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rosyblooom · 21 days

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blooming season 🌷 (2) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans.

part 1 | part 2 <- | part 3

You're not sure how much time has passed since you entered the car, but it doesn't matter. It feels like an eternity. Everything feels overwhelming today—you're the mouse in a world full of elephants, and you don't know how to cope. You want to scream, but your voice feels strained; you want to cry, but there are no tears left. All you can do is sit idly in what feels like a tiny lifeboat in an ocean rippled by giant waves crashing straight at you.

"Feeling any better now?" Lando's voice interrupts the silence, pulling you out of your daze.

You snap your head sideways to face the brunette boy, your brows furrowing as you simply stare at him.

"Hey," he sneaks a quick glance at you before focusing back on the road. "You've been quiet the whole ride. Are you feeling any better now?"

Narrowing your eyes, you fix him with a wary glare before rolling your eyes and bringing your feet to the edge of your seat, hugging your knees tightly. "What's it to you?" you finally respond, gazing through the window.

"Look, I'm trying to make things less… tense here. You could, you know, meet me halfway or something."

"How about you stop trying," you snap, glaring at the side of his face. "Just be quiet. Let's get your hand wrapped up, and then you can just leave."

Lando swallows, his eyes darting between you and the street ahead. "I don't think—"

You cut him off sharply, "Obviously, you just missed the freaking turn."

"What? No, I didn't, look," he points at the GPS that's currently rerouting. "Oh."

"Yeah…"

"No need to worry, it's already figuring out a new way. See?"

"Another inconvenience?" you ask, annoyance laced in each word. "Yeah, actually I do."

Lando purses his lips and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "I'm guessing I'm the first inconvenience?"

"Wow, you can connect dots," you deadpan, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the vibrating window.

*********

The elevator door dings open, and you release a relieved breath upon finding its carriage empty. Lando enters first, settling into one side, while you press your back into the opposite wall.

"Let me guess," Lando begins, trailing his fingers up and down the row of twenty buttons, "your floor is the—"

"Sixth," you interject, your patience wearing thin as you take a step towards him and push the number six, causing it to light up.

Lando sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, nodding. "That was going to be my guess, you know?" He glances down at you, his gaze meeting yours briefly before drifting elsewhere.

Feeling hyperaware of his closeness, particularly the warmth emanating from him, you shift back into the opposite corner of the elevator, but he follows.

Your brow furrows as you grunt, "Personal space, remember?"

"Hold on a second." You feel the gentle touch of his hand atop your head, and moments later, he plucks something green from your hair, fixing you with a pointed look as he extends his palm to you. "A four-leaf clover," he exclaims, excitement glinting in his eyes. "Make a wish on it."

You swat his hand away from your face. "No thanks."

"What, there's nothing you want to have? Nothing you want to wish for?"

Sure, you have a wish—only one. You want your dad back, you want your old life back. The one that felt like summer every year, when there were no cold days.

Feeling the tightness in your throat as your vision blurs, you quickly blink away the incoming tears—you don't remember the last time you cried—and remark sharply, "No, I don't—nothing that's possible anyway. Keep it... or don't, I really don't care."

Just in time, the elevator door dings open, and you rush out of the tight space, desperate for more room.

*********

Fumbling with your key, it takes a few attempts before you finally manage to slot it into the keyhole, agitation coursing through your veins. With a satisfying click, you push the door open, only to find the apartment strangely empty.

Lando squeezes in behind you, causing you to stumble slightly before regaining your footing, shooting him a glare.

He strides down the hallway, with you trailing close behind, and into the brightly lit living room. The space is perfectly tidy, almost unnaturally so—there's not a single thing out of place.

"You sure you live here?" Lando glances back at you, eyebrows raised.

"No, I don't," you reply flatly, "this is actually where I bring idiot boys with no sense of self-preservation to kill."

Lando chuckles, his grin widening slowly. "So, you do have jokes then?"

You shrug and head down another hallway, making a beeline for your bedroom. As you push the door open, memories come flooding back—pictures of your dad adorn the walls, nestled in frames atop the dressers. It's like stepping into a time capsule; everything remains as it was four years ago, yet now it feels tainted.

Without wasting a moment's breath, you flip each picture frame on its head. The images taunt you with their stillness, incapable of conjuring the scent of Dad's favourite cologne or the resonance of his soothing voice. Pictures can't replicate the warmth of his hugs.

Once done, you kneel by your bedside table and retrieve a pair of scissors and bandages from the drawer.

"Now this looks more like it," a voice remarks behind you, causing you to startle and slam the drawer shut, rising to your feet. "This actually looks like someone lives here.”

Balling your empty hand into a fist, nails digging into your palm, you grit out, "I didn't tell you to follow me in here."

Lando raises his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, I was just worried. You were gone for a while, but uhm," he swallows, eyes flicking to the scissors you're clutching.

"Seriously?" you brandish the scissors, "I'm not going to stab you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Sure..."

With a sigh, you take a step forward, but he instinctively retreats, prompting you to shake your head and let out a chuckle—it's been awhile since you've done that.

"It's for the bandage," you remark, crossing your arms. "Also, you do realise you're the intruder here. If anyone should be scared, it's me. But I'm not a scaredy-cat, am I?"

"Neither am I," he insists, dropping his arms.

"Good. Let's head back to the kitchen, then."

*********

Lando leaps onto the counter, eliciting a groan from you as you cut the gauze into a shape that fits the wound on his palm.

Swiftly retrieving a clean tea towel from the cupboard, you situate yourself in front of him, arm extended. "Hand?"

He complies immediately, dropping his hand into your palm, and you begin to dab the skin around the cut dry. Once sure nothing is wet anymore, you reach for the gauze and carefully place it over the wound.

Lando hisses, causing you to tilt your head up, only for a sharp pain to suddenly spread atop your head. You both release loud groans, your hands instinctively moving to massage the throbbing spot on your head, while you watch Lando rubbing his chin.

"What the hell is your problem?" you finally manage after a while.

His eyes widen. "What the hell is my problem? You're the one who suddenly moved," he gestures to you, "you could've given me a heads up or something."

"How was I supposed to know you'd be hovering over me like some weirdo?" you retort.

Lando offers no response; instead, his lips gradually curve into a full-blown grin as he begins to chuckle.

You don’t react, simply staring at him blankly.

“C’mon, don’t lie now,” he says, tilting his head with a smile, “That was kinda funny, you have to admit.”

Despite theatrically rolling your eyes, a small smile betrays your true feelings. Still, you simply shrug and say, "Whatever."

"Alright, cool," Lando nods with a grin. "I'll take that. I'll take a 'whatever' anytime over all the other stuff you've been saying."

Taking the bandage from the counter, you close the gap between you, freeing his hand and delicately wrapping the bandage around the injury.

"You make me sound like a bitch," you mutter, flipping his hand over to inspect the wound. "I'm not—or at least I don't mean to be."

Lando props his free hand onto the counter behind him and leans back, raising his eyebrows. "To be honest, I thought that was the whole vibe you were going for."

You pause, setting the bandage roll on the counter and narrowing your gaze at him. Before you can respond, he quickly adds, "Hey, no judgment from me! I can handle difficult."

"Very funny," you say, shaking your head with a smile as you toss the tea towel into his face.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lando chuckles, retrieving the towel from his face and sliding it out of reach. When his gaze returns to you, his smile fades, and he simply stares, causing your expression to falter and your eyebrows to furrow.

"What do you think you’re looking at?" you snap, feeling as if you're suddenly trapped in a glass cage.

Leaning forward, a slow smile dances along Lando's lips. "You’re very pretty when you smile," he nods, "you should do that more often, it suits you."

Your expression falters, and you feel your heart sink with guilt. Today marks the fourth anniversary of your dad's passing—the first time you’ve felt strong enough to acknowledge it, to face the hurricane head-on—and here you are, spending it laughing, as if it's not a day plagued with immeasurable sadness and pain.

Isn’t that selfish?

It sure as hell feels like it.

Just like that, the walls rise once more as you fix Lando with a blank expression, swiftly grabbing the bandage roll off the counter. "Let’s just get this done, okay?" Your voice is strained—it scratches at your throat.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, confusion swimming in his bright eyes.

You swallow hard and grasp his hand, continuing to wrap up the wound wordlessly.

"I’m sorry," Lando tries again, "If I said something wrong, I’m sorry."

Sighing, you shake your head, and though you feel his gaze piercing your skull, you refuse to tilt your head up to meet his eyes head-on. "Nothing to apologise for," you state quietly, focusing on the task at hand.

This is exactly why you keep to yourself—your pain is yours alone to bear; it's unfair to burden others with it. You're not the same carefree, easily agreeable Y/N you once were back then. That part of you left the world today, four years ago, with your dad.

"Done," you declare, cutting the excess bandage and patting it down. Then, you create some much-needed distance between yourselves, heading towards the sofa and collapsing onto it.

"You know the way out," you yell, squeezing your eyes shut as you focus on your breathing.

The calm doesn’t linger for long, though, when you fail to hear footsteps or the door clicking open. You shoot upright, only to find Lando at the tap, an empty glass in his hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you ask, propping your elbows on the couch’s backrest.

"Getting some water," he gestures toward the faucet and flicks it on. "I’m thirsty."

"You can do that at your own place."

"What, go home for water and then come back?" he shoots you a perplexed look before taking a swig from his glass. "Seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?"

Rising to your feet slowly, you make your way to the opposite end of the counter and lean against it, resting your hands on the cool surface. "And why would you even come back here?"

"For you to check up on me," he explains, waving his bandaged hand in the air, "make sure I don’t develop an infection. I’ve had one before, it was awful."

As if momentarily blinded by sunlight, you blink more than necessary as you process his words. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The cut, it could get infected after being exposed for so long. So, I think we should wait out the day," he shrugs, "just to make sure it doesn’t get worse."

"And why can't you just go to the hospital?" you press, confusion evident in your voice.

His lips curl into a sly smile as he scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know, you seem to know what you're doing. I trust you."

His admission knots your stomach—you can't recall the last time someone willingly stuck by you after all your attempts at self-sabotage.

You're a pusher. You push and push until people fall off the edge of the cliff, leaving you in the comfort of yourself. So, this catches you off-guard. But strangely enough, the proposal doesn’t make you squirm with disgust, but rather... want? You're not quite sure; it's an old feeling, one you struggle to understand.

"Fine, okay," you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief at your own acquiescence. "I think you're being dramatic, but fine."

Lando nods, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "Great."

The weight of today bears down on you, a stark reminder of your initial plans—ones you can't simply reschedule. No, these you can’t ignore; they're a boulder in your road. Today is the day you will visit your dad; today is the day you will see his tombstone for the very first time.

"I've got somewhere to be tonight," you say, twisting your fingers into painful yet somehow soothing shapes. "So you'll have to leave then. And I’ve got to run some errands throughout the day, so you can, I guess, join me... or you can just stay here—stay out of my fucking bedroom—and yeah, watch TV or whatever it is you do."

"Got any food?" Lando inquires, swinging open your refrigerator doors to reveal painfully empty shelves, save for a lone box of leftover takeout from last night.

"That's a negative," he answers his own question, closing the doors with a sigh before turning to face you. "Can we grab some food while we're out running errands?"

Your stomach grumbles in agreement before you can respond, so you simply nod, snatching up your keys. "We should go now, then."

Lando falls into step beside you in the hallway, and you shoot him a sideways glance, adding, "We'll handle my errand first, then we can grab food."

He holds the door open for you, gesturing for you to pass through. "No complaints from me."

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

TAGS: @leclercdream @evitarubio @landossainz @lottef1 @averymjn

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imhenritz · 7 months

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Giving him the love he deserves (Sanji x Reader)

I have had this idea in my head for quite some time. I enjoyed writing it, but I don't know how to continue and if I would.

Reader is Mc or Main Character, but I made it sound like it's a name! I'm too lazy to think of a real name. Forgive me! Y/N didn't feel right somehow *sweats* Could this still be considered x reader? Oh god.

The prompt in my head goes like this: "The reader gets sucked into One Piece after wishing that someone would love Sanji like he is supposed to be loved, as nobody has given him a chance. She would love to give him that chance if only she could. One time, she was in her room, falling asleep while recording her voice for a cover request sent to her. When she woke up, she found herself in a boat floating, wearing pieces of jewelry fit for nobility. Her neck, ears, and bracelets were all glittering in the darkness." Story under the cut! Part 2 here!

She hated the dark. There were no lights to be seen, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, recognizing she had been in a lifeboat. A medieval one; she knew this because of museums she had visited, always drawn to pirate ships, wondering how it would be then.

Everything was quiet, like she was completely alone and trapped. Shouting would be pointless at this point. Absent-mindedly, she started singing "Jolly Sailor Bold." It had been a few days; she was starving and weak. She caught herself and huffed, “If I die, I might as well go in style,” she continued.

She kept repeating it until she got tired and chose to lie down and look up at the stars. They were never this clear in her city.

When she woke up, it was with a man with a braided blonde mustache talking to a few more men. “Ah, the lass. Must be shipwrecked.”

“-Must be loaded…”

“Jewelries…”

She could barely catch their whispers. Groggy and weak, she looked up at the man. It must have been dawn. “Please help me.” Holding her throat, she felt the jewels that were like stones. “Take everything-” She wet her lips, trying to swallow the moisture in her mouth, which she didn’t think was there. “Jewel… Please.”

She lost the ability to talk but could feel a soft arm taking her in. The smell of aftershave and nicotine lulled her to sleep.

“I got you, Madame.”

She woke up to Sanji greeting her with food and saw her eat it without any grace, making him let out a chuckle, and she glared weakly, more embarrassed than mad. “I’m sorry; I lost count of how long I was in the sea.”

“Try 85 days.”

“What—85?” her eyes widened as he grinned. He gestured to the seat next to her bed, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. I think I was only there for a week—”

He shook his head. “It’s not about the days. It’s experiencing hunger. You gave up every bit of your jewelry, you know.”

She reached for her neck and huffed. “Those jewels meant nothing if you can’t eat or drink.”

“Damn right.”

Her eyes went to the door, where she recognized the man who saved her. She thought she was in a dream before, but it’s uncanny how both are real-life versions of Zeff, and now looking at the young blond man at her side—Sanji?

“You’re an aristocrat. I’m sure a few pieces won’t go missing,” the older man grumbled. He kicked the young blond’s head. “Give up the seat, little eggplant.”

Sanji lookalike grumbled but did mutter, “Old shit bag.”

She gasped, blinking, piecing things together. “Little eggplant…” she muttered in disbelief.

“I assure you it has nothing to do with—”

Zeff lookalike chuckled. “I assure you he is every single bit of a little eggplant,” he smirked and brushed his mustache down, making them bounce up, resisting the brush. “They call me Zeff. What’s your name, lass?”

“Mc, sir,” she bowed deeply. “I owe you my life, Sir Zeff. Please let me repay you somehow.”

“Another one on the bag,” he mumbled.

The blond man saw the chance and began, “My name is Sanji. You can call me whatever you—”

“—Your family must be looking for you. Where are you from?” Zeff watched as she gulped and looked away from him, mouth opening and closing with no words. “I can’t let you stay here and be seen as a kidnapper—”

“—Old man, what if she runs away? We have extra rooms—”

“No, no stuff on the boat. It’s shipwrecked. Can’t let the place close because of a stowaway—”

“NO!” she stopped him with a loud voice, causing both to stop. “I’m sorry. This might sound crazy, but I’m not from around here. I don’t think I am,” she gulped.

“Could you have amnesia?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Please don’t kill me, but I think I know who you are and where I am. Please let me finish.”

She gave them a recap of what she knew, and both men were quiet. She pulled on her IV, hissing at the pain. “I’m sorry. I will go now; I’m sure you won’t want anyone like me here, after knowing all of those. I think the jewels are real. Although I’m not sure if they are since I just woke up wearing them—”

“You are staying, lass.”

“I know. I’m sorry—let me.” She stood, but her legs didn’t work as they were supposed to, and she fell on her knees. Sanji was there to help her.

“I know I gave you 85 days as a hint. But damn, giving out the whole story. So you know me and everything?”

She nodded, and Zeff began to laugh. “Just when I thought I had seen all the world has to offer.”

“You’re just going to accept this, you old man?”

Zeff smirked, “Anyone could have lied better than that.” He looked at Mc and smiled. “I won’t have a freeloader here. You know what this place is, then.”

She nodded, “I can wash the dishes, clean the toilet—wait tables.”

“God no. I don’t need a woman in my kitchen or in the toilet. You’ll wait tables. You start tomorrow.”

Sanji stood, still supporting her. “She can’t even walk!” he protested.

Zeff was about to reply when she patted Sanji’s hand. “I’ll start tomorrow, sir Zeff. Thank you so much.”

"Just Zeff will do, lass"Zeff grumbled and began walking to the door, hearing Sanji sweet-talking her as she left. “Patty will help you with your clothes.”

Sanji paused and shouted, “Old man, Patty won’t know what fashion is if it knocks on his head!”

Zeff glared. “More than you.”

**===**

“I have to say, having the girl waiting on tables isn’t bad,” Patty said, seeing how everyone can actually work in the kitchen better now. She works fast, and all the cooks have to do is the labor of bringing out the heavy meals.

“She has a great smile, pleasing personality—”

“Charming!”

“A sight for sore eyes, you lot aren’t,” Patty chortled, laughing as he proceeded to cart in the finished meals. He smirked, seeing one certain sous chef who was grumbling under his breath as he was stirring a pot. He walked closer, pushing the cart to a designated dishwasher for the week. “Got to get a move on that soup.”

Sanji glared and hissed, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Never thought I’d see the day you would hate being in the kitchen,” Patty leaned forward from the preparation counter.

“Who hates being in the kitchen?” Zeff entered, making Patty straighten up and busy himself, but not before smirking with Carne. “The shit cook wants to wait tables, boss.”

Zeff rolled his eyes, “He is staying in the kitchen. Can’t afford to have him kick another customer out on a whim.”

Sanji took off the ladle he had been stirring and turned, “He was flirting with Mc!”

“And?” Zeff huffed, “You do the same with every woman who darkens the door, little eggplant.”

“Yeah!” Carne added, “She must have learned that from you! That woman charms women and men! Makes you look like an amateur!”

They laughed. “Someone’s getting a taste of their own medicine.”

“Ooooh, getting a taste of their medicine?” Mc walked in, heels clicking on the tiled floor, smiling. “Who is it this time?” She looked expectantly at everyone, who dispersed. “Hey!”

Sanji was about to float over to her when Zeff interrupted. “Lass, your notepad seems to be getting thinner.”

Mc looked down at her little notepad, with a grimace she apologized. “Sorry, Zeff, I just take so many notes. I would need a new one tomorrow.”

Zeff chuckled, “Those notes make customers feel like you’ve known them forever. Take this and buy yourself a whole stack of notes—”

“—Thank you!”

“I can, of course, escort you tomorrow!” Sanji offered, now getting to Mc, who was glowing from the berries that Zeff had handed over.

“Oh no, no need, Sanji. It’s just notes. I can handle it.”

“Get the lass the notebook from my room, Sanji. This one won’t last the night.”

Mc smiled at Sanji, and he went tapping Carne, gesturing to the pot.

As soon as Sanji left, he pulled out a list. “Take him to carry stuff.”

“Oh, okay,” Mc nodded, going over the list that had meat and rice on it. “That makes sense. It’ll be best to get everything at once.” She gasped. “I almost forgot we got this order from table 8, 5, and 2!” ripping off three papers and pinning them overhead of the pot Sanji was cooking.

She breezed out of the kitchen when the bell rang. “Thank you again, Zeff!”

She exited the door when Zeff hollered, “Buy yourself something else too!”

If she was drawn at that moment, she would surely have flowers in the background.

Carne looked at Zeff, who just returned it with a raised brow. “We got enough ingredients for next week.”

Zeff brushed his braided mustache. “The little eggplant deserves the break for how obedient he has been lately,” he chuckled. “Even volunteered to wait tables!”

**===**

“I’m pretty sure by the way you keep feeding me this expensive food, I’ll be in debt forever, Ji,” Mc sighed in content as she savored the dessert she just served earlier, which cost berries she'd earn in a day.

“Then you’ll stay forever with me,” Sanji winked, wiping the utensils they washed together dry.

Mc grinned, “You won’t hear me complaining,” taking another bite, she remembered something, causing her to pause.

Sanji paused and bit his cheek, watching the spoon in her mouth and her fishing out a paper and sliding it to him. “I hope this is a love letter.”

Mc pulled the spoon clean and held it up. “Unfortunately not, I thought about giving you one with the orders, but I don’t know if Carne or Patty will process the order instead, so I held back.”

Sanji blinked. Mc had always flirted back with him and accepted his flirtations, but he always thought it was a game they were playing. She was just charming, and she knew his past; why would someone like that return his love?

“I have a favor to ask, Sanji.”

He raised a brow, taking the paper but not opening it. “It’s a yes, whatever it is, darling.”

Mc opened her mouth to respond as if it was their usual game when she paused and stopped his hand from picking up the slid paper he just covered with his hand.

“Take me out on a date.”

His mind stopped. He watched her eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Darling…” he trailed.

She can’t be playing with him. She must know how he couldn’t resist females, especially not her. Someone he treasures.

They went on a date. He planned it all out. She made him feel like he is the only man she could see. It was addicting to have all her attention just on him.

**===**

No one asked how old she was; no one was crude enough to ask, not with him, Carne, Patty around. She had always acted maturely. He was sure she was young, younger than him in appearance at least. Her mental age was around mid or late 20’s. Her actions were so, as he observed from their patrons.

It had been years since she drifted on their restaurant. Ever since his 19th birthday, Sanji had noticed her checking the orders or peeking at the customers as if waiting for someone or loud noises. She knew what was going to happen but refused to tell, afraid it won’t happen.

Then the chore boy appeared. Mc was so gentle and nice to him, always saving him and sneaking him food and patting his head. It wasn’t like she wasn’t giving him attention, but she was giving more energy to him. He didn’t like it one bit.

It was night; she was out for her regular singing at night, a small boat a few meters away from the restaurant. She never told anyone; they believed she assumed nobody could hear her, but they did. Everyone kept their windows open to hear her sing.

In her long nightgown covering everything but her hands and face. The glow of the night lamp she brought with her gave her a soft, ethereal glow.

“I always wanted a musician! Be my friend!”

Sanji’s heart leaped. If she left with the chore boy, he would never see her again. She smiled and patted the boy’s head, pushing his straw hat out of the way. “I can only play the guitar and not that well though.”

“Who cares? We can find one that plays music! We’re friends now!”

Her peal of laughter filled the darkness. “I’ll be just a singer then?” she smiled and sighed, “I would only in one condition.”

“Condition?”

She urged him closer and whispered, and before the boy could shout it, she held a finger on his lips. “You can’t tell anyone.” Part 2 here! Thank you for reading! I've never written for Sanji or One Piece before, but this idea won't let me sleep. It's a shame to leave it in my drafts to collect dust. Here's my tribute!

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starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies · 2 years

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If We Go Down | J.M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: When JJ gets knocked off the boat and almost drowns, you do everything you can to keep his head above the water. Later, John B tells him how you saved his life.

A/N: I saw a post about jj not knowing kie almost drowned for him and I had to write something based on it. As usual I couldn’t figure out how I wanted to end it so it just cuts off. It’s also not entirely proofread lol

As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.

Warnings: violence, almost drowning

Word Count: 1.5k

This was absolutely going down as one of the weirdest weeks of your life, and with everything you and the pogues had gotten up to in the past year, that was saying something. But sneaking onto a ship to save Sarah from her fucked up family and, hopefully, getting back the magical golden cross that once belonged to Pope’s ancestors, that definitely had to take the cake.

You and JJ have been paired up on this expedition, seeing as you always make the best team, and have been tasked to lock the passengers and crew hull. Piece of cake right?

JJ leans against the wall next to the hull door, pressing himself as close as he can so as to not be seen. You follow suit on the opposite side, peaking around the corner to count everyone who entered.

“How many?” JJ whispers to you. You hold up three fingers. He peaks through the doorway and holds up six more. After a minute, you hear the Cameron’s coming. Around the corner you see Rafe, Wheezie, and Rose enter the hull.

You turn back to JJ. “That’s everyone,” you whisper and nod your head towards the door.

“Except Ward. We need Ward.”

“We don’t have time to wait, J.”

He pauses for a moment and then with a sigh, he motions toward the door. The two of you bolt towards it, pressing your full body weight against it in an attempt to slam it shut. You aren’t fast enough, the crew pushing back against the heavy door.

“Close it, close it!” JJ yells.

“I’m trying!” You push with all the strength you have, JJ pressing his body up against yours. “Lock it!”

He slams the lock in place and you both take a deep breath. From inside the hull you hear a crew member yell, “Try the other door!”

You and JJ lock eyes. “There’s another door.” In a split second you’re both sprinting to the other side of the hull, slamming and locking the door before they can escape.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out.

After dealing with the hull, you and JJ help Pope hook up the cross to the crane so that he can move it to the lifeboat. Then it's time to head up to the deck. The two of you move about the ship considerably less carefully now that the crew and passengers have all been taken care of. Or so you thought. As you round the corner to the stairs, you come face to face with the angry captain.

“I don’t see him,” JJ muses, looking over the side for John B.

“JJ.”

He stops in his tracks. “Of course,” he quips, “There’s more of you.”

“Get down on your knees,” the captain orders.

“Yeah, that's not gonna happen.” JJ charges at the captain, who swings his machete, narrowly missing JJ’s head. You grab his arm as JJ pins him against the wall. He lands a punch to the captain's temple and you pull a door hitting him square in the face, knocking him to the ground.

As JJ squares up, you look over the side of the boat to yell for your friends. You don’t get a chance before JJ gets knocked to the ground, hitting his head against the boat, leaving him in a daze.

The captain turns on you, swinging his machete as you try to scramble away.

“Y/N!” JJ scrambles up, slightly dizzy. “Y/N!”

He lunges for the captain, trying to keep him away from you, but catches an elbow to the throat, throwing him even more off balance. He stumbles again.

The captain turns toward you, swinging his machete but you duck, causing him to miss. His hand keeps moving with the force of his swing, bashing the blunt end of his weapon directly into JJ’s temple. The hit renders JJ unconscious, knocking him backwards where his legs hit the edge of the boat, and he tumbles overboard.

“JJ!” You scream, moving toward the edge of the boat. You kick the captain as he whirls on you again, knocking him to the ground. It gives you just enough time to climb up on the ledge and leap without hesitation.

You gasp as you resurface, the cold water knocking the wind out of you. You wish you had a minute to adjust, but you know you have no time to waste as you turn and see JJ floating face down in the water. Paddling over as quickly as you can, you flip him over and lift his head to your shoulder.

“JJ, JJ wake up!” You tap his face lightly, straining with the effort to keep both your heads above the water. You know you won’t be able to hold on long. “Help! John B, Pope, anyone!”

“Y/N!” You hear faint voices coming around the ship. “Y/N! JJ!”

“You hear that? John B’s coming. Hold on J, just hold on.” Your voice cracks as you plead with him.

“John B!” You yell again as loud as you can, but your strength is fading.

You can feel yourself slipping further into the cold water, fighting with every bit of strength you have left. There’s nothing left you can do, you keep treading water, but the water starts lapping over your face. You know you can’t support the weight of two bodies any longer, but you refuse to let JJ go. As you suck in one last deep breath, the water engulfs you.

If you go down together, so be it. You won’t leave him to die.

Just as your vision starts fading to black, you feel a pair of hands grabbing your shoulders. JJ’s weight starts lifting off you as you feel yourself rising through the water. You grab onto JJ’s waist tighter as you break through the surface, not wanting to lose him.

“Y/N,” Kiara calls out to you, “It’s okay. Let him go, we’ve got him.”

You look up to see John B and Kie hauling JJ into the lifeboat and reluctantly relinquish your hold. Pope pulls you the rest of the way into the boat and you all collapse in a jumble between the benches.

Before you even have time to catch your breath, you’re up again, moving to where JJ is leaning against the side of the boat, eyes still closed, chest not rising.

You shake his shoulder gently. “JJ, wake up. C’mon J, please open your eyes!” You plead, eyes burning, filled with tears. Behind you, your friends exchange worried glances.

“Please,” you whisper one last time, “I need you.”

He jerks suddenly, sputtering as he coughs up the water in his lungs. Everyone lets out cheers and sighs of relief.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, dude,” John B laughs.

“Oh thank god,” you murmur, feeling like you can’t breathe. Tears stream down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away.

JJ turns to you, eyes stopping on your hand resting on his shoulder. He smirks at you. “Sup?” You let out a watery laugh. Same old JJ, always cracking jokes.

You shake him gently. “You scared the shit out of me, you asshole.” Pulling him close, you cradle his head in your arms, careful to avoid the spot where he was hit.

Later that night, you sit around the fire Pope built on the little uninhabited island you were all currently calling home. “Poguelandia” as JJ had dubbed it. He seemed to be feeling alright, but you kept him in your sights at all times. The hit he took to the head was pretty major and you couldn’t help but worry about him.

Everyone chats in pairs. Sarah and Kie debrief on what happened to one another while on the boat, Pope and Cleo discuss the best course of action for shelter, and JJ and John B sit next to you, roasting fish over the fire. You just sit quietly, watching JJ out of the corner of your eye, not really listening to their conversation until you hear your name.

“Seriously dude, you should’ve seen her. Y/N was ready to go down with you,” John B explains, “By the time we got there you were both going under, but she wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t even let go of you as we tried to get you in the boat.”

JJ turns toward you. “You really did that for me? You could’ve drowned.”

You just shrug in response. “I wasn’t going to abandon you. If you go down, I go down too.” He just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s not a big deal, J. I’m just glad you're okay.”

JJ scoffs. “Not a big deal? Y/N, you saved my life.”

Your eyes well up with tears again at the reminder of how close you came to losing him and you turn away, not wanting him to see. “Well, I mean you would’ve done the same for me, if the roles were reversed, right?”

JJ takes your chin in his hand, turning you to face him. He wipes away a tear as it falls, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I would risk my life for you in a heartbeat.”

Writing masterlist

#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #jj maybank fic #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #obx x reader #obx fic #stars writes #starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies

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vampalpatine-archive · 1 year

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people always act like this when it comes to shiv and physical abuse tho like, you talk about the sexual assault her dad put her through in lifeboats and everyone's like "that doesn't count cause the first 3 episodes are such a different show they were still changing the ways in which they write these characters", you talk about tom hitting her, and sure it was just an ear flick, but her entire body language and expression changed and "it's just a failmarriage hilarious moment" you talk about him tracking her period, grabbing her, pressuring her to have sex and get pregnant and "he's princess diana"

#succession #own post

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lonelyvomit · 2 years

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#russian bc twitter delivering Counting Lifeboats promos I haven't seen #blind channel #niko vilhelm #niko moilanen #vilhelm

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minsimagines · 7 months

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aftermath

pairing; pro hero!katsuki bakugou x f!reader

word count; 1,1k

warnings; mentions of sex, mentions of body parts, mentions of alcohol, enemies to lovers?, my bakugou is a bit of a douchebag but not so bad in this,

+ my take on the characters and settings of mha is a little ooc on purpose, it’s almost a little au, but not completely.

“this is awkward.”

you glance up, wide eyed as if you’d forgotten he was sitting opposite of you, suddenly afraid he could read your mind, or see the memories of the prior evening replay in your eyes.

the bar sat right off campus, tucked below a dungy alley between otherwise pristine buildings, hidden from the unbidden like a thought unuttered.

this underground hideout was a world in its own right, governed by the high and mighty pro heroes who were never as righteous as they appeared on television. the very ones you’d found so undesirable — and you’d been vocal about this fact straight to his face only to have that attitude thrown back at you tenfold.

now here you sit, in the dark of their den of sins, where you know newer, stranger and lewder scenes are unfolding behind every door. the drink is good, you’d give them that, but does it really matter when your mouth is dry just thinking of the obscenity you’d indulged in the very night before? and is this atmosphere really awkward as he says, when he was inside you only hours before this meeting? aren’t you beyond awkward now? you’d have reminded him of this fact, if only you weren’t so sensitive to the topic of no longer being pure.

not pure of your virginity — that was lost a few years ago. this new impurity was something you had never foreseen.

and, well, you were being awkward.

how had you sunk so low, you wonder? where had your anger and your self respect gone? he was the enemy. metaphorically. you did not like him, he was pretentious and mean, and he had ripped the world from under you — sat you on a sinking ship with only his arms as a lifeboat.

he’s watching you with intensity that tells you he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. he notices your nerves, of course he does. those eyes miss nothing. the small hint of a smirk lingers on the edge of his lips.

“i don’t think it’s weird,” you clear your throat, swallowing. “it’s just… different.”

it’s true. within you, where you’d once harbored a livid dislike for him, now sat only the disdain for the fact that your anger toward him had changed. you were angry, he had made you see him differently and that was infuriating, but it was not truly him you were angry with — the choice had been yours.

“different,” he echoes, eyes narrowing slightly as though he finds that amusing.

had it been just his wicked idea of sex; had it just been his way of exuding his kinks onto your clean mind then this would have been different. this situation would have even been okay, because you would have known for a fact you were just an outlet, and that felt somehow easier to accept than what had truly happened.

it had gone from longing looks and sultry whispers that had your knees weak to something obscene and overwhelming, and then it had simmered back down to the soft and stomach fluttering. of all the things you could have imagined him wanting to do to you, you’d never even dared think he would be intimate.

that was the thing that made you so uncomfortable.

you couldn’t get it out of your head, it replayed over and over. his breath on your neck, the weight of his warm body around yours, his breathy laugh when you’d given into the pleasure and fallen apart in his arms, the praises he had whispered into your skin as he buried himself to the hilt in your pussy. tucking you against his body. falling asleep to his fingertips against your scalp.

he’d promised you the stars, and to your immense animosity, he’d delivered.

“too different?” he asks. the heat of his gaze drops to your tank top, but there is the hint of something else in those eyes.

it makes you reach over the small table, fingers gripping the tattooed forearm that rests on the surface. his eyes drop to look at your smaller hand on his wrist, before he glances up at you.

“i’m… tougher than i look,” you utter, braver than you really are. it lures out the smirk he usually bears around you, when he finds you particularly alluring. he knows you’re bluffing, knows you only say it because even if his kind of sex isn’t what you seek in a lover, you have an infatuation with him that he seems more aware of than you are.

but you know that you may even be willing to compromise, because just as possessive as the look in his eyes is, you too have grown to feel some kind of bond with him. it is tentative, at best, but it’s there.

he has slowly been tearing you apart, piece by piece, until every little thing about you was bared to him, and you were ripe for the taking.

he’s no good for you, but the way he slides his arm back just to wrap his hand around yours reminds you that no one will make you feel this way. it’s nothing special, you’ve held hands with boys before, but none of them had given you this spark of electricity shooting up the veins of your arms.

your heart crept out of your chest and slipped down your limb, in between your intertwined hands, free for him to do with as he pleases.

you want to withdraw from him, as if it would take your heart back, but what’s given cannot be taken back. and after this corruption, you find you almost like the risk of your heart’s safety being in the hands of another.

his tongue rolls over his lower lip. you watch it, flashes of memories of what that muscle can do running havoc through your mind.

“you sure about that, pretty girl?” he raises a brow.

the earth may as well have shattered beneath your seats, for the tremble that rushed through your body at his tone.

“no,” you admit softly, because when it all comes down to it, shy or not, he knows when you’re lying. he pries the answers from you anyway.

“last night was foreplay.” he leans back, glances away, runs his available hand down his face to attempt to hide his grin.

you release his hand only to smack his forearm, lips pressed thinly together. he chuckles, and you go in to hit him again to make a point.

he’s quick. takes a hold of your smaller wrist, tugging you toward him. the table is small, he’s right in front of your face now, and he’s loving the way your eyes widen, your lips parting, your cheeks reddening.

“if i could kill you, i would,” you grumble breathily.

“if,” he murmurs fondly.

#my writing #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x you

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theteasetwrites · 8 months

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Begin Again

Chapter 1: Aux Portes de la Mort

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood & gore, scary situations, mentions of death ❧ Word Count: 7.6k

❧ In This Chapter: When you and Daryl awaken in an unknown land, far away from home, the world becomes twice as dangerous as it once was, with a whole new breed of dangers lurking around every corner. You have no choice but to begin again on a new mission: Get. Back. Home.

❧ A/N: IT'S HERE. I'm so excited to be writing for them again ugh it's been too long. I love this reader because she has all that history with Daryl from the first series so it's a real treat to keep all that in mind when I'm writing their scenes together. Also I am posting this before the premiere of the show. This chapter is based on the events of the sneak peek that was released on AMC+! So here ya go, the first chapter! Shoutout to Dahlia (@simpbyday) for helping me with the French translation for the title. She will be my official French language correspondent throughout this process. And if anyone else also knows French, I would love to get feedback on my usage of French throughout the series as well! <3

“Near death” did not mean much to you anymore.

You were either dead or alive, nothing in between. That’s how you felt about it now. There were few areas in life that were black and white to you, and that was one of them. If you were alive, you were alive. Maybe you’d be a little worse for wear, but you were alive. That was the important thing.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. As a way to condition yourself, to be stronger. For Daryl. For Robin. For Wes. You had to be strong for them. Maybe that’s what got you into this mess.

No, Daryl did. Daryl got you into this: tied loosely to the back of a lifeboat, one foot missing a boot and hanging off the edge, dangling pitifully in the ocean as the small vessel drew you closer to the shore.

You might’ve stayed asleep if it weren’t for the splashing sound, followed by the familiar grunts and wheezes of gasping breath. You felt the rope across your hips pull in the other direction, where Daryl fought with the current to come back to the air. Through heavy eyes, crusted by a long sleep and sensitive to the bright light of what must’ve been mid-afternoon, you saw him struggle to lift the rope from his body as a wave pummeled him back down below the water.

Your throat burning, rendering you unable to so much as cry out his name, you freed yourself from the rope, sliding into the water. What happened next would fade into the obscurity of rumbling waves carrying your weak bodies closer to shore, until the feeling of ground underfoot welcomed you.

But that feeling was short-lived. As soon as your feet felt the sand, you were knocked down by another wave. Now you could only crawl, with what little strength you had left. Even Daryl, so very hearty and always physically stronger and more durable than yourself, began to stagger, falling less than gracefully to his knees just a few feet from you. There was no need for verbal recognition or even touch—you felt him there, crawling beside you, alive.

Now with only your feet still clinging to the sea, your arms gave out underneath you, like two pieces of boiled spaghetti, limp and sprawled out not far from Daryl, who lied with his face pressed against the sand, his wet hair shrouding any semblance of his visage.

Though you could hear his sharp breaths, his heavy pants that withdrew with high-pitched whimpers that sent a shiver down your spine, you could hardly tell if he was moving.

Momentarily frozen, you gathered all your strength to extend your arm across the sand. Your fingers stretched out to the fullest extent, crawling like a spider until finally you gripped his hand, entwining your fingers with his and shaking it roughly, urging him to move.

You had been near death enough to know that the worst thing to do was to stop moving. That was like accepting death, and wherever you were now, you weren’t going to face it without him.

Your movement brought him to life as he lifted his head, his sight first taking in his surroundings—a beach.

And not far in the distance, a small blue bucket.

You followed his gaze, which seemed transfixed on the object, partly buried by the wet sand that must’ve remained untouched for God only knows how long.

Having a near encyclopedic understanding of Daryl’s mind, you knew what he was thinking of—survival. There was water in that bucket. Sandy ocean water, but water nevertheless.

All you could think of, though, was how familiar that little bucket was. Robin had one just like it. Last time you’d taken her and Wes to Oceanside, they played on the beach for hours, making sandcastles with her little bucket and shovel that she’d gotten for her seventh birthday last May. Somehow she’d convinced Daryl to let her bury him under the sand. You had the Polaroids to prove it somewhere in one of the pockets of your vest, if they hadn’t been lost to sea.

The memory faded quickly, as he pulled you up, still holding your hand. At least now he was moving, dragging you and himself towards the bucket.

He’d let go of your hand to pick it up, digging out as much sand as he could before handing it to you. Without a word, you brought the rim of the bucket to your lips, taking just a few sips, despite the painful drought in your throat.

Daryl took the rest, downing the sandy saltwater like it was the nectar of life, and here, at the gates of death, it was.

When the water was gone, he let the pail fall back to its final resting place. You couldn’t bring yourself to even raise your head. You could only watch it fall, the bright blue plastic taking you back to a time that seemed so far away now, to a world you wished you’d never left.

But Daryl, ever the pragmatist, always planning the next move, was already narrowing his eyes, looking around for the answer to that burning question that lingered between the two of you—where the hell are we?

You could’ve looked at that little bucket forever, if he hadn’t tugged on your hand, not unlike how you’d done so to his just minutes ago.

“C’mon.”

The further the two of you walked, slowly, limping, the more you began to take note of your surroundings, without too much thought of the complete and utter shit you two were both in. For all the differences between you, you both knew one thing was true—there was no point in dwelling on how you got here, the only thing that mattered was getting back home. That was the unspoken truth.

As you walked further, the sand beneath your feet turned into concrete. Some kind of parking structure, or what once was. You passed the rotting, rusted shells of cars, their windows smashed and their hoods lifted, no doubt due to survivors looking for parts to salvage. A clump of neglected bicycles leaned against a graffitied pole. Like most graffiti, you couldn’t make out what it said.

Passing a small overgrown boat, you spotted a signpost not too far away. You walked ahead of Daryl, all too eager to see what it said. The letters were faded, but you could make out the arrows, meaning it would point you in whatever direction you needed to go in. That was all you needed now: direction. Some delusionally hopeful part of you, deep down, wanted to believe the sign would display the word “HOME” with an arrow accompanying it, leading the way without confusion or ambiguity.

But of course, you knew that was impossible. Still, you did not anticipate what you saw.

Squinting your tired eyes, your weakened legs slowed to a halt as the sign’s lettering came into view. Your heart sank as you stepped back, almost terrified of what you read. But you backed against Daryl’s chest, which caught you before you could lose your balance from the shock of the realization.

You could not read the sign.

Pla… place de… ste?

Port de… Martegues?

… Cimetiere?

Shit.

Some kind of port city, somewhere in France.

That’s what you decided upon, in the silence of your heavy thoughts as you walked together aimlessly, still not speaking. How could you speak to him? What was there to say? You had no hope now. It was gone, and usually, that was the only thing that kept you talking in times like these.

And Daryl, he could go hours without speaking, if he had nothing to say.

He, too, was at a loss for words. After all, he knew he’d gotten you into this. He knew none of this would’ve happened if he’d just… It didn’t matter now, though. What mattered was getting home.

But you weren’t safe here.

You always knew that the whole world must’ve fallen, of course. When everything happened, the world went dark. France was no exception. The state of the place was proof enough. In this old city, with cobblestone streets littered in the abandoned remnants of a once prosperous civilization, every corner you turned was the same—empty, ruined, overgrown.

By some instinct, you both walked along a path just on the edge of a canal that seemed to run through the city. Perhaps it was just a gut feeling, or perhaps the both of you knew to stay close to the water, on the off chance that you’d find some kind of seafaring vessel. Though you still couldn’t shake the taste of saltwater, you knew that the only way you could get back home was to get back on the water. That was your priority.

Sure enough, you came upon a boat, moored at the edge of the path, floating upon the water, and looking as though it had been there for centuries.

Just outside the boat on the cobblestone path, it looked as though someone had set up camp, once upon a time. Whoever had been there, though, they were long gone. As you passed a desiccated corpse, completely barren of flesh with a long fisherman’s spear skewered through its head, you wondered if this body had once held the poor soul of the boat’s former occupant. You didn’t wonder for long, though, as these days, you’d seen enough dead bodies to almost completely desensitize you from any human curiosity. Now, it was just a bag of bones.

Approaching the stern of the vessel, Daryl went into the cabin first, his sights set on the wine bottles perched on a wooden shelf, in the hopes that maybe they’d contain some water. He picked them up one by one, shaking them. Nothing at all.

You busied yourself, rummaging through a bag you found hanging from a nail near the door. Your hand gripped on some long, cylindrical plastic, ribbed and seemingly filled with liquid.

“Daryl.”

You held the water bottle out towards him as he turned around. You hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face yet, until now.

The skin of his face and neck were reddened terribly by the sun, but that didn’t worry you as much. It was the scarlet red cut stretching diagonally over his forehead, and the paleness of his lips, dry and dehydrated. The saltwater you both drank earlier only made the thirst more potent.

Deciding he needed the water more than you, you pressed the bottle to his chest, despite his brief protest that he gave with only a knowing look on his face, as if to say: You drink first.

You returned the look, but with more conviction as you shoved the bottle harder now, as if to say: No. Drink.

Reluctantly, he did, drinking less than half before handing it back to you, with the same force you applied when giving it to him, and the same stern, protective look: Drink.

You took the rest of the water, wincing at the aged taste. But you drank it down slowly, steadily, the cooling liquid coating your barren throat.

Lost in the brief relief it gave you, you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s continued russling as he pillaged the tiny boat cabin, looking for anything and everything that could somehow be useful.

As you used your long, torn sleeve to wipe away the dripping water from your chin, you were startled by the sudden sound of a man’s voice, not Daryl’s.

With a flinch, you turned around to see Daryl, sitting at the small dining table, holding a tape recorder.

“Nineteen months at sea,” said the man’s garbled voice, with an accent you deemed to be Irish. “Hoping to stay ahead of this thing.”

On the table before him was a map of Europe, and a photo of a family. There was a man that must’ve been the owner of the voice you listened to now. Beside him was a woman, his wife, Daryl assumed, because on her lap was a little girl, holding a large stuffed penguin, about half the size of her. She couldn’t have been older than Robin, he thought.

They looked happy, all smiles. Somewhere in one of his pockets, he was sure he had a picture that looked almost exactly the same, only with his family—Robin, Wes, Dog, you. He quickly willed the thought away, though. If he kept thinking about it, he was sure he’d break down, when at this point, what he needed to be the most was strong.

“Circled Spain,” the voice continued. “Nowhere safe… We’ll try Marseille next. Maybe the south of France is good… There’s got to be a safe place somewhere.”

You were sure you’d uttered that phrase once. Maybe around the same time he did. Just goes to show how much this world changes you, which was saying something—you always believed the world hadn’t changed you nearly as much as it changed everyone else. But you knew now that there was no safe place in this world, except in the arms of the ones you loved. And even then, that was only a metaphor. But you had to believe it, to convince yourself it was true. Otherwise, you were no different than the dead.

Night was closing in. There was no more time to waste.

Still without hardly more than a one-word sentence exchanged between you, you got to work setting up a night’s worth of camp, while Daryl speared a fish in the canal. Just one was all the energy he had, but it was more than enough for the both of you. A white fish of decent size, which Daryl cooked over the makeshift barbecue near the boat.

Sitting on the boat, you got a lantern working, providing just enough light to see what you were doing as you tried to filter the muddy canal water through the mesh lining of a jacket you’d found inside the boat. Across the way, you’d glimpse at Daryl, now draped in a tarp he’d fashioned into a poncho, in only the way Daryl could even think of doing.

His tired face was illuminated by the fire over which he cooked the fish, turning it over with a small knife until it was cooked through. You wondered what on Earth was going on in his head, if he was as frightened as you were, if he had any hope left.

You didn’t have much hope anymore. Not now.

In this world, you’d found that your hope had been tested constantly, but only a handful of times did it try you like this. When the farm fell, when you lost the prison, when the Saviors took Daryl…

But you always got it back. You always found your strength again.

You weren’t sure if you could get it back this time.

Still, you had Daryl. If you were alone, in a strange place, thousands of miles from home, you were sure you would’ve given up by now. But he was here.

The silence between you persisted into the night, as you sat across from each other, under the dark blanket of the night sky, eating the charred fish straight off the bone, with only the dim flickering light of the lantern just barely lighting your faces.

When the silence became unbearable, Daryl had pulled the tape recorder from his pocket, playing it again, as if he found comfort in the man’s voice, despite the ultimate tragedy that must’ve occurred.

“Sue had a heart attack.” You could only assume that was the name of his wife, the woman in the photograph. “I had to… take care of it.”

You’d heard stories like that before, of someone having to put down their loved one before or, God forbid, after they turned, but it would never cease to send a shiver down your spine. The thought of having to do that to Daryl… It was a nightmare you’d had more than once.

“Our tenth anniversary would’ve been in June… Holly keeps crying. She wants her mum back.”

That was when you stopped eating, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“She wants things the way they were.”

You swallowed hard in an attempt to suck down the lump forming in your throat.

“She wants to go home.”

“Turn it off.”

The sudden sternness in your voice nearly surprised him, or maybe it was just how many words you spoke at once.

He grabbed the recorder and turned it off with a sharp click, restoring the heavy silence that lingered like a thick fog between you.

Daryl watched intently as you hugged your legs against your chest, your eyes downcast and glued to the worn and torn stuffed penguin, buried underneath some ropes and an empty old fuel tank. You recognized it from the photo.

He could read the look on your face, and the thoughts that he knew were flying through your head at a thousand miles an hour. He knew that you were thinking about home, about your family. Still, he couldn’t shake this discomfort. This quiet.

For all the years he’d known you, he’d never gone this long with such silence between the two of you. Of course, he’d been separated from you before for much longer, but together? You were hardly ever at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time you were like this, but he didn’t like it. Funny, Daryl was always the quieter one, the one who more often than not needed to be coaxed into talking. He always preferred the quiet, but this was unbearable.

He needed to hear your voice, now more than ever. He needed your hope.

“You haven’t said more than three words since we got here.”

Washed up here, your mind corrected.

He leaned forward stiffly, still eying you, despite your gaze still transfixed on the once pristine stuffed animal.

Several painful moments passed. Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. He’d beg for you to speak, to say anything to him. All he wanted was to hear you.

“Please.” His voice was low, soft. It was always like that with you, but something about it now seemed more desperate. “Please say somethin’.”

Finally, you raised your head slowly, meeting his silvery blue eyes, visible through several loose strands of hair that framed his face. If you were in better spirits, you might’ve smiled, just seeing his face, despite how badly he was in need of a good shower. You were sure you looked rather filthy yourself.

But you couldn’t smile. You couldn’t even imagine such a thing. The last time you smiled seemed so far away, you could hardly even remember it.

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice was shaky, hoarse, tired. He’d been with you through Hell and back, and back again, and yet he’d never heard your voice so defeated, so… lost.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply, still holding your gaze. Now, you both stared intently, as if battling to see who could dare to look away first. “I just…” As he trailed off, his eyes sank in defeat. He’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry.”

With a sniffle, you replied. “What are you sorry for?”

It took him several moments to speak, as he tried to compose himself. If he opened his mouth too soon, he might start crying, and despite how much you encouraged him to be vulnerable, to not neglect his emotions around you, he could never fully let himself cry in front of you without feeling that ingrained sense of failure and inadequacy, like he wasn’t the strong man you needed, no matter how many times you reminded him of how strong he was.

“For gettin’ you into this.”

Your lip quivered, your eyes softened.

He continued, “If I hadn’t asked you to go with me—”

“Then you’d be sitting here, across the world, alone, and I’d be in Alexandria worried sick about you.”

“But you’d be safe,” he said, an almost imperceptible shake in his voice as he was reminded of the danger you were now mired in, all thanks to him.

“How many times have I told you… I’m safest when I’m with you.”

That thought was nice, but it still could never completely alleviate Daryl’s worries.

And there was another reason he wished he hadn’t asked you to come along.

“But you’d be with the kids.”

Your eyes sank as though they were anchored to the floor of this decrepit old boat. He knew that would get you, you were sure. He knew that, besides him, you loved your children more than anything else, and being so far away from them, lost with no immediate hope of seeing them again, was crushing you.

A silence befell you, and Daryl felt like he lost you again. God, all he wanted was to hear you. Your voice was the most comfort he could have right now, just to know you were near.

Now Daryl looked down, focused on the mud caked around his brown boots. He raised his hands to his face as he huffed.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. Just sad.

With a sniffle, you looked back up. He still sat with his head in his hands, until he lifted his eyes above his fingers just enough to see you.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice a cracking whisper.

“Nah,” he said abruptly. “Nothin’s okay.”

Daryl always had that bad habit of blaming everything on himself. You knew it well. It frustrated you—his inability to give himself any credit and his tendency to dwell on his flaws instead of celebrating his accomplishments. Granted, one of the many traits you admired about your husband was his humility, but sometimes, you wished he would consider the things he’d done right instead of all the things he did wrong.

You raised yourself to your feet, crossing the boat to sit beside him. He did not look your way or pay you much attention, still lost in his thoughts. Still, you carefully, slowly, wrapped your arm around his waist and his shoulders, holding him.

He was stiff, but under your touch, he slowly began to soften, as he always did. It was then he had realized how long it seemed he’d gone without your touch like this. You’d been with him the whole time, but survival did not allow for many moments of pure, gentle intimacy between two lovers.

“We’re alive,” you whispered. As you leaned against him, you pressed a small, but firm, kiss to his cheek. “We’re together.”

Without a word, he gave you a knowing glance. He narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, while he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

You smiled. “One of us has to be the positive one. We can’t get anything done if we’re both sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“It’s shitty,” you said. “This is a shitty situation… Maybe the worst situation we’ve been in, but we’re going to get back home.”

Though you spoke with conviction, you weren’t entirely sure that you really believed the words you spoke. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe you were here in the first place. Nevertheless, you’d die trying to get back home, to see your children again, to watch them grow.

There was no way in Hell you were going to sit back and do nothing.

To your relief, Daryl’s hand found yours, curling around it and squeezing it tight. He nodded, then raised your hand to his lips.

“Yeah. We will.”

You smiled as you roamed his face, finding comfort in the familiarity. In this world of uncertainty, this new world where neither of you belonged, you found safety in each other—you saw Alexandria in his face. All the memories. It was like a photo album, everything flashed before your eyes. You saw Robin, Wes, Aaron, Lydia, Maggie, Michonne, Rick… everyone. Everyone you loved, alive or dead, all in him.

And in you, he felt the same, but not only that. He saw everything beautiful and pure in this world, everything worth protecting and keeping alive. As you held him, he held your face, his thumbs moving gently over the apples of your cheeks.

Your face was worn, tired, with a few knicks and scratches scattered about over your usually smooth and unblemished skin, but nothing could distract from the perfection of your features that he knew and adored so well.

And you, you couldn’t help but eye that nasty cut on his forehead. You swept away the stray pieces of hair that obscured the cut, then huffed. Though you had already washed the cut with water, you were itching to find a real first aid kit to prevent infection. The one on the boat was cleaned out, and whatever first aid kit you had brought with you was in a bag lost at sea.

“S’fine,” he said, knowing full well what you were thinking. “M’fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“We’ll find something to help it. If I could get my hands on some calendula or even some marshmallow…”

That thought prompted you to look around, the darkness of the empty waterway in the desolate, ruined city. Even if you could find some herbs with healing properties here, you wouldn’t know where to start looking.

The south of France wasn’t exactly the same as Virginia in terms of flora and fauna.

“First thing we gotta find is a way back,” he replied.

“We could fix up this boat.” Daryl’s mechanic expertise started and stopped with cars and motorcycles, but you figured a boat couldn’t be much different.

“Nah. Engine’s shot, and I dunno the first thing ‘bout how boats work, anyway.”

“Well… We’ll just have to find another way. There have to be people somewhere.”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow as he chewed the last of his fish. “You remember what happened the last time we asked a bunch of strangers for help?”

Ah, yes—the Commonwealth.

At least that turned out in your favor, eventually. It took almost a year of turmoil, but in the end, it was worth it.

“Daryl, I don’t see any way out of this without some help. Besides, we haven’t seen any walkers yet… Maybe France is faring better?”

“Or maybe they’re all dead.”

“Stop it. That’s not true.” You held his cheek and turned his face towards you. “You know it’s not true… It can’t be.”

The rest of that night passed slowly, quietly. Maybe it was out of habit, or just his need to be aware of his and your surroundings at all times, but Daryl spent a good fifteen minutes checking out the general vicinity, scanning the perimeter around the little boat on which you busied yourself by fashioning a bed of sorts out of pieces of seats and blankets.

Daryl returned not long after he left, with a curious trinket in his hands: a Barbie doll.

You looked up at him from the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of posing the little blonde doll, sitting her atop the small dining table with her arm raised as if she were waving. Her hair was only slightly mangled, but you knew many tricks when it came to freshening up Barbie dolls and making them good as new for Robin, and sometimes Wes, to play with.

“Only you could find a Barbie doll in France,” you said.

“It’s not just any Barbie doll,” he said, sitting himself down beside you with a huff. Gravity forced his body to the bed. Well, bed was a generous term for the dismantled chair covered with blankets. “It’s a veterinarian.”

You studied the doll closer from a distance. Indeed, she had a little white doctor’s coat and a pink stethoscope. You would’ve thought she was actually a doctor Barbie, but only a trained, professional eye like Daryl’s would spy the light pink paw print pattern on her lab coat. Thus, she was distinctly a veterinarian, to be sure.

A smile spread across your face as you laid back, snuggling close to his side. He smelled faintly like fish, but you were certain that you didn’t smell so great either.

“She’ll love it,” you whispered. There was no question who you could possibly be talking about. “I’ll keep it in my bag until we get home.”

Daryl couldn’t respond verbally. He could only chew his bottom lip as his arm snaked underneath your side and wrapped around to stroke your shoulder with his hand. Perhaps that was the ultimate reason he took the doll—as a way to further motivate both of you to live long enough to see your family again. And you would. He’d make sure of it. He knew it. He had to.

At length, you spoke again.

“It’s clear?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No walkers, no people… No nothin’.”

That was good. If Daryl felt it was safe enough for the both of you to sleep tonight, that was a victory in your book.

“Tomorrow,” you began, “we should start heading north, towards Paris.”

Daryl’s lip twitched into a slight smile as he began to close his eyes, still holding you. Sometimes, you hardly noticed he was holding you. A long time ago, it had become second nature, so habitual that him holding you in bed at night was a feeling you couldn’t quite sleep without.

“Paris?”

“Yeah… There could be people there. Biggest city, biggest population.”

“Yeah, biggest population of walkers.”

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know then. You got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you, with only one eye open, the other squeezed shut as his nose scrunched up and he made a faux scowl. It was almost enough to make you laugh.

He chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. “How about west?” he asked. “Least we can head that way first, see if we find anyone or anything. Best to stay as far away from the city as possible.”

“You're right,” you replied, resting your head upon his chest. Somehow, it was always much more comfortable than a pillow, despite its relative firmness. “You're always right.”

“Not always,” he said lowly, his fingers finding the ends of your hair and twirling around them as if by instinct.

“Yeah… Not always.”

“Pfft…”

“What?”

“Jus’... Can’t believe where we are right now.”

You nodded in agreement, but you could tell where this line of thinking was going—this negativity that sometimes clouded Daryl’s almost unwavering hope. That was where you came in, though your hope was in serious question, too.

“Well, you did promise you’d take me on a vacation.”

He scoffed again, but it was almost a laugh. Almost.

“France wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” you said. A few beats of silence, then you added, “I would’ve preferred Italy.”

Three days had passed, all of which were spent hiking through ruins and desolate hills. Daryl used the long fishing spear from the boat as a kind of walking stick, and a weapon, along with whatever else he scavenged from Marseille. You’d found a few good knives, but nothing to quite balance out the slight limp you’d woken up with when you washed ashore.

No encounters with walkers, you’d noted, though you’d seen some wandering in the distance, ambling aimlessly through deserted stretches of wilderness. At certain points, you feared you might’ve been walking at the same pace as the rotting corpses, but they were far enough, and none of them seemed as fast as some of the climbers you’d seen.

Wilderness eventually faded into a somewhat industrialized town, much further away from the coast you’d started from.

It was small, but a good place to stop off for the night, you’d hoped.

Wandering through the small alleyways, littered with debris and overgrown vegetation, you came upon a large building, something like a warehouse turned into what appeared to be a supermarket. At least, that’s what you gathered from the signage, despite its unknown language.

Oh, how you wished you’d taken French instead of Spanish in high school now.

Daryl entered first, quietly opening the creaking door. The general protocol when entering new, unknown buildings had always been the same: be quiet (silent if possible). Although, if there were any walkers in there, odds are, they could smell you before you’d even say a word.

Still, you felt Daryl’s hand tap your shoulder lightly. He signaled to you, signing the phrase, “Me left, you right,” as he mouthed the words.

You always hated splitting up, but you signed back, “Be careful.”

Connie and Kelly would’ve been proud, you were sure.

The two of you split up, Daryl searching the leftmost side of the building, you the right.

As you examined the place, you took note of its state. It was abandoned, of course, but it was one of those places that had been left alone since the very beginning. It looked as though there had been a farmer’s market here, with long tables and booths with once meticulously laid out displays of crafts and homemade wares. Surely, whatever fresh produce had been here had long since deteriorated into nothingness, but there was always the chance of coming across dry foods. Grains and legumes and the like. Those were the ideals.

If fortune favored you, you could even find some dried herbs or medicinal plants to use on Daryl’s cut, but that was a longshot.

Still, you kept a lookout, your mind, and your stomach, much more focused on finding food than on scoping the place out for walkers. From across the way, you heard a small thud that made you flinch. Your eyes followed the sound—Daryl had set down his bag rather carelessly.

Eyes wide, you looked at him. He seemed entranced by a jar he was in the process of opening, only to smell its contents and put it back. Feeling your gaze on him, he looked up at you.

“You OK?” he signed, mouthing the words.

You sighed quietly, recovering from the startle. “Yeah.” With much more emphasis, exacerbated by the firmness with which you moved your hands, you once again signed, “BE CAREFUL.”

“OK,” he signed back, his face bordering on slightly annoyed with your protectiveness.

But another thud quickly drew your attention, though this one was not from Daryl, who also turned to locate the source of the ruckus.

You could only see a faint movement that was rather close to the ground, as though an animal was stirring, but as the familiar groans and wheezes started, you knew what it was.

Much to your surprise, Daryl seemed stunned for a moment, standing rather still as he simply watched the walker crawl out from underneath a pile of rubbish. As for you, you gripped the handle of your knife, removing it from its holder on your belt. But you were much further from him, and where there was one walker, there were, more often not, much more.

Suddenly, more walkers seemed to awaken from their slumber. Sleepers, you’d grown to call them. In your fascination with the habits of walkers, you’d begun taking note of how they seemed to have their own mode of hibernation during times of inactivity.

From what you could see, about eight or so of them had emerged from the far left, somewhere behind the produce stands, and were heading towards Daryl. You had the luckier draw, with only three or four setting their sights, and their gnashing, rotten teeth, on you.

No need for signing anymore. Dinner was officially served, and tonight, fresh American meat was on the menu.

“You got it?!” you called out to Daryl, raising your knife as the nearest walker limped towards you, its skull just barely clinging to the remainder of petrified flesh that hung loosely from its face.

He hesitated for a moment, worrying you. Daryl seemed off his game when it came to fighting walkers. Perhaps it was because he was still frazzled by the strangeness of your situation, or perhaps, God forbid, he was more worse for wear than he wanted you to know. After all, Daryl did have a tendency to downplay his injuries or his illnesses, a habit which frustrated you perhaps beyond any other quirk he had, because this was the most dangerous to his health.

But you couldn’t think of that now. Not when there were walkers snapping at you, and even more at your husband.

“Yeah!” he finally called back as he got a grip on his spear.

He set his focus on the first walker that had risen, which began slowly limping towards him. From behind him, though, was another walker, making quicker progress. He turned briefly, skewering the walker’s head with the sharpened point of the spear. He followed that with a kick to the walker’s abdomen, removing it quickly from the weapon.

On the other side of the place, you drove your knife into the nearest walker’s skull, but not without the usual splash of blood that came spurting out afterwards.

This spurt, though, was no ordinary one.

As you tugged the blade from its skull, you noticed a stinging sound, like that of a singe. It came as the blood spattered over the floor, and continued as it poured from the walker’s head. You stepped back, brows furrowed as you watched the trail of blood seem to evaporate, but it left behind a cloud of… smoke.

In a way, it reminded you of a branding, how the hot iron had been embedded into your skin and eaten away at the flesh with a horrendous burn until an X was forever scarred into your back. Whatever was going on with that walker, if its blood had gotten anywhere near your skin, you were sure it would have a similar effect—an agonizing, flesh dissolving burn.

But you hadn’t any more time to think about the strange walker, as there was another one coming behind you.

Meanwhile, had just skewered another walker through the face, then pulled the spear out to fling the walker backwards and tumbling back against another one.

Stepping backwards, just about to turn around and face another batch of walkers, one lunged forward, reaching its hand out to grip Daryl’s forearm, but this was not any ordinary death grip.

Most walkers’ touches were cold, lifeless, but this? This… searing, stinging, agonizing sharpness that made him scream.

With one last kill, you turned towards him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape with the fear of the most profound variety. Daryl never screamed like that. At least, not when you were around. Suddenly, every nightmare and intrusive thought of Daryl being bitten assaulted your mind all at once.

All you could see was him struggling against a walker, whose grip on his forearm must’ve been so strong that even Daryl couldn’t immediately pry himself away.

But the walker’s grip really wasn’t that strong. No, its hand was simply stuck, with Daryl’s burning, melting flesh acting as a kind of glue.

As he tugged and yelled in frustrated pain, you quickly bounded across the room, taking down another walker on the way.

The closer you got, the more you saw it—the small swirl of smoke emerging from Daryl’s flesh as the walker’s hand seared the flesh of his arm.

Just before you could get to it, Daryl managed to rip himself free, stepping back a moment to briefly scowl at the strange burn.

Immediately, you came forward, plunging your knife into the walker’s head.

Daryl’s eyes flashed to meet yours, a simple exchange of breathless nods between you enough to suffice until the rest of the walkers were taken care of.

You looked around swiftly, and Daryl did the same. Six more walkers. Between the two of you, it would be light work. That is, if there were no more SNAFUs.

Daryl took the high ground, situating himself on a large wooden table to better approach the threat.

You kept on the floor, using one hand to pull the walkers toward you, the other to strike with your knife.

Once again, Daryl found himself with the unlucky situation. Underneath the table he’d taken defense at was another walker.

Plunging the end of his spear through the wood, he successfully impaled the walker’s head, but not without his spear getting stuck.

He tugged on the spear with all his strength, but the thing wouldn’t budge—the spear was lodged too deep in the walker’s skull, causing it to bang on the underside of the table with each attempt to tug it back up. In perhaps a less serious setting, the image might’ve been quite comical.

Daryl’s grunts combined with the repeated banging sound alerted you to the situation, and to the other walker coming closest to him.

You quickly charged the walker, finally taking it out with a swift but jagged movement. Meanwhile, Daryl had just freed his spear, and now moved to kill two more walkers in his path.

He was fast this time, killing them within hardly a second between each other. It was just enough time for him to turn around and see the very last walker coming towards you.

Without another second to even hesitate, you raised your knife, only for another one to fly into the side of the walker’s head, sending it falling to the ground at your feet.

Sometimes, Daryl’s flying knives startled you more than the walkers.

With a huff, you reached down, pulling the knife from the walker’s head. Just as you’d seen from the other one—a splash of burning, corrosive blood, a hissing sound as it hit the floor, and a small plume of smoke.

What the hell are you? you asked the corpse in your head.

But that wasn’t important now. You quickly turned your attention to Daryl, who pulled up the sleeve of his poncho to reveal the raw flesh of his burn.

Within a moment’s time, you were at his side, holding his arm as your eyes frantically took in the wound. In your confusion, and your fear, you looked up at him, all the color drained from your face. From what you knew of burns, this looked to be second degree, oozing redness and blisters already starting to form.

“We’ll bandage it up,” you said, nodding to yourself, as if to reassure both him and you. “We’ll clean it first… Some water and—and if I find some aloe…”

He caught your gaze, holding it for a good several moments of heavy silence.

“You ever seen a walker do that?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was no.

You turned to investigate the last walker you’d killed—on the surface, not unlike any other walker you’d seen before, except you supposed he had a certain… je ne sais quoi, if you will.

“Maybe… it’s a French thing,” you replied. “I have no idea.”

Daryl let out a deep huff as he sat, still wincing at the unsightly burn on his arm.

You sat beside him, reaching into your satchel to procure a crinkly plastic bottle of water.

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “You need to drink that.”

Ignoring him, you dabbed several drops of water onto the clean rag you’d taken from the boat in Marseille. With Daryl always getting hurt somehow, you knew it was a good find.

He hissed between his teeth as you lightly cleaned the wound as best you could, but it still seemed to ooze.

It worried you, to say the least.

And Daryl… he only worried about what might happen to you if this thing was even more sinister than it looked.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly. If you knew what he was going to say, you weren’t even going to let him speak the possibility into existence. “It’s not like a bite.”

“But what if it is.”

After all, what you knew of walkers was that their bites were deadly. What if their… burns were too?

But you refused to believe that.

“It’s not,” you said back. “We’ll patch it up. It’ll be fine.”

From the look on his face, he appeared not to believe that, his eyes clouded with fear and uncertainty the likes of which you’d almost never seen in him. Daryl didn’t fear death, though. He feared the thought of you being alone, in a world where the two of you needed each other more than anything.

Again, here you were, trying to lift his spirits despite the possibility of death lingering all around you, in this French supermarket that reeked of death and rotten flesh. But you weren’t just reassuring him, you were reassuring yourself.

“Hey.” Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to face yours. Your eyes were soft, but firm enough to remind him that, just as he would never let anything happen to you, you would never let anything happen to him. Your voice barely above a whisper, you spoke to him with the gentleness he knew and loved so well. The gentleness he’d needed all his life, and would need until the day he died, and after that, too. “Sweetheart… We’re alive.”

That was enough. It would have to be enough. Enough to begin again.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#begin again series #begin again #the walking dead #the walking dead: daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon spin-off #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead: daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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yujo-nishimura · 6 months

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The Escape - Working title

Warning: A little bit of angst and sadness, female reader, One Piece based storyline mixed with my own weird creativity. This will be my personal Nanowrimo project I want to share with all of you. Hope you can enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing.

Content notes: Small buggy turning into big Buggy later during the story, love, romance, female reader who will experience a strong character development, SFW for now, might add NSFW later.

Word count: 778

You had felt tired and hopeless for a while now. The once captivating sunsets had lost their enchanting glow, and the islands you encountered appeared indistinguishable from one another, as if you were trapped in a recurring loop. Nobody in the crew had realized how you felt, but there was no one to talk to anyway - everyone had their own dreams and goals, their hopes and their desires.

Surrounded by individuals brimming with enthusiasm, their eyes shining with purpose and ambitions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness within yourself. Unlike those driven pirates who embarked on their journeys to fulfill their dreams, you found yourself adrift without any grand aspirations to chase. Gold? Fame? Wealth? Power? Nothing seemed appealing to you.

One day, under the silvery glow of a full moon, a decision took hold within you. The ship belonging to the Snowland pirates, to which you had reluctantly become a part, had worn on your patience for far too long. The crew showed little interest in forging genuine connections, the laborious tasks assigned to you felt utterly purposeless. It had become abundantly clear that this was not where you belonged.

You had stumbled upon this crew while seeking refuge on the wintry shores of the island called Klaki, your own vessel in need of repair. The charismatic captain of the Snowland pirates had enticed you with promises of camaraderie and acceptance, and initially, you had felt a glimmer of hope as you seamlessly integrated into their ranks. But as the weeks turned into months, the allure had faded into disillusionment.

Now, a full year had passed, and the once captivating glamour had completely faded away. All you desired was to escape this stifling environment as swiftly as possible. You untied one of the smaller lifeboats while everyone was asleep after a full night of partying and alcohol - you chose to escape during full moon, knowing the danger of the light giving away your escape. But it was seldom that everyone was so drunk that they wouldn't realize a missing crew member. You had packed your bag and took a deep breath as you finally started rowing into the night and into freedom and liberation.

As consciousness returned, you were greeted by an overwhelming sensation of thirst. Your dry throat pleaded for relief, while a throbbing ache pulsed through your head. The wet fabric of your clothes clung stubbornly to your skin, as if fused together, and even your hair felt matted and sticky. The scorching rays of the sun beat down upon your scalp, intensifying the discomfort.

Blinking repeatedly, you struggled to focus your weary eyes, attempting to find out about your surroundings and piece together the events that had led you to this disorienting state. Your boat is gone. So was your bag and your shoes. You were laying on the shore, with your face and your belly in the sand, the pain from your head reaching down to your arms and legs. The realization washed over you like a crashing wave - you had become the aftermath of a shipwreck.

"What is this?"

"Rather - who is this? I can clearly see she is a girl and not a thing!"

"Maybe she is a pirate. Then she is dangerous and we should not touch her!"

"Hahaha! I am a pirate myself, dear friend, I do not fear anybody, especially not a small hurt girl like her."

"Is she maybe.. dead?"

With all your might you force yourself to look up, ignoring the pain in your neck, trying to figure out who the voices belong to, which seem to talk about you and your desolated condition.

As your gaze lifted, you beheld the peculiar sight of two small, otherworldly creatures. One stood before you—a man with disproportionately short arms and legs. His moss-green hair framed a face adorned with dark eyes and a beard. Strangely, his body seemed to meld seamlessly with a wooden treasure box. He had no torso, but was stuck in a box.

Beside the moss-haired man, another diminutive figure emerged—a clown who appeared similarly downsized, with short arms and feet attached directly to his neck. Adorned with a hat unmistakably bearing the emblem of the notorious Buggy pirates, this peculiar duo stood before you, their appearances both strange and comical.

The moss-haired man offered a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with an unspoken understanding. Meanwhile, the clown dwarf took a tentative step closer, his eyes reflecting a mix of caution and intrigue.

"Are you dead?" the box man asked.

"I wish I was!" you moan and let your head fall back into the warm sand.

#one piece #buggytheclown #one piece buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #nanowrimo #short story #onepiece anime #creative writing #fanfic

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frenchkisstheabyss · 10 months

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♡ ｔｏｕｃｈｔａｎｋ♡

♡ I created this for a friend of a friend. It totally warms my lil heart that she asked me to write this ♡

Pairing: boyfriend!changkyun x fem!reader

Summary: When your past trauma comes back to haunt you, your boyfriend reassures you that with him you'll always be protected

Genre: fluff/angst/smut

Word Count: 1.1k-ish

Warnings: reader has some trauma w/ being yelled at, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie

A/N: Thank you @anyamaris for always supporting me & sending your super rad friend my way ♡

"He tells me he's gentle when he wants to be so I think he wants to be gentle with me..." - Quinnie "Touch Tank"

On the 15th floor of a luxury high-rise a young woman twirls around her kitchen singing along to her favorite song. You might find her exact location by following the melodic voice ringing from her apartment. If her siren song fails to tempt you in her direction, the scent of dinner simmering on the stove will. The windows are open so she should probably put some pants on but she’s home after all.

What do you want from her? This is her safe space. Here she can be the vibrant creature that she is, a star burning bright against the night with no one to snuff it out. A past spent drowning in darkness, sick to her stomach with fear, is little more than a bad dream. The monster that haunts her is gone and she’s free…isn’t she?

Even with your music blasting you hear the lock to the front door click open, flooding you with joy. Flipping the stove off, you reach for your phone to turn the music down. “Baby, you’re home!” you sing, shuffling from the kitchen to greet your boyfriend as he kicks his shoes off. Your friends warned you that after living with your boyfriend for a few months the excitement would wear off but they couldn't be more wrong.

It’s been eight months since you and Changkyun got this place together and you still get butterflies when he walks through the door. You throw your arms around his neck, welcoming him home with a kiss. But he doesn’t kiss you back. He doesn’t even hold you in his arms the way that he usually would. He only lets out a heavy, tortured groan accompanied by a hesitant “Hi” before making his way over to the wine rack.

In an instant you deflate, a pretty little balloon springing a leak. Taking a deep breath, you catch the smile on your face before it fades away. Let’s try this again. “So, how’d everything go at the studio?” you ask, grabbing his favorite wine glass from the cabinet. Changkyun takes it from you, his expression cold enough to freeze you solid where you stand. “Can we just not talk about this, y/n? Is that okay with you?” he snaps, filling his glass with some expensive wine Minhyuk had insisted on getting him for his birthday.

He doesn’t need to raise his voice for you to know something’s not right. You catch glimpses of it in the tightness of his jaw and the sharpness of his eyes. The anger seeps from his pores like a poison you thought you’d grown immune to. And just like that the monster’s back, darkness closing in around you demanding you to shrink yourself.

Be quiet. You’ll only make it worse. He’ll yell at you. It’ll be all your fault. “Um, okay” you murmur almost too low to hear. Shutting your music off, you quietly begin to straighten up the kitchen, careful not to get in his way. You're not walking on eggshells. You’re walking on glass and it tears you apart but you keep your mouth shut. “Ssh” the monster whispers, “Be quiet. Quiet. Quiet…”

“Hey,” Changkyun says, taking you by the hand, his voice intentionally lighter than before. Placing a hand on each side of your face, he stares into your eyes, softening more with each passing moment. “Come back to me” he begs, desperate to pull you from that place in your mind you go to when you feel triggered. “What do I always say?”

You clear your throat, using his emotional lifeboat to drift back to safety, “That you’d never hurt me.” “And you believe me?” “Of course, I do,” you say it and you mean it because, despite the past attempting to claw its way into the present, you know Changkyun would die before he hurt you. He smiles, his hands slipping down to trace the edges of your figure, “Good because I wouldn’t. Not ever.”

You catch yourself getting teary eyed but there’s no time for tears when he kisses you, his tongue fervently seeking yours. He slips a hand under your shirt just enough to stroke the small of your back. The faintest contact from him is electric, his touch raising the tiny hairs along the surface of your skin.

You arch into him and feel fingers grazing your clit through the lace of your panties. “Changkyun…” you gasp, thighs parting as if to tell him you want more. “Should I stop?” he asks, hooking his fingers around your panties right where the moisture’s pooling. “No, don’t stop. Please don’t---mmph” You can hear the wetness seeping out as he enters you, his wrist rotating so that his fingers swirl softly against your sensitive walls.

“How could I ever hurt you?” he coos, taking in the angelic look on your face as he pushes deeper into you, “You’re so pretty, baby. I only want to make you feel good.” Your walls quiver around his fingers, reacting to the longing he pours into you. Bringing his arm tight around your waist, he guides you toward the bedroom. All the while pleasing you…stretching you…making you moan between his lips.

By the time he’s lifting you through the doorway your hands have developed a mind of their own, stripping him down to nothing but his boxers. He brings your shirt up over your head, his tongue finding your breasts before your back hits the bed.

Changkyun handles you with the patience of a painter working on a grand portrait of something close to his heart. His tongue makes purposeful strokes across your nipples, painting flowered vines down your belly as your panties disappear somewhere beneath the bed.

On the 15th floor of a luxury high-rise, a young man buries his length deep in the warmth of the woman he loves. As he stimulates those spots that make her eyes roll back and her toes curl, she makes noises sweeter than his favorite song. You might find their exact location by following the sound of her crying out his name, melodic echoes of pleasure bouncing off of the walls.

The scent of her tempts to come before he’s ready, his need for her simmering out of control. The windows are open and neither of them give a shit if they have clothes on or not. They’re enjoying the beauty of each other’s naked bodies, bathing in the euphoria of her clenching around him. They’re home after all, giving each other every bit of what they want exactly how they want it.

It’s their safe space. Here they can surrender to each other, passion flowing vibrantly across sweat-slicked skin. This fire inside of her can’t be snuffed out. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she whimpers, the spasms in her pussy soaking him as she hits her high. She drowns in pleasure, her stomach pleasantly filling with his seed. This feels like heaven. Like a dream. She smiles, safe in his arms as they come down, and feels, at last, utterly and completely free.

#changkyun x you #changkyun x reader #changkyun fluff #changkyun smut #monsta x x female reader #monsta x smut #monsta x fluff #monsta x angst #changkyun angst

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 6 months

Text

Beauty of the Blue Pt. 2

A/N- i genuinely didn’t expect that fic to get so much love 🥰 thank you all for your feedback on it, i really do want to write more for him, but for some reason he’s a very tricky character for me to get down correctly. BUT, i’m glad that so many of you have been sending in requests so i get a little more practice for writing him 🖤 I may or may not turn this into a 3 part fic but i haven’t decided yet 😅

Summary- After a week of being on Buggy’s ship, you need to know why he’s been treating you so differently than you had imagined.

Genre- Fluff, Light smut at the end

Warnings- Reader has female anatomy, Buggy being a little bit of a pervert, hinting at smut near the end

Tag List- @lotr-got

(tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤)

Word Count- 3.6k

If you’d like to read Part 1 you can find it here 🫶

You woke up to the sunlight shining through the window of your room, the gentle rocking of the ship awoke you further, easing your way slowly out of bed.

Your arms were stretched up over your head as you yawned, and a smile slowly came to your lips as you looked around the room.

It was small, but cozy.

Buggy had kept his promise, and he had given you nothing but the best since you’ve made your deal. Your bed had the softest blankets and pillows you’ve felt in a long while, he’d given you plenty of clothes to survive on for the next few months at sea if need be, and of course you were given as much privacy as you needed, only calling for meals as you lay in bed all day if that’s what you wished.

It was an easy life, and to be honest it was quite nice not having to ask for much anymore. You had been given every little thing you had asked for, and if his crew couldn’t get you what you wanted, Buggy would send them off on one of the lifeboats to return with what you needed and more as an apology. Out of everything else you had gotten out of your deal, Buggy was the thing you were most grateful for.

Even the crew had never seen him so eager to get up in the morning to greet you.

Each and every morning you’d woken up to him at your door, already fully dressed and ready for the day, wishing you a good morning with some breakfast if it was ready and tell you of the ships plan for the day. Thus far it hasn’t been too much of a journey. The Big Top was headed to the Grand Line, slowly but surely, and up until this point you hadn’t been asked to use your beauty to get them much of anything.

Every stop you made, Buggy would ask if you needed anything at all while they were stopped, and it felt nice to not have to be the one doing the work to get you what you needed. It was strange, having someone always doting on you rather than the other way around.

Buggy had been nothing but kind and respectful to you since you came aboard his ship, and he made sure the crew had been giving you the same treatment. You couldn’t be more grateful. Only a week in, and your life had already been changed for the better.

Though one thing had been on your mind since that night at the bar.

You figured that Buggy would’ve wanted something from you in return by now, and yet he had not asked for one thing. No intimacy, no private time together, nothing. Each and every time you had been given an offer by another captain they always wanted one specific thing from you, they made that clear, and you didn’t give it up that easy. Buggy won you over because you knew that if that was what he wanted, you wouldn’t be opposed to giving him a little something extra in return for giving you such treatment aboard his ship. And yet, he was always so respectful.

Giving you his arm to guide you wherever you went together, letting you have your privacy when you changed or bathed, and though it was nice to be able to not expect him to come into your room every night and leave after getting what he wanted, you started wishing he would.

You had caught yourself sneaking longer glances over to him, smiling whenever his gaze met yours. His touch would linger on you for a few moments longer than normal and you never wanted that sensation to leave your skin. You’d lay in bed at night wishing that you had someone warm laying next to you to hold you in their arms. You wanted it to be him.

He had already shown you another side of him, the side that could be caring and compassionate if need be, but you wanted so much more. You came onto this ship agreeing that you would be his, but now you wanted him to be yours.

Your legs hung over the edge of your bed and you smiled when you heard that familiar knock at your door.

“Come in!” You said in between yawns.

Buggy had entered with a smile, his captains hat off, a small tray in his hands with your breakfast.

“Good morning.” He said with a smile as he placed the little tray next to you on the bed, “My, my, that beauty sleep really does wonders on you.”

You giggled and looked at your hands in your lap to try and hide your blush. You had heard the way he spoke to his crew and to the islanders he had come across when going in for more supplies, and he had never used that tone with you.

“I’m glad you think so.” You reached out and sipped the tea he had brought you, “What’s on the agenda today, captain?”

“Not much more than what we did yesterday.” He approached you and sat on the other side of the tray, “No islands around, the nearest one is around a day away, so we’re just going to sail and see how long it takes us.”

You nodded and quickly grabbed the fork, picking at the little plate of fruits you were brought,

“Anything for me to do today?” You asked him, but he shook his head.

“Not a thing my dear.” He smiled and stood back up, “You just do whatever it is you always do, and i’ll take care of the rest.”

He placed his hand onto your shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, making sure none of the red on his lips transferred. He smiled down at you for a moment before clearing his throat, looking to the floor. His gaze left yours and the smile on your lips slowly faded. For some strange reason, everything felt so right with him there.

You didn’t feel alone.

“Wait!” You said to him, quickly grasping his hand and lightly pulling back, giggling as you saw it pop off of his wrist as it held yours, “Sorry…” He stepped forward and you held his hand back up to his arm, feeling the slight stretch at his wrist as it reattached itself to the rest of his body, “I still forget sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” He smiled and slowly removed his hand from yours, moving it to the side of your head, petting your hair back as he looked down to you, “I forget too sometimes…”

You shared a comfortable silence with one another, and as you looked into his eyes you could see his gaze wander and linger onto your smiling lips. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same. Though covered in red makeup, you always admired how kind his smile was.

“Would you…” You started, your train of thought being interrupted by him again. Damn him and his pretty blue eyes.

Your hand moved from your side to rest on top of his as it rested at the side of your head so tenderly,

“Would you stay? I just…” You took a deep breath, collecting yourself as he sat next to you once more, your breakfast tray being moved to the side to give himself more room, “I need to know. Why have you not asked for…” You wracked your brain, trying to find the best way to ask without blatantly having to say it, “more, from me?”

He carefully cocked his head to the side, unsure for a few moments as to what you could’ve possibly meant. When his eyes moved to your lap, watching your thighs slowly and carefully rub together beneath your nightgown, he smirked.

“Is that what you want from me?” He asked you, his gaze returning to your eyes.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you looked down to your lap to hide any emotion. You weren’t sure how to feel.

As much as you wanted to be able to give Buggy everything he needed, it seemed like he was treating you so much better than any other captain at any of the bars you had gone to ever had. He didn’t expect anything from you in return for him taking you in, and you adored how kind and respectful he was, but you were the one who wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

You shrugged, his finger moving to your chin, tilting it upwards to face him once more.

“Talk to me (y/n),” he said softly, “tell me what thoughts are racing through that pretty little head of yours.”

You took a deep breath and he sat there patiently waiting for you. He wanted to be able to make sure you were living your life to the fullest, anything you wanted you got, and he would make sure of it.

“You treat me differently than everyone else on your ship. You treat me differently than any other sea captain i’ve interacted with. I’ve seen the way you are with your crew, you’re demanding and you’re strong, and a little scary at times.” He chuckled and nodded, agreeing that his behavior with his crew could sometimes be less than rational, “You treat me better than anyone else. Every other captain that’s offered me a deal would always expect something from me in return, and i think you know what that is…” You quietly trailed off, and he could see that this was something that had been on your mind for a while.

You didn’t know why you wanted him so badly, but the way he was treating you was so unusual. At least to you it was. You were fully willing to give yourself to him whenever he asked for it, you figured it was part of your deal, but as the days had gone on he had given you your privacy and alone time, and it was lonely being by yourself at night.

“And you want to know why i haven’t asked for that from you yet, hm?” He asked.

You pursed your lips and nodded slowly. You weren’t sure what to say. Even without being able to fully finish your words, he understood exactly what you were implying.

“Well, a few reasons i suppose.” He moved his hands to hold yours gently in your lap, “The first one being, i respect you more than to just use you as my little pawn. You’re someone who has what so many other people want, and you’re someone who deserves to be shown that you’re more than a beautiful face.” He was talking sternly, seriously, he meant these things truly and deeply and you could feel him tense up as his hands held yours, “I didn’t want you to think that this partnership that we have means that i get to use you as i please, that i have the privilege of letting you be my little plaything and discarding you until you’re needed. I meant what i said in that bar (y/n), when i’m king of the pirates, i want you to be my queen. But that means nothing if it’s forced onto you.” You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, holding onto every word he was saying, “Your safety, your comfort, and your needs are more important to me than this deal we have, and i would never overstep a boundary just because i knew i could.”

You knew exactly why he hadn’t made any moves before.

It wasn’t because he only wanted you for your beauty to get him closer to the One Piece. It wasn’t because he only wanted you to be a pretty little pawn sitting at his side. It wasn’t because he didn’t think you were beautiful enough to warrant those kinds of advances. He had been giving you the time and the space you needed, everything you had asked for.

You were given your own room because you hadn’t said you wanted to share Buggy’s. You were given as much privacy and alone time as you wanted because you hadn’t said you wanted him there. You were always given nothing but the best from him and his crew, and you were more than grateful, but you hadn’t realized just how much control you had with your new found partnership.

Buggy was in charge of the ship and his crew, but you were in charge of Buggy. He would do anything your heart desired just to keep you happy.

“I’m sorry that you misunderstood me at the bar, but i want to make sure you understand this relationship clearly…” He turned his body to face you, the soft fabric of his gloves softly moved as he brought your hands up as he held them, looking into your eyes, “Whatever you want, you get. All you have to do is say the word.”

His gaze never left yours and you could cut the tension in the room with a knife. He was just waiting for you to say the word and he was ready and willing to do anything you asked.

“Whatever i want?” You asked, seeing his lips curl into a smile.

“Whatever you want.”

You softly smiled, not caring wether or not he could see how he was making you feel. So warm, so comforted, and though you could still hear the noises of the crew outside your door as they did their work for the day it felt like you were the last two people on earth. He made you feel like the only girl in the world.

“Even if it’s you?” You whispered to him, your eyes finally glancing down at his red painted lips.

He chuckled, and you thought you could see a bit of pink beneath the makeup on his cheeks. It was nice to finally see him flustered for once.

“If that’s what you wish for.”

You enjoyed the silence for a few moments, just basking in one another’s company like you had wished to since you arrived on the ship. Since you came aboard you hadn’t been able to be alone with one another for more than five minutes before one of the crew came rushing to find Buggy to tell him about a new island spotted or if another crew mate wasn’t doing the work that was expected of them. He liked the silence. He liked it with you.

“So…” You trailed off, the silence moving from comfortable to awkward, neither one of you knowing what to do next, “how do we go about this?”

“Well, for starters, i’ll have you and all of your things moved into my quarters. I see no point in leaving you all by your lonesome anymore.” Your eyes got wider and your smile was bigger just at the mention of not having to be cramped up all by yourself, “And of course you’ll get all the same normal treatment, but there will be a few changes with me.”

“Changes?” Your thumbs brushed over the soft fabric of the gloves on his hands, “Such as?”

“You’re going to be seeing me a lot more often than have been my love,” He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, slowly working his way up your arm, kissing it after each new change, “we’ll share my bed, and you’re allowed to be as far away or as close to me as you like,” Your lips curled to a shy smile as he gently kissed your wrist, just imagining the warm feeling of getting to wake up in his arms each morning, “i’ll be at your beck and call, waiting to fulfill every need you have,” His lips moved to just below your elbow and a shiver ran over your body as he moved further upwards, “you’ll always be close to me, i’ll even have my freaks build you a throne so you’ll always be sitting pretty beside me,” You perked up at the thought of being able to sit and watch over the crew next to Buggy, everyone’s eyes on you just watching and waiting for you to make your rule, “and of course, every second you’re with me my dear, every waking moment that you’re here with me,” One gloved hand moved from yours to your chin, keeping it tilted up, making sure he had every ounce of your attention, “you’ll be getting every ounce of love, adoration, and worship that i have to offer.”

You were speechless.

Countless times, again and again, you’d have pirate captains and marine admirals profess their love to you. Crew mates and marines, even fish men and countless others had offered your their undying worship, but this was the first time you believed that someone wanted more than just the ability to say that they were the ones loving you.

Buggy knew you were more than that. And you could see that he really truly meant everything he said.

He didn’t want you because of your pretty face, he didn’t want you because you’re the most breathtaking creature to grace the earth on both land and sea. He wanted you for you. Everything that you had, he wanted. He loved you for more than your body, but for your soul, and he would spend hours, days, weeks, even years if it took that long to show you that he wanted to be the one worthy of having you want him too.

Your hands moved from his and for a quick moment the smile faded from his lips, only to return once he felt your soft fingertips graze his cheeks as you held him close,

“I want your love Buggy… Please?…”

Your breath was cut quickly by his lips pressing into yours, catching you so off guard that you nearly fell back onto the mattress, quickly catching yourself with your arms at your sides.

His lips were dry, yet soft, and you smiled at the gentle tickling of the stubble on his face as it grazed over yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small, needy whimper, finally feeling the rush of electricity run all through your body. And it was just from one kiss.

He pulled away from you slowly, a smile at his lips, and he couldn’t help but chuckle from seeing the little bit of red staining your lips from his makeup.

“I’m sorry,” His hand snaked behind your neck, holding it gently as he leaned down to you and pecked your lips, “I just couldn’t help it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Your hands did the same, your fingers interlocking behind his neck as his body carefully adjusted over yours, “it’s exactly what i wanted…”

The position you were in was nothing short of provocative.

You arms around him while one of his hands held you close, the other holding him up on the bed as he was leaned over you, your bodies so close to one another. The nightgown that draped over your body had been pulled up to your thighs, and you were wishing he would just get it over with and rip it off of your body, but he was too gentle with you for that. He treated you like your body was made of glass, handling you so delicately like you would break at the slightest hint of pressure. It was actually quite a talent.

His hand slowly moved from your mattress to your thigh, the glove on his hand making you shudder as you felt the corduroy fabric slowly stroking over your thigh. Though you hadn’t even noticed it, your leg had slowly moved upwards, laying just over his hip. A smirk came to his lips as he looked at your lower body, and though he had the opportunity to take a peek between your legs and see the little wet spot on your panties that was entirely his doing, he had no interest in it. He was looking down at your legs, watching them slowly moving back and forth, one at his side and the other laid against the mattress. He was making you writhe, just from a few kisses and his hands on your legs, and he loved it.

“Buggy…” You pleaded with him, just needing him to touch you. He made it so sweetly unbearable to have to wait.

A chuckle escaped his lips and he slowly looked back up into your eyes, giving your body a quick once-over just to fully take in the sight before him.

“All in good time my love.” He leaned forward once more and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “First, i want you to get all settled into my quarters. Why don’t you change and put on one of those pretty outfits i have for you, i’ll grab some of the crew to move your things around.”

He fixed your nightgown back down your legs, taking your hand and carefully pulling you up, his glove wiping away the little red marks his lips left behind.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the feeling of want back down, knowing that he’d give you what you needed eventually. You stood up from the bed and wandered over to the small wardrobe, glancing over to Buggy who had moved himself into one of the chairs across the room. His legs were spread, he was leaned back comfortably, and his eyes never left your figure as a smirk came to his lips.

“Well aren’t you going to get some of the crew?” You asked him, sifting through the hangers in the wardrobe for the perfect little outfit to wear.

“And miss the show?” He chuckled, “I never said i was leaving sweetheart…”

#one piece live action #one peice #opla #buggy the clown #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown fic #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy the clown fluff #buggy the clown smut #buggy x yn #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #buggy x reader #buggy x female reader

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