Well then, let’s go meet her,” Nami grinned.

Usopp swallowed hard—that was the look of a woman on a mission, and he wasn’t entirely certain he liked said mission. The crew meeting Kaya was sort of the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He knew it was inevitable, however, and continued to lead them into the village, where everyone stared at them with some form of curiosity or disdain.

“Some welcome wagon this is,” Zoro noted as someone closed some window shutters at the sight of them. “I’ve gotten better receptions in dive bars in my bounty hunter days.”

“Well, Dad wasn’t too popular with the village, and Mom defended him, so she wasn’t liked a lot either,” Usopp shrugged. “Before I met Luffy, I only ever had one friend…”

“…and that’s this Kaya…?” Nami finished. He shrugged—well, yeah. “Do you think she’d like to come along?”

“Probably not—she’s been sick since her parents died a couple years ago. Even if she wanted to go, she’d likely need a doctor to come along too, and I don’t think any of us are good enough at medicine for that.”

“No, I guess not,” Nami said. She then noticed that they had walked past the last house, continuing on the path. “Uh… Usopp? Where does your friend live?”

“Right outside the village,” he said. “It’s how we became friends—we both didn’t live in the main part of the village, so we were practically neighbors!”

Except the crew didn’t expect his “neighbor” to live in a literal mansion, where the door was answered by a tall butler with slicked-back black hair and eyeglasses.

“Miss Kaya is too ill to visit with the likes of you; now go away.”

“Who the hell are you, telling me Kaya’s not doing well?!” Usopp fired back. He glared at the man standing in the doorway to Kaya’s house, unsure of the aura he was giving off. “I’m the Dread Captain Usopp, and I’ve been Kaya’s best friend since we were kids!”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the man sneered. He looked over Usopp’s shoulder at the rest of the crew, who were standing a few paces back. “Now you hooligans better leave before I call the police!”

“Klahadore! Don’t!” It was then that Kaya appeared at his side, looking rather cross. She also looked extremely frail, which was a distinct change from the girl who Usopp used to climb trees and play tag with. “This is the friend I’m always writing to! It’s him!”

“Miss Kaya! You should not be up!”

“My friend is back! That’s reason enough!”

“This is a charlatan, not your friend; besides, you are in no state to receive visitors.”

“Huh…” Nami muttered. “This is more interesting than I thought.”

“I’ll say,” Zoro agreed. He glanced over at Luffy, seeing that the captain’s fist was clenched. “Oi. Let Usopp fight his own battles.”

“This guy pisses me off,” Luffy said. “Usopp lies, but not about important stuff. Kaya’s one of his most important people.”

“I don’t know if that’s up for us to determine,” Nami added.

“We’ve been writing to each other to years! I’m her friend!”

“Miss Kaya has been corresponding with a young man from the city with prospects and standing,” the butler sneered. “You look like someone with neither.”

“That’s what Mother and Father told you so that you wouldn’t worry!” Kaya said. “We knew your ship was sunk by pirates, and that’s what Usopp’s dad is, but he’s a good guy!”

“Pirates are nothing but cowards and scoundrels.”

“Mother always said that his father was unjustly blamed and his mother brave for loving him! She hated having to stand by and watch, but she remembered! They were brave and loving people!”

Usopp sucked in a breath—he never heard anyone describe his parents in such a way. If that was what Kaya was always told, then maybe… was his dad wrong about this place?

“I cannot let us waste more time with these degenerates,” the butler said.

“Klahadore, that is enough! I command you—!”

Everyone went quiet as the butler slapped Kaya across the cheek. She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth ajar. Usopp froze in shock, unable to move. Luffy made a motion to hit the guy back, but Zoro put a hand on his shoulder. Not yet.

“Now look at what you made me do,” the butler hissed. “Your parents left your care to me, and now…” He looked at his own hand in irritation, which he then turned to Usopp. “You four are not welcome here. Do not attempt to contact Miss Kaya any further. Good day.”

The door closed in Usopp’s face and the teen—still in shock—could only gape.

“What the fuck…?” he breathed. “Kaya…?” He pounded both fists on the door and screamed her name at the top of his lungs.

“Come on,” Nami said, gently pulling him from the door. “We’ll figure something out.”

“…but…!”

“She’s right; let’s go,” Luffy frowned.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was the dead of night as Usopp snuck onto the grounds of Kaya’s mansion, heading directly over to where he remembered her room was. He knocked gently on the windowpane and stepped back, waiting for her to get out of bed. Soon as she opened the window, he hugged her tightly, an act which she returned.

“I can’t believe he did that,” he whispered. He then held her at arm’s length and tried not to gasp at the sight of her in the moonlight. “Has he ever done that before?”

“No… and he’s been apologizing since,” she replied. “I… I should have told you sooner…”

“Come with us,” Usopp blurted out. “We can get you out of here, see the world…”

“You know I can’t…!”

“We’ll just get a doctor on the way; it’s a priority anyhow,” he said. Seas… had Kaya always been this pretty? “Please…”

“I’m too fragile…”

“…from staying in this room! Come with us! Let me take care of you! Don’t tell me after all you wrote that you don’t want to see what’s out there?”

“Usopp, you know I do, but…!” She was cut off by the sound of someone else in the house, just outside her door. “Quick! Hide!” Usopp was just out of sight when the butler entered the room. “Oh! Klahadore! You didn’t need to come in!”

“You didn’t answer and I was worried,” he said. “Why is the window open?”

“I was a bit warm,” she lied. “Besides, I’m a bit restless.”

“Are you thinking about that boy again?”

“My friend, even if you don’t believe me.”

“Your parents left you in my care—it would be a great dishonor to their memory if I didn’t question the boy and his intentions regarding you.”

“His intentions…? Klahadore, his intentions involve going out to sea and becoming a proud warrior. He made a promise to visit me before he did, and he tried, and you ruined it.”

“A pirate’s child turning pirate is worse than both those things put together. His blood is poisoned…”

“…only because you don’t know him. Goodnight, Klahadore. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Despondent, the butler left the room and closed the door behind him, his charge waiting to hear his footsteps down the corridor before she flung herself back at the window, seeing Usopp hugging the wall in terror.

“Give me three days,” she said. “That’s when I’ll have the opportunity to get out of here.”

The grins they shared were brighter than the moon and stars combined.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I still don’t know why we’ve got to wait,” Zoro grumbled. He and the others were sitting up inside Usopp’s house he used to share with his mom, the night after he talked to Kaya. The co-captain poked his head out the window, checking to make sure no one else was around.

“That asshole butler of hers takes a weekly trip to the next town over to get certain groceries,” he said. “We’ll help her sneak out then and leave notes with another butler and the village leader to kick Klahadore out while she’s gone. Then the five of us can head to the Grand Line.”

“No offense, Usopp,” Nami said, “but what can she do other than weigh us down?”

“She won’t!”

“The witch has a point,” Zoro grunted. “She’s practically an invalid; you can’t take someone like that to the Grand Line and expect everything to turn out okay. Maybe if we already had a doctor…”

“Luffy, can you back me on this?” Usopp groaned. He looked over at the other teen, who had his nose in a book. “Luff, come on…”

“I was just looking at this book—it’s got pictures from before we met!” he said. Luffy brought the book over to the table and set it down, showing a photo of Yasopp, Banchina, and a baby Usopp. “That’s your mom, right?”

“Yeah,” Usopp nodded. Something tugged at his heart—it was the first time he’d seen a photo of his mom in a long while. He turned the page and found one of him and her together, from right before she got sick. “You know, I never thought about her being the brave one until Kaya said it earlier.”

“She risked begin shunned by the village by being with your dad, from what it sounded like,” Zoro shrugged. “That, if anything, takes guts.”

“It really does,” Usopp agreed. He tensed up and stared at the door—someone was coming. The four all readied themselves, only for three kids to burst into the house.

“Pirates!” they cried.

“Uh… yeah…” Nami grimaced. This was going to be tedious, wasn’t it? “We’re pirates.”

“No, not you pirates!” the kid with the glasses panicked. “You’ve not done pirate stuff!”

“Well, we’re gonna do pirate stuff if I’m gonna be King of the Pirates,” Luffy said plainly.

“No, you don’t get it: there’s pirates at the slopes!” the one with the green hat explained. “And they’re talking about killing Miss Kaya!”

“Her creepy butler is with them, and he says he wants to kill her himself!” Glasses said.

“We think they want to blame you for it!” the third boy said. “You’re pirates too, but you’re not mean! Doesn’t Miss Kaya like you?!”

“She does,” Nami said. She looked over at Usopp, who seemed absolutely terrified. “So, Co-Captain, what do you plan on doing?”

“We’re going to save Kaya!” he said, entire body shaking in nerves. Luffy and Zoro both grinned, as they knew that this meant they were going to be able to finally pick a fight.

It was on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When all was said and done, Usopp was sure he didn’t like cats to begin with anyhow. Adding the fact that Kaya’s asshole butler was a famous pirate captain that supposedly had been captured and executed years earlier and planned on killing her in order to get her money and retire? Definitely not one of the things he had expected when he set off from Foosha.

The butler crumpled to the ground unconscious, knocked out cold from Usopp’s Ten Ton Hammer. Kaya had been underneath him, making it so she had to avoid him falling on her. She looked up at her best friend and nearly cried.

“Usopp, I…!” Kaya gasped as he lifted her up to her feet. They looked at each other and giggled awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“A captain takes care of his crew,” he said. He then swallowed hard at the realization of what he just implied. “I mean, a pirate’s crew is their friends, and… you’ve always been my friend, and…”

With a smile, Kaya placed her finger on Usopp’s lips, silencing him. They then both leaned in and kissed one another, chastely yet by no means less exhilarating. The only thing that stopped them was hearing gagging noises—the Pintsized Pirate Patrol had found them.

“Oh, and what are you three going on about?” Usopp frowned. “Wait until you see someone so pretty you have no choice but to kiss them!”

“Adults are so gross!” Green Hat scowled.

“Uh-huh, sure,” Usopp deadpanned. He felt Kaya’s arms warp around his middle and he sighed, his arm going around her waist. “Now where’s the rope? We need to tie this creep up before he wakes up and tries to kill us all again!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Are you sure you can’t come along?” Usopp asked. He was sitting with Kaya on the beach, watching as Luffy, Zoro, and Nami got a tour of the Going Merry. They were getting the caravel as a gift for saving the town from the Black Cat Pirates, which honestly took the entire village by surprise. The only reason they even believed the teens was the fact that Merry backed them at all, so it was his honor to present them with their reward.

“I’ve got to get better first, but I think I’m going to do something else,” she said. “I want to be a doctor.”

“That’s… very different from sailing with us,” he acknowledged. “I’m just curious… why?”

“…because one day you’re going to be dragging yourself back here and someone is going to need to patch you up,” she giggled.

“Ouch, okay, fair.” They both laughed before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “As long as you’re going forward.”

“Yeah.” She saw how much fun the others were having with Merry and she nodded to gesture in their direction. “Come on—a captain needs to take care of his crew, right?”

“Right.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Miss Kaya, the newspaper.”

Months had gone by in Syrup Village, with Kaya making considerable improvement with both her condition and her studies. She was reading a chapter on phlebotomy over breakfast when Merry brought in the paper.

“Oh, thank you!” She took it from him appreciatively. “There’s so much happening that it’s difficult to keep up, isn’t it?”

“It can be,” he agreed. Merry watched as her brow furrowed at the front page. “What is it?”

“Usopp…” She went to the bounty poster inserts and pulled out a small pile dedicated to the Straw Hat Pirates. There was Luffy, Zoro, Nami… ah… wait… Sogeking?! “They all have bounties now.”

“Well, would you look at that; you’re right!” Merry laughed. “Declaring war on the World Government? Oh, he is going to need to get patched up next time you see him!”

Declaring war on the World Government in order to save his crewmate… he really was a brave captain after all.

#One Piece #fan fiction #Usopp #Yasopp #Banchina #Monkey D. Luffy #Red Hair Shanks #Makino #also contains #Yasopp x Banchina #Shanks x Makino #and #Usopp x Kaya #if the U in ASUL was Usopp that would be so fcking insane

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mzannthropy · 4 months

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L.M. Montgomery - The Red Room

This story gets included with LMM's Christmas stories in collections, however it's not a Christmas story (this is not a 'is Die Hard a Christmas movie' type of discussion, The Red Room is just not a Christmas story; the only reason it gets lumped with those is that it partly takes place at Christmas). But bc I listed it in my initial Merry Maudmas post, I still want to recap it, and I think it's worth doing so. Just without the festive heading, lol. (But still under the tag.)

It's an early piece by LMM, dated 1898. It's very different from her usual works, and the prose is different too, more old fashioned. This actually makes sense within the story: it's a tale narrated by an elderly lady to her grandchild (it is not specified whether this is a granddaughter or a grandson). So if she's old in 1898, the events she narrates could have taken place mid-19th century.

It's also deliciously melodramatic.

You would have me tell you the story, Grandchild? 'Tis a sad one and best forgotten—few remember it now. There are always sad and dark stories in old families such as ours.

The narrator, Beatrice, is asked by her late father's stepmother, Mrs Montressor, to the Montressor Place for Christmas holidays. Beatrice is excited about this, her mother less so (as she has no one else, having lost her husband). The Montressors are, it seems, very a proud family, and Montressor Place is a big old mansion, and all of Beatrice's aunts love her and dote on her. Beatrice looks forward the most to the Christmas Eve ball, bc she'll get to meet Uncle Hugh's new wife, of whom she heard many tales about.

The family are not thrilled about Uncle Hugh's marriage. For years he was a bachelor. And when he finally got married, instead of choosing his stepmother-approved bride, he brought home, from his voyage to the Indies, a foreign wife, of whom nobody knew anything about, aside from being dazzlingly beautiful. Her name is Alicia, and Beatrice's aunts speak of her being a 'light woman' and that no good will come from Hugh marrying her.

Beatrice has no one to play with at the Montressor Place, but she doesn't mind (she is one of those children who are older than their years), she has her books, she helps out in the kitchen--and she likes spending time in the Red Room. It is Mrs Montressor's (the step grandmother) sitting room, where she writes letters and does accounts.

The room was low-ceilinged and dim, hung with red damask, and with odd, square windows high up under the eaves and a dark wainscoting all around it. And there I loved to sit quietly on the red sofa and read my fairy tales, or talk dreamily to the swallows fluttering crazily against the tiny panes.

This year, however, Beatrice is not allowed to the Red Room, for it belongs to Alicia now. (So I guess Uncle Hugh is the patriarch of the family, which would make his wife the lady of the Montressor Place, while his stepmother is a dowager. Of sorts.)

At last, Alicia arrives to the Place. Beatrice is stunned by her beauty. She's described very poetically (which fits the story's overall tone). She is tall, royally graceful, with red-gold hair, skin like a delicate white rose leaf and eyes 'that might have been dark or light for aught that I could ever tell, but which seemed always like pools of warm flame, now tender, now fierce'.

Alicia takes an instant liking to little Beatrice. Beatrice, being a a sensitive child, notices that while Uncle Hugh looked proud of his beautiful wife, there was a lurking mistrust in his face.

Alicia allows Beatrice to spend time with her in the Red Room (she prefers company of the little girl over the Montressors, whom she calls 'cold'). Perceptive Beatrice notices that Alicia seems to endure her husband's affection, instead of welcoming it.

Christmas Eve comes. Beatrice wakes up with an unfortunate cold; she won't be able to attend the ball. But Alicia, not wanting her new little friend to miss out, comes to Beatrice's room, dressed up for the occasion, to show off, bc she knows Beatrice wants to see her.

Her gown was of white, and there was nothing I could liken the stuff to save moonshine falling athwart a frosted pane, and out from it swelled her gleaming breast and arms, so bare that it seemed to me a shame to look upon them. Yet it could not be denied they were of wondrous beauty, white as polished marble. And all about her snowy throat and rounded arms, and in the masses of her splendid hair, were sparkling, gleaming stones, with hearts of pure light, which I know now to have been diamonds, but knew not then, for never had I seen aught of their like.

Uncle Hugh enters the room. He tells his wife not to dance with 'that man' bc he mistrusts him. Alicia whispers something in his ear, to which he replies: "Do not try me too far, Alicia."

Beatrice is ordered to stay in bed, but every once in a while, even a good kid disobeys. She slips out of her room, but before she can reach the hall, she hears footsteps and hides in the nearest room, behind the curtains. Then, Alicia comes to the same room, accompanied by a strange man. Beatrice dislikes the man on first sight, he reminds her of a snake she once encountered in the garden. Alicia and the man start kissing passionately.

Uncle Hugh enters the room and they stop. He strikes the man, who, as Beatrice narrates it 'being a coward at heart, as are all villains, turned white and slunk from the room with a muttered oath, nor was he stayed'. Uncle Hugh tells Alicia that from this moment, she is no longer a wife of his.

He keeps his word. Everyone is aware something must have happened, but nobody knows what and Beatrice keeps quiet about the scene she witnessed. She goes home after New Year, but Mrs Montressor soon invites her again bc she misses her (no word about the kid going to school). Beatrice spends time in the Red Room with Alicia, who seldom leaves it. Uncle Hugh is away a lot on business.

One day, Alicia calls Beatrice to the Red Room again. She asks the girl to tell her the story behind the room, suspecting there must be one. So little Beatrice tells her. Generations before, a Montressor, disgraced himself. When he came home to his mother, she started shouting insults and reproaches at him and he, in despair, turned his swords against him and killed himself. His mother went mad from this and was kept in the Red Room for the rest of her life.

Alicia asks Beatrice what she'd think if those cold proud aunts of hers told her she was unworthy of love. Beatrice, remembering what she witnessed, says nothing. Alicia then picks up a small dagger with a jewelled handle that was on a side table. She also gives Beatrice a gold chain and sends her out of the room.

Alicia sits by the hall window. It's a stormy night. Uncle Hugh is away and not expected back in this weather. Yet, he does return; he is all wet and carries a whip in one hand and a crumpled letter in the other. Beatrice follows him to the Red Room, thinking of the confectionery he brought her. Thus, she witnesses another dramatic scene.

Alicia is dressed for travel. Uncle Hugh is not having her run away with her lover. They argue, throw insults at each other, Alicia attempts to leave the room, but he stops her. He won't let her go. So, she takes the dagger out and stabs him. He falls dead and she runs.

Poor Beatrice gets ill form this experience and lays in bed with fever for weeks. By the time she recovers, Uncle Hugh has been buried and as for Alicia, nothing has been heard of her since she fled the country with her lover.

Beatrice's mother, thankfully, takes her daughter home and gets rid of the gold chain. Mrs Montressor has the wing that Red Room is part of torn down.

So, Grandchild, the sad tale is ended, and you will not see the Red Room when you go next month to Montressor Place. The swallows still build under the eaves, though—I know not if you will understand their speech as I did.

Holy gothic melodramatic in the attic, what a story! Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love it!

This is probably the type of story Anne and her friends would write in their Story Club. I think it's actually good that LMM experimented, before she landed on her signature style that we now know and love. How do you know what works for you if you don't try?

Also I think this is what could have gone down in the Tomgallon house. You know their family is cursed.

If I can add my commentary--and I can, bc this is my blog, dammit--Team Alicia all the way! Coming from me it's not surprising, also I'm an unapologetic mad wife supporter (I have a whole ass heretical Jane Eyre sideblog). But think about it. The Montressors are so up themselves, it's a rare one that is good enough for them. Our narrator is biased in this matter herself (she straight up admits to being a proud Montressor). I mean, her mother didn't want to be separated from her at Christmas, yet she had no choice over sending her child to the Place. I wonder how many unhappy wives this family had? The aunts mentioned in the story are all Montressors by birth. And they were all prejudiced against Alicia from the start. Sure, their mistrust towards her was justified--but how much of this is just a part of the destructive cycle?

Uncle Hugh declared Alicia was his wife no more, yet he didn't want her to leave. He was terrified of being 'dishonoured'.

It would be interesting to play with different scenarios about how those two met and married each other, who was the snake-like lover--and what happened to Alicia afterwards? If anyone fancies writing it, here's your prompt!

#l.m. montgomery #lmmblogging #merry maudmas #the red room #mypost

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maareyas · 1 year

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finished Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeons' postgame arc so it's time to write down my thoughts on the game I guess!!

Overall opinion: Gameplay was pretty good, story made me feel.......eh.

Playing this after finishing Gates was both a good and bad thing.

okok I'll start with the positives. The improved balancing is welcome after GTI's mess, even if it is still difficult (Super seems to be the most difficult game in the series?). Even the maps have improved, and it's much less tedious to explore dungeons ✨ That being said, I felt/was underleveled throughout the whole thing. It reached the point that I used an infinite health cheat from Submerged Cave onward, because I just didn't have enough motivation to struggle through the endgame just to finish the main story.

The emera and looplet mechanic is fun though! idek if I would want them in future games, or be something unique to Super, but yeah I like the extra support it gives. The "limited number of steps to get them" was kind of like a tiny puzzle ✨ Wands, I'm feeling a bit mixed on since they feel redundant next to orbs, but they're alright.

Other misc. features:

Connection Orb! - I'll be real, I did not understand how this mechanic worked for most of the game. It feels like a roundabout way for recruiting and job requests. Conceptually, I think it's interesting, but in practice it feels clunky. Especially if you want to take on multiple jobs in the same dungeon.

Cafe Connection - I can't help but feel like it makes finishing jobs less personal, but I do get that it's to streamline getting the rewards.

The callbacks!!! - One of my favorite minor details about the game is the returning NPCs all the way from even Rescue Team!! Team ACT, the Persian from Felicity Bank, Makuhita Dojo, Whiscash, The Wigglytuff guild members, Future Trio (though I haven't done their quest yet), Team Charm, Armaldo, Swanna, Munna and co.,-- I could go on and on XD It's very sweet esp as a long time fan of this series. Makes me wonder how the protags of the previous games are doing too.

Now onto what is my main gripe. The story.

This is the part where playing GTI beforehand was actually detrimental to my opinion of Super lmao. To be honest, Super's story feels like the weakest of the series. It's not terrible, but like. it didn't have the same impact. Hell, I wasn't even in a rush to finish the post-game arc about getting your partner back.

I wouldn't be so ":/" about the plot if the ultimate boss, Dark Matter, wasn't the manifestation of all the negative feelings of all pokemon,

when we already went through fighting the Bittercold, which is very similar in concept.

It just,,,, after that it just felt like Super was trying to reuse the story ideas from GTI. And I can't even blame them, because I don't think that many people played through Gates bc of it's issues. But whenever someone says Super's plot is better than Gates I go "hngggggg >:I". The build up to the Bittercold was handled SO much better than Super with Dark Matter. I can write a whole post just about this topic in particular.

I will say though. Nuzleaf's betrayal was nice and gave me a reason to say "Dad sent us to hell :^(" while explaining which part of the plot I was at to my friend lmaooooo

The ending is........hm. Theoretically, the last plot twist should've destroyed me. But it didn't. I was a bit sad yeah, but my interest in the plot kinda dwindled at that point. The weight of it didn't really settle in until after you meet Mew in the post-game. The characterization for the Player poke is very nice 👌

Partner's revival was very kingdom hearts-esque also--not a judgement of quality, I just thought it was neat.

In summary: I am salty about this game's story. It's fun to play though.

#rey rambles #im using words #pmd #me: I love all the PMD Partners equally #also me: I don't care for Super's partner #going to make a separate post about my feelings on Bittercold vs Dark Matter after I go eat #because I NEED to externalize them otherwise I'll explode

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sorryimananti-romantic · 2 months

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should i start writing or not?

i literally get the craziest fic ideas almost daily and i have a whole page about plots and plots and MORE plots, so, naturally, id want to put them to use

BUT (there's always a but)

when it comes to me and words, you'd never catch me making it past the prologue 😭

i either really dislike my work (you can tell me how good/bad it is and im still going to scrap it, no one's changing my mind 😤), im just that bad at writing, i overcomplicate my sentences (cmon who wants to read shakespeare typa stuff), or i end up losing interest

i figured writing small imagines or wtv those tiny 2k-4k worded whatever-they-are stuff would work kinda well for me, but as someone who overthinks and second-guesses her every step in life... yeah 💀

idk i basically live off other peoples' opinions so after making you read allat for nothing, should i start processing these stored plots into words to form understandable sentences that may or may not be enjoyable depending on the person reading but then again who would click on something they dont wanna read innit?

haha that is literally the most relatable thing i've read today-- i was just the same before i started writing the first work of mine! and i'm not saying just for the heck of it but if you have all these ideas and plots... DO IT!!

bro my first few fics suck in my opinion and i wish i could rewrite them and post them again (i do not even want to look at them and i cannot comprehend why ppl like them) but ppl do like them! i think if you have good characters and good plots, it doesn't matter if your writing is bad bc writing is something that will get better the more you write, yeah? (and btw, that's you thinking your writing is bad. you could be the next shakespeare we never know LOL) (also my first work was take me home series and that says a lot about me bc my amateur ass went ahead and wrote the longest thing i've ever written 😭)

and me. i would read shakespearean style stuff if you have a good plot and characters. i would read a fic that uses the most common vocabulary if the plot is magical. there are people who will like your works and even if there is one of them, it means you're doing a good job!

i think you should start writing with whatever plot you want to write the most and just write it in your style. i live for crazy fic ideas and i cannot wait to see what you have in store! if your first work has to be a series, so be it! if it has to be a drabble, that's fine too! just do what you want to <3 good luck and i will be waiting for you to write sth and tag me <33

#it's always daunting but i cannot stress this enough: do what you want!#first few works will probably seem mid to you but writing and planning and details get better with time!#and writing should always be sth you do for fun #so just go with your flow <3 #yumi.asks

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practically-an-x-man · 1 year

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Fanfic ask game :)

👀 📥 🖊 🏅📚 👩‍🏭 😈

thank you!!! You're amazing bestie!!

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

I've got one at the moment I think, more of an idea than a WIP bc it's not technically on the page yet. I don't know if I'd post it even if I did write it because 1. the fandom is abysmally tiny (I don't think there's even a tag for the movie on AO3 yet), 2. it's very self-indulgent and probably on the verge of a lazy/unrealistic plot, and 3. I just feel like it would go dead even if I did post it, so obviously my other fics are going to take precedence

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

I mean, I love them all. I don't get very many comments on my fics in general, so I really treasure every one. That being said, I feel like people are really engaged with Who Waits Forever Anyway?, so I get some pretty dynamic comments there, and I really wish people would comment on Desert Song because so far nobody has and I feel like it's some of my best writing

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Alright, here's a bit from the next chapter of Bolts and Blasters, my Star Wars fic:

A bit of the truth leached into those final words, and maybe that was why he didn’t question it. Poe just nodded, though his lips pressed into a thin, uneasy line.

“Don’t know how much you’ll find,” he admitted, “Everywhere’s tapped dry. We had ships coming in from practically every habitable planet, and they all need to recover after that. You’ll be lucky to find bacta.”

“You’re so encouraging.” Indigo huffed, giving him a look, “But I have to try.”

Again, she found glimpses of truth amid the lie. She hated that she couldn’t tell him more. She hated that she had to dodge his questions like this. She hated to lie to a friend.

With luck, it wouldn’t matter. He’d learn that it was a ruse within a day, yes, but he’d forgive her if it all worked out.

If.

Indigo sighed, and stepped forward long enough to pull him into a hug. If he thought that was strange, a farewell hug for a supposedly-brief supply run, he didn’t breathe a word of it. She’d been a little shaky these past few weeks, after all. He wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of support after everything she’d lost.

When she pulled back, Poe’s brows had drawn inwards with suspicion. She took a step back, swallowing hard.

“Good luck on your mission.” he told her, and didn’t say anything more. His posture was stiff, mechanical. He’d probably already guessed it. He was rowdy, yes, but he’d never been a stupid man.

Indie grit her teeth, forcing herself to turn away.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

The last two chapters I posted, on two different fics, were both over 7k words long, and I thought they were both very good. And I'm devilishly proud of how much emotional damage I've put my readers through in Bolts and Blasters, particularly since I've already started writing the resolution to it.

📚 Do you read your own fic?

All the time lol. I write it for me, so of course I reread it.

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Desert Song or Nom De Guerre. I'd like to think that my depictions of thievery, pickpocketing, coup d'etats, underground crime groups, and whatever else that writing 6 Underground fanfiction entails is decently accurate (or at least enough for suspension of disbelief)... but is it TOO accurate?

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

I have a few fics where the main character's POV is in first-person perspective, and I know that's pretty polarizing. I still write most of my fics in third-person and even a few in second, but there's a certain level of perspective and closeness in first-person that you really can't quite get in the others. It feels more like they're telling their stories, rather than having this omniscient or godly Narrator walking them through it. I don't use it all the time (only 2 of my fics use first-person, and both also have POV shifts to other characters, which are written in third-person) but I think it can be very powerful when it's done right.

#thank you!!!#my friends!!!#fanfic asks #answered asks #writing asks #fanfic writer #my writing

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truecorvid · 3 years

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thinkin bout..... they/he pronouns...........

#im so noncommittal though I don’t let myself experiment with stuff which is stupid I know but like #idk lol #it’s like all throughout high school I was IDing as a lesbian but the whole time I was also going in circles about #whether I liked guys too but I wouldn’t even allow myself to consider experimenting with changing labels For No Good Reason #so I was just in my head about it and never talked about it to anyone except for my therapist #and it caused me a lot of strife!#and so I don’t want to do the same thing with my gender + how I express it etc #but well. hm.#I guess this post is me taking a tiny step to not do that bc so far I truly have only talked about it with my therapist #but now I am imparting it onto whoever reads this. here. take my gender thoughts take them I don’t want them anymore #anyways changing my bio is too scary for right now so I’ll just post about it and go #fuck I’ve forgotten my personal posts tag. oh well

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 years

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not jealous | jake sim

summary: jake sim is not a jealous person. at least that's what he tells himself. so why does he find himself going through your phone when a certain "bluejay park" decides to text you?

pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. mentions of jay park]

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: angst, cursing (very minimal), one slightly suggestive sentence, jake being cute, some more angst lol, slightly cheesy bc jake’s just too cute ugh

wc: 3.8k

a/n: ok i loved writing this, which is why i went on to almost 4k words LOL oops. but anyways, i love jake a little too much and this type of scenario has been running around in my head for a while now so i decided to put it into words. also i may have created this blog just so i could post this somewhere LMAO anyways yeah this was my first fic so hope you guys enjoyyyy <3

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

At least that's what he tells himself. To be fair, in his past relationships, he never showed any jealously. Then again, he doesn't know if he can call those relationships, "relationships". Does a fifth grade relationship with a girl who he was once dared to kiss during a game of Truth or Dare in the basement of a classmate's house during their 11th birthday party count? He doesn't remember being jealous when the same girl was later dared to kiss his classmate, Sunghoon. (Funny enough, that's how the two boys came to be best friends 'til this day, but that's a story for another time.)

But really, Jake doesn't think jealously is one of his traits, even if he's now almost 20 years old without any experience with love other than his current relationship with you and that short-lived romance in the fifth grade. (What was her name again? Jake would have to ask Sunghoon later.)

So he doesn't know what clicked in that brain of his that lead him to this current situation he was in. He doesn't know why he felt a little spark of anger in him when your phone, which you left right next to him on the couch while you went to take a shower, kept buzzing with texts from "bluejay park". He doesn't know why he couldn't kept his eyes distracted from the messages, although your phone was constantly lighting up because whatever it was Jay had to say to you, he would not shut up about it. He doesn't know why he questioned what your relationship with Jay was for a split second.

In fact, you're close with all of Jake's friends. That's one of his favorite things about you, you get along so well with all his friends you might as well replace Jake himself in the friend group. So he doesn't know what tells him to take a little glance at your phone—at the messages.

But he finds himself doing it anyways.

Hearing that the water in the shower was still running (you were always the type to take long showers), he quickly grabs your phone and scrolls through the lock screen just to find that he couldn't even read the messages since you had your notifications set so no one could read them unless the phone was unlocked (darn you and your settings!) Thankfully, Jake knew your passcode––and you knew his too––or he thought he did. Until the iPhone vibrated, telling him the passcode was wrong.

He must've entered it too fast or something. So he tries again.

And again.

Until the iPhone switches its screen to say: "iPhone is disabled. Try again in 5 minutes."

There's no way. You never change your password. And even if you did, you would tell him—you two even had each other's fingerprints saved into each other's phones in the past (you know, before the world decided that Apple's home button was too lame and decided to just completely get rid of it). If there was an option to save multiple faces for Face ID, you two would be that couple that saved each others faces in your own phones.

That being said, Jake sat there, your phone in hand, frozen. Why was your phone locked? Why was Jay texting you 10 texts per second? Why did he feel guilty about this entire situation?

He hears the shower switch off and in that moment, he swears he feels his heart beat just a little faster. He tells himself there's no way you'll be out before the 5 minutes are up. You followed a really meticulous skincare routine (one that Jake memorized by now) that took an extra 15 minutes of your time after each shower.

"Hey Jake?" Your voice calls out from the tiny bathroom door crack that you left open before you hopped in the shower, "Is my phone out there? Do you mind bringing it to me?"

Fuck.

Jake shifts on the couch. Taps his foot on the ground. Returns your phone to its original spot. Clears his throat.

"Don't you want to get dressed first?" he calls back, quite timidly.

He can hear you stop moving around in the bathroom. Probably telling yourself what an odd response that was. To be fair, it was an odd question, considering the fact that you two have been together for so long, it’s not like he hasn’t seen you undressed before...intentionally or not.

Next thing he knows, the steam is rolling out of the bathroom door and you're stepping out in your towel, eyebrows raised.

"If you didn't want to get up from the couch, you could've just said so, you lazy butt," you smirk at him as you walk towards him and the couch, leaving a faint trail of water drops behind you. Jake's eyes follow your figure as you go to grab your phone and lift the screen towards yourself.

That's when he freezes. You do too.

You cock your head, as if asking yourself why it was disabled. He can hear the gears in your head turning.

"Jake, did you try to unlock my phone?"

He runs through all the possible excuses he could blurt out. Come on Jake, think of something! But he knows he can't lie to you.

Too many beats of silence pass by.

"Maybe," he finally says—or more like murmurs. He looks up to you like a child looking up at their mom, who just them caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. To his surprise, you don't show any hint of anger. A flash of confusion—and is that worry he sees?—crosses your face for a split second before you shrug and turn towards your room to change, dropping the subject. It was natural for you two to use each other's phones anyways. So then why did you have that look of worry?

Jake knows you well, a little too well. But that's what you love about him. He can easily read all your emotions. One of the many things he picked up from dating you for almost two years now. But why would you care if he tried to get into your phone? Why would that worry you? All the possibilities run through head and his own worry begins to increase. He trusts you. He does.

So then why does the thought bother him throughout the entire day? Why does he bring it up during dinner later that night, when you're both cuddled on your sofa, slurping take-out ramen while rewatching your favorite k-drama under the thick blanket that you always keep in your living room for nights like these?

"Huh? Of course I've heard from Jay today, we had that conversation about that stupid meme you boys kept laughing about in the groupchat we're all in, didn't we?" You answer him when he asks if you've heard from Jay lately. You sit up from your warm spot under Jake's arm to put your empty bowl on the coffee table in front of you. When you lean back, you look up at him,

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just wondering," he says, avoiding your eyes by keeping his own trained on the series currently playing on your TV. This would be your third time rewatching this series together. He would never complain to you though, he knows how much you love it and if he were being honest, he was secretly attached to the characters—not that he would ever tell you, he would never hear the end of it from you and the boys.

"You're being weird. Just tell me, or did you forget that I can practically read your mind," you say with a giggle and shove to his side, the one you were currently warmly cuddled into. Jake wasn't the only one who learned how to read emotions; you could read him just as well as he could read you. And like you, that's one of the many things he loved about you. But maybe not in this case.

He toyed around with the contents inside his ramen bowl with his chopsticks.

"I just..." God, how does he word this? Why was he having trouble explaining it? You were the easiest person to talk to. To him, you were the only person he could tell everything to.

"Jaywastextingyouabunchearlier," he blurts out quickly, but not quickly enough for you to miss it.

He feels you shift under his arm. He feels the air in the room shift. Tension.

"What?" Now you're sitting upright, legs criss-crossed in front of you on the couch but turned, so your body is completely facing him. He mirrors you, sitting up to put his ramen bowl next to yours on the surface, but he stays facing the TV.

"Your phone kept going off because of him when you were showering," he says with a little more confidence. But inside, he was nervous as hell, the same nervous as when he asked you out for the first time many moons ago. But it's too late to back out now, he brought it up first, anyways. Guess we're having this conversation now, good going Jake!

"Is that why you tried unlocking my phone earlier? I mean I thought you were just trying to leave selfies on my phone like you always do but you were trying to read my texts?" You question, slightly raising your soft voice. He doesn't know how to react, he hates confrontation.

"It wasn't like that, Jay just kept spamming you and like I—why was he even texting you in the first place? Then your phone got disabled because you changed your password, which you never do by the way, so I–"

"I changed it because my little sister kept getting into my phone when I went to visit my family yesterday! Did you really think I was hiding something from you? You know I can text whoever I want, right? You don't own me."

Okay so now he's managed to make you angry. Good going Jake, part 2!

"Okay but what does Jay need from you so bad that he has to send you like 50 messages at once?" He's standing now. So are you, eyebrows furrowed together as you collect your bowls from the table.

Standing there, bowls in hand, you say, "Jake, that's none of your business! It wasn't even that big of a deal, I don't know why you felt the need to nosy around."

"Well, if he's texting you non-stop, then obviously it's a big deal! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you would just tell me what you guys were talking about," he murmurs back, eyes narrowing. You scoff as you trail into your kitchen. He follows behind and stops at the other side at your kitchen island as you place the dirty dishes into the sink.

"No, we're having this conversation because you obviously don't trust me! It doesn't matter what we were talking about, it doesn't matter who I was texting! I could be texting your mother and I shouldn't have to tell you what we were talking about! That's why we're having this conversation," you say as you turn back to face him from the other end.

He hates this. He hates fighting with you (which is a very, very rare occasion). He hates that you think he doesn't trust you. He hates his insecurity eating at him, telling him to keep questioning you on why you and Jay were talking in the first place. He was aware that you were close with his friends, but it wasn't until the texts he realized just how close you are with them. It's not that he didn't trust you, he just didn't know how to act when it came to you and other guys. God knows how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you, so the thought of him losing you to someone else actually terrified him. Not only were you his first real relationship, but he wanted you to be his first and only one in life. You were it for him.

"Why did he text you." He deadpans from his side of the kitchen.

You scoff with a hint of exasperation. "You're kidding me."

You stare at him. He stares back, quirking an eyebrow, as if restating the same question back, as if testing you.

You're fuming now. Why was he making it so hard? Why was he doubting you? Out of frustration, you start laughing, which scares him. That can't be good.

"Fine. You wanna know so bad? Take a look," you're one tone level away from screaming as you take your phone out of your pocket, unlock it, and open up your conversation with "bluejay park", sliding the phone across the island to reach him.

Jake stares at the phone which now lies there, unlocked, facing him. Isn't this what he wanted? It is, right? That's why he started this dreaded argument with you in the first place.

Then why does he feel so fucking awful?

He looks back up at you, to see you sighing and looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to force your forming tears back into your eyes.

Yup, he feels horrible.

"Happy? Happy to know we were just trying to plan a surprise birthday party for you but you and your jealously just had to know huh, Jake?" You quickly state, voice cracking, as you tried not to choke up. You weren't sad that he found out about the surprise. You were sad that it felt like he didn't trust you. That he thought you were the type of person to do god knows what behind his back. You hated the feeling of not being trusted. Especially by Jake, of all people.

"Fuck."

Jake's face (and heart) falls with the most broken expression you've ever seen. But you're too sad, angry, tired (a mix of all?) to care. Your only goal right now is to not let him see you cry.

You hurry past him, across your apartment, and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, leaving behind a shocked, and regretful, Jake.

His heart shrinks when he hears the door slam shut and a little more when he looks down at the still unlocked phone in front of him. He didn't have the heart in him to look at it anymore. Of course he trusted you, he knew what you said was the truth.

He mentally screams at himself for assuming the worst––for thinking that you, a literal angel, would betray him. First, he thought he was losing you to someone else. Now, he was afraid he just lost you through his own actions.

He hesitantly sulks over to your door, softly knocking when he reaches it.

"Y/N?"

No response.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I let my—”

"Jake just please leave me alone for now," he hears you painfully say from a distance, meaning you're on your bed. He knows the door's unlocked—the lock on your door hasn't been working for a long time now, despite the many times he tells you to talk to your landlord about it. But he doesn't find it in him to open it. He knows he messed up. If he saw you in there right now, crying, he wouldn't know what to do. He wouldn't know what he would to do himself, knowing he was the reason behind your tears.

He nods in silence, knowing you can't see him, but does so anyways and returns to his spot on the couch. He could leave right now, go back to the dorm with the rest of the guys, let you have your space like you wanted. But his heart hurts at the idea of leaving you sad, angry, or a combination of both. He can't leave this unresolved. He fucked up, he has to fix it.

And so he sits on your couch for another hour. The clock on the wall behind him continues to tick as the silent tension in your apartment continues to grow. When it hits 11pm and he's sure you've slumbered off into sleep, he quietly enters your room.

He can see your figure in the dark, your back facing the door as you're curled up into yourself under the comforter. He feels his heart drop a little more when he imagines you crying in that position from earlier. He slowly peels the comforter open and gets into his side of the bed, careful not to bother your sleeping figure.

Laying there, staring up at the ceiling, he's never felt more like a stranger in your bed. It's not that he hasn't slept over before, god knows he's probably slept over at your place more than he has in his own bed. But right now, in this moment, he just felt awful. Like he didn't deserve to be in such close proximity to you. How could he be deserving? He violated your privacy, made you feel like you weren't trusted, doubted your relationship.

These thoughts run through Jake's head as he stares up at your ceiling fan, wishing he could turn back time to a few hours ago, before he checked your phone, before he let his insecurities get to the best of him.

You can feel the dip he makes in the bed behind you when he gets in. Of course you're not asleep. There's no way sleep could reach you when you had the recent events constantly replaying in your head like a broken record.

You knew Jake with all your heart. You didn't have to look at him to know he was probably laying there, hurt, staring up at the ceiling, drafting what to say once you wake up—or once he knows you're actually still awake.

You decide to break the tension by turning to lay on your other side, facing him.

You were wrong. Thanks to the little sliver of moonlight shining through your sheer curtains, you can see him, now laying on his side, already looking at you with so much regret in his eyes. You can almost hear the cracks in your heart physically forming.

His eyes widen when he realizes you're still awake. He opens his mouth to say something, but not before you quickly shift over to his side of the bed and embrace him in a tight hold, burying your face into his chest. Without any hesitation, he returns the gesture, arms holding your body as close to him as possible. As if once he let go, he'd lose you forever.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he breathes you in. He didn't even know he was holding his breath all this time.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry Y/N," he mutters into your hair. He feels his hoodie getting wet from where you buried your face. He pulls you closer, if that's even possible, feeling his own eyes heating up with sadness. He would never forgive himself for making you feel this way.

"You know I trust you right? Please know that. I shouldn't have assumed the worst when I saw your phone. I...I let my insecurities get to the best of me."

You move your head from its home on his chest to look up at him, as if asking him to elaborate. This was new to you, you didn't know he held insecurities in your relationship. But it wasn't because of you, no, you were his entire world. Losing you meant losing everything.

Jake's never been the best at saying his feelings. That's why it took him so long (with the help of his six best friends) to finally confess how he felt about you. He was afraid of letting people in if they could easily walk out. Maybe that's why he never let anyone into his life before you. But oh, were you an exception. The second he met you, he knew he was fucked. But thank god he did, because thanks to you, he's been able to be more open, more vulnerable. He's able to talk to you about anything and everything. He doesn't have that same fear of losing people anymore, not when he has you in his life to reassure him every step of the way. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't know how to tell you that his new fear was, in fact, just losing you.

The sheer idea of you not being a part of his life anymore terrified him.

"I hope you know you're never going to lose me Jake, if that's what you're insecure about," you softly mutter as you wrap your free arm that's not stuck in between both your bodies around him to gently play with the ends of his hair. It's as if you could read his mind, he loves that you know him so well.

"It just sucks that you could even think I would ever do something as awful as what you were assuming...with one of your closest friends nonetheless," you continue.

"I know. I know, and I feel terrible. I'm so sorry. I know you would never do anything remotely close to that, and I know you would never intentionally try to keep anything from me," he sighs. He shifts so he can lie down on his back, bringing you with him to lie on his chest, never letting you go once. "It's just...I just don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you Y/N. Everyday, I ask myself what heroic thing I must've done in my past life to deserve this life with you and I can't help but think you could just as easily be stripped away from me."

As much as your heart breaks listening to him rant, you feel your love for him grow even more. You knew how hard it was for him to put his true emotions into words, and him telling you this reminded you how much trust he had in you.

After some moments of silence, moments of him drawing random shapes onto your back, moments of you two just holding each other like it was the end of the world, you speak up.

"I love you. I'm sorry for making you doubt yourself—"

"No, it's not your fault, I can't help but think things like that. I just don't know what I did to deserve you, and I know that I need to be mo–"

"Babe let me finish," you say with a little giggle in your tone. He immediately stops and mutters a little "sorry". How cute, you tell yourself.

"I was gonna say," you look back up at him so you're making direct eye contact now. "You're the only one that's ever on my mind, Jake. I can't help the way you think, but I can assure you that there is no one else I would rather be with. And I mean that for the rest of life."

You snuggle back into the comfortable hoodie he's currently wearing (you make a mental note to yourself to steal it from him later) and decide to ease the tension,

"So you're stuck with me for life, sorry to inform you Mr. Sim."

Jake lets out a laugh, looking down at you to see you returning his smile with a cheeky one.

"I love you. So much," he says so sincerely, so genuinely, that you almost tear up again from how content you were. Now you were asking yourself, what did you do to deserve him?

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

No, he just loves you.

A lot.

3K notes · View notes

babydarkstar · 3 years

Text

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

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