#i assure you this is not the only time you’ll see em

[bluesgras]

saw that everyone was having fun with apocalypse sonas, and i thought i’d be fun to join in with @centerofleesmind

#i assure you this is not the only time you’ll see em #multiversal shenanigans #btw they’re in the same world as mangatoons’ and elliwoods’ sonas #just to clarify #blues notespad #tmnt adjacent #dystopia au posting

[ghouljams]

More Viking!Soap because I couldn't think of anything to beat knight!Ghost with and I need something to be cathartic no matter how small that catharsis is.

It takes another day to reach the coast. The waves beat against the cliffside, Mactavish’s hand is tight around yours as he helps you down the rocky path. Your feet ache, and you do your best not to stumble. His hands grip your hips, lifting you up off a rock he’d jumped down from. As easy as moving a child. You’re set back on uneven ground and he doesn’t look at you. Singularly focused, you think to yourself.

You understand why. Down at the beach you can see men, fire, a long ship with a curling bow. You grip Mactavish’s hand tighter, a small comfort you cease as soon as you start. He doesn’t comment on it, except to squeeze your hand quickly in return. 

“I should have asked earlier,” He mumbles, “you’re a healer, right?”

You feel your heart tumble into your stomach. That’s right, you���re only alive because you’re useful. Only brought along because he had no other options after your village was burned. 

“I’m still learning,” You tell him quietly. He lets out a breath, nods shortly.

“Know more than the rest of ‘em, I’d bet.” He assures you with a smile. “Say yes the next time someone asks, you’ll live longer.”

It’s not a threat, not from him at least, but it’s a guarantee. Healers live longer, and you have nothing else to your name to defend yourself with. He certainly isn’t going to defend you. You think it might be a chill from the sea air that makes you shiver. 

Mactavish walks in front of you down the beach. He keeps hold of your hand, as if you had somewhere to run to, and keeps you behind him as he approaches the other vikings. You peak around him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen men so big as them. The furs and paint on their faces denote their trade as easily as their braided hair and combed beards. Walking behind Mactavish you can see the tiny braids that wind through his hair as well, the small shiny beads and clips of metal hidden within the woody brown. 

One of the men near the edge of camp spots you both and makes his way towards your companion. Your hand is dropped to clap into the waiting palm of the other viking, who embraces Mactavish with a smile.

“What took you? Thought we’d have to send out a search,” The man laughs. He feels friendly but his eyes, a warm russet against his dark skin, sharpen when they touch you. “Just the one?” He asks, “Thought there’d be more willing to work.” Your shoulders stiffen, your arms close against your sides. Danish, you think, maybe. You know it well enough to keep your mouth shut. Mactavish glances at you.

“They were burning by the time I got there,” He says quietly, the danish feels so foreign on his tongue after hearing him speak gaelic. It breaks your heart anew to hear your tragedy described so callously. It helps seeing the other man’s eyes soften. “Tell Ghost not to scare ‘er, had enough of that for a lifetime,” Mactavish finishes, and you feel something squeeze in your stomach. The other viking nods.

“Happy to have a healer aboard again,” The viking tells you, his accent is pretty decent, the gaelic smooth on his tongue. “She’s pretty,” He mumbles to Mactavish, switching back to danish as quick as could be.

“Leave it,” Mactavish warns, his teeth bared with a flash of white. You tune him out, translating is making you tired, and look around camp. The fire is roaring, and men stare at you with open curiosity. Their interest makes your skin crawl. So many men, unfamiliar men, with the same propensity for violence as all vikings. You can’t think of a deeper abyss to throw yourself into, more bears to surround yourself with. “You alright?” Mactavish asks you, the gaelic snapping you from your thoughts.

“What do you care?” You snap at him, trying to keep your barbs sharp in the hopes others will see your bite. Maybe it will keep you safe. Mactavish’s eyes slide from yours, looking at the other men in camp.

“They won’t hurt you,” He tells you. What does he know? Men never think their peers are capable of the things women warn each other about. You say nothing, and after a moment Mactavish moves. Out of the corner of your eye you see him unfasten the pin holding together the fur around his neck. He’s quick to wrap it around your shoulders, hardly bothered you haven’t tilted your chin for him as he fastens it to your earasaid. “Gods if I ever have the time,” He mumbles to himself, his fingers toying with the pin. You get the feeling he’s not used to his gaelic being understood.

“You’ll what?” You challenge, eyes still fixed on the camp. His fingers hold your chin, dragging your attention back to him. It’s a gentle movement, but you tense at his touch. He’s quick to release you.

“Court you properly,” Mactavish clears his throat, fingers fixing the fur into place, “but this’ll do for now. You have my word-” his eyes are more serious when you meet them, “-no one will touch you.”

Sure, you tug yourself from his grip, you’ll believe that when you see it.

#cod x reader #x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #soap cod #soap mw2 #viking!Soap #f!reader #x f!reader #hi Gaz good to see you're here #Soap staking his claim on little reader #yeah no one's gonna touch you darling don't worry

[mopopshop]

Can you do Emily and reader doing those cute couple TikTok’s?

Emily X Reader Couple Tiktok’s

emily doesn’t like making tiktok’s but she’ll do them for you

refuses to do the dances tho😭

you’ll do little grwm’s and emily will poke her head in any chance she gets bcs she doesn’t need ur followers thinking ur single (even though you never shut up about her)

outfit transition tiktok’s like this one

doing the “saying my gfs favorite words” trend on her LMAO example

THIS ONE

“my gf does my makeup voice over” trend 

You had filmed a tiktok of you doing your makeup and wanted Emily to try that voiceover trend, the two of you were sitting next to each other as she held your phone. You’d opted to sit next to her while she did it just to help out some.

“Alright so she wants me to do her voiceover for this get ready with me thing, so first she’s gonna put a headband on to keep her hair out of her face”

“Starting off she’s putting on.. moisturizer? Skincare?” She turns to you with a chuckle “I’m already fuckin confused” 

“It’s primer babe” you smile 

“Primer, right right. She’s rubbing the primer on her face, next step is brows so she’s taking a little baby brush and combining through those thick ass eyebrows of hers” she laughs again and you scoff smacking the side of her head.

“Then she’s taking fou-foundation?” Emily turns to you again to double check and you nod approvingly “Okay wait period, ate that up. Anyways she puts that stuff on then blends it with a blender. Remember to beat the fuck out of your face with it, key step” you burst out laughing from beside her as she talks into the phone.

“Then concealer, I know that one for sure for sure, and puts it under her eyes and on her chin, remembering to punch herself in the face with that sponge thingy”

“Okay next is this um? brown… cream.. thing” 

you whisper to her “Contour”

“C-Contour and she puts it on her nose and cheeks to you know.. accentuate the lower part of her face. Did that sound smart?” she looks at you again for assurance.

“Not even close Em but keep going” You continue to laugh, as you haven’t stopped since you started filming.

“Now for some white powder and she’s just gonna pat that all over her face until she looks like a pretty little powdered donut”

“Then we brush it all off and put on blush. Look at her lookin all cute y’all, with the pink cheeks” She literally smiles at the phone 

“Now for mascara, the only thing I actually use and then she’s gonna take this… overpriced spray bottle-“ 

You elbow her to whisper out “setting spray”

“Oh excuse me,” she says sarcastically, laughing “setting spray and to finish everything off she puts some lip gloss. That’s all and she looks fine as fuck with or without it so don’t be in my girls comments trying some slick-“

You quickly take the phone from her, shoving her arm and finish the video “bye everyone!” and you click out of the voiceover tab.

she lets you do that one coquette trend where you tie a bow around her bicep and she flexes😭😭she’s very shy and  embarrassed by it btw 

comments begging her to make her own acc 

ynfan123

when will emily make her own acc🙏🙏🙏🙏

ynaccount replied

“i’m never doing that shit” direct quote from emily herself 

doing the “spin 15 times then try to kiss” trend

OOOH OMG THE “MINE VS HERS” TREND ACTUALLY SOBBING example

there’s multiple videos like this on your page cus ur a certified horndog 🙏🏾🙏🏾

this one’s so cute too omg

comment’s definitely are filled w ppl being “jealous” of y’all’s relationship 

ynfan123

the way she looks at you MY GODDD 

ynfan123

parting my hair w a chainsaw ❤️

ynfan123

so me and who

ynfan123

CON😭GRAT😭ULAT😭😭IONS

so many tiktok’s of emily just chilling under your shirt 

showing off ootd’s together but she’ll literally stand in front of you if you turn around cus ain’t nobody need to see your ass but her LMAO

this is so her

you guys do the “your spinning me around, my feet are off the ground” trend and that’s the ONLY “tiktok dance” she’ll do

WILL respond to ppl who thirst over you in her comments 

please don’t hate there’s so many links in this one bcs i wanted y’all to have like visual representations of what i’m saying 😭

also couldn’t decide between a fic or headcannons so i tried to do both, snuck a lil drabble in there

and lastly this might be my favorite one out of all the ones i’ve done so, very proud of it and hope you enjoy!🫶🏾

#women’s basketball #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaa #wlw #wnba #emily engstler #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler headcannons

[lumi077]

X-Men HCs

A/N: my hyperfixations are not very hyperfixating rn. literally they’re changing so fast. But take some nice little relationship headcanons, and the next Chapter of Winters’ Servants is coming soon!!

Characters included: Logan (Wolverine), Scott (Cyclops), Kurt (NightCrawler), Jean

Warnings: potential OOC, nothing else really. kept it nice and light.

Logan (Wolverine):

Logan would absolutely, if you use them, stretch out your new hairbands for you. If you express that you dislike using them unless stretched, he’ll offer to wear them on his wrists for a day or two till they’re stretched to your liking. It could be the most girly hair ties and he’ll proudly wear three on each wrist. When asked, he’ll happily tell them “Just stretchin ‘em for my woman/man/partner”

Scary dog privileges? Scary dog privileges. He adores making you feel safe enough to wear the most skin revealing or feminine clothing. You want to wear something revealing/very feminine but tell him you're scared? He’ll instantly assure you and tell you to wear anything you want. If someone says something, he won’t hesitate to shut them up before you even hear.

There’s going to be a point in your relationship that you’ll realize he absolutely doesn’t care about any of the gross stuff you do. Burp, Fart, don’t shave? He really doesn’t care in the least bit. Definitely the boyfriend that will go, unphased, into the bathroom while you're on the toilet and brush his teeth or shower without a care in the world. If you are comfortable that is, and he secretly preens when he realizes that you're comfy enough to do that stuff around him lol.

I wholeheartedly believe that when he realizes he wants you to be his forever partner, he’ll gift you his dog tags. His past is very personal to him, because he could never remember it for a good part of it. His dog tags are only second to him getting down on one knee. 

Speaking of getting down on one knee, sorry for all the people who want it to be a surprise, but he won’t make a big deal and will tell you about his plans beforehand. No surprise engagement, and no public one. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants to make sure you’re ready and want it too. He doesn’t put much on marriage because it doesn’t change much, and doesn't want you to feel pressured to say yes because there are people there. He’ll love you the same married or not, but he does note how pretty you look with the ring he bought you on your finger.

I personally believe he would be more likely to get in a committed relationship with another mutant. I just think a lot of the X-Men would want to be able to relate to their partner and have their partner relate to them, and Logan is going to live a long life so…I can't truly see him with a normal person. 

If you are apart of the X-Men, while he won’t baby you or anything, he finds himself keeping an eye on you the most. There have been a fair amount of times that you find yourself having a Logan shield on the field, and even more often if you are susceptible to projectiles. 

Dates are a norm at this point, Fridays are always the day he takes you out. It’s usually the same place, but he thinks it’s nice. 

Flowers are also a norm, if you mention you like them. 

He doesn’t do much on Valentine’s day because he already does all the normal valentine’s day stuff it weekly or bi-weekly. Does get cheat food so you guys can eat it and watch stupid rom com movies though. 

Scott (Cyclops):

First and Foremost Scott is such a golden retriever. Anything you want, he obtains quickly and with 0 thoughts of you getting him something in return. He just wants to see his partner happy and healthy, with a smile on their face as often as possible.

He is very big on PDA, likes to hold your hand, or slip an arm around your waist, put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, etc. Overall he just likes touching you, and just because you're in public doesn’t mean anything.

Adding on to his liking of PDA, I feel like he’s possessive. Like in the one X-Men movie, when Logan goes into the past and stops bad shit from happening and goes to touch Jean and he blocks him? Yeah he does that with you but with everyone. He likes people knowing your his and what’s better than you two being attached at the hip in public?

He likes when you wear his things as well, not so much for people knowing you’re his like mentioned above but just because you're adorable in it. Want his sweatshirt? He’s giving it to you even though it's negative 5 out. His cologne? Just take the whole bottle, even though it’s brand new. He’ll get another one!!

When he’s on missions and away, he gives you so many shirts and even a pair of sweats. Sprays the stuffed animals he got you with his cologne, same with your pillows. He will expect the same if it’s you going away for a long time. Or you’ll come back to him sleeping on your side of the bed where it smells the most like you, his face stuffed in one of your pillows that has one of your shirts on it. 

He is very vocal about being your boyfriend, and you being his partner. Everyone in the world knows, yet no one asked. He’ll gush about you to whoever will listen, the rest of the team is so done but they do admit his devotion to you is adorable.

All the ladies and gents and nonbinary pals who want an over the top surprise proposal, this is your man. It’s super romantic, he pays for your nails if you wear them, getting your hair done, and a new outfit. And you can’t even tell it’s because he wants to propose because he does this all the time. Then he takes you to your fav restaurant and pops the question.

Make no mistake though, he has to be 100% sure that you want him to propose to do so. He’s so attuned to you and your likings he gets your dream ring without having to ask everyone close to you first. Which also assures him no one can spoil the surprise.

He is one of the few ones who probably doesn’t care if you're a mutant or not, because his love is 100% blind. He would probably want a mutant partner, but once he falls he falls hard.

He also won’t baby you if you’re in the X-Men, but if he happens to laser them first? Not his fault.

Kurt (NightCrawler):

He is a very shy partner at first. But once he falls for you, and you make it obvious you have fallen for him it all goes out the window. He is a completely different person around you, confident and flirty. He is just so in love. 

Teases you almost constantly, he’s a teaser with everyone but he loves to see you blush and squirm from his words. 

Loves if you run your fingers through his fur, and almost emits a low purr when you do. If you brush it for him, especially if he doesn’t ask you but you WANT to, he swears he is going to marry you one day. 

He takes you places you told him you wanted to go to when you guys were in the talking stage. Paris? Done, let’s get some baguettes for back home! The Bahamas? Pack a bathing suit, and make sure to bring the detangling brush.

He loves non sexual acts of intimacy, like taking baths together!! Your fingers feel like heaven on his scalp when you massage the shampoo and conditioner in his hair. He also loves touching your body, he’s always careful with the fact he has claws but he would never dream of hurting you.

Big on cuddling and all that stuff in private, but I feel like he would want to keep it behind closed doors. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands on you otherwise. 

Long missions with him are never a problem, he’ll just teleport to you wherever you may be and spend time with you before heading back. 

He’s your call bird, and the gossip you two are able to share with one another? It is divine. He seems to know everything, and you know the most obvious stuff but he always makes you feel like Sherlock Holmes when you tell him things he already heard and was going to tell you about. Which is why he always makes you spill the tea first lol.

For marriage and proposing, I can see him accidentally proposing on a mission. Tensions are high, and he’s worried that one of you won’t make it home to the other. The thought alone makes him dread the upcoming battle, but he grabs your hand and looks into your eyes and states with all the conviction in the world “We’ll get married after this.”

You brush it off, after you both survive the battle, that he didn’t mean it. He just wanted you to know how much he loved you. But oh how wrong you are when you walk into a room with all your close friends and family, Kurt in the middle down on one knee and asking you to marry him. Your face was priceless, and lucky for him everyone took pictures. 

He definitely carries around a photo with you wherever he goes, and when he prays he takes it out and not only asks that God protect him, but you as well because there is no life beyond you. Even if you’re not religious he’ll still do it, just for the peace of mind. 

Jean:

She’s the black cat of the relationship for sure. I mean, she has a lot of issues but she always makes you her first priority. 

She keeps tabs on you constantly. What’s your mood, why? She’ll talk to you in your mind when you’re anxious to calm you, and let you know that she’s there with you. She’s probably an anxious persons’ best friend. You don’t even have to talk, she knows what you mean and changes accordingly. 

She is big on communication for sure. If you do something that bothers or hurts her feelings she will sit you down and talk to you about it. And she has this certain way of doing that doesn’t make you feel guilty. She’s just letting you know what she does and doesn’t like and won’t tell anyone else. These things are very private to her. And she expects you to do the same, and her feelings are never hurt by it. 

Jean’s type of love is selfless. She would put herself in danger tenfold just to keep you safe. Mutant or not, she would be the one to baby you if you’re a part of the X-Men as well. There’s always a kind of bubble around you, that not many but you notice. Hence, people think you’re indestructible because you’re the only one who came back uninjured for the fourth time. 

She wants to be independent, but also loves when you do stuff for her. She will never ask, but her heart warms so much when she sees you did something for her because you wanted too and not because she asked. 

She plans your dream proposal. She is almost a roommate in your own mind, she knows what you like and don’t like. 

Small extra blurb: imagine giving telepathic hints that you want a proposal. She thinks “Why are they broadcasting their ring si-ooooh. I see.”

She is so gentle with you, almost afraid that you’ll break and it’ll be all her fault. The way her hands gently caress you or how she holds your hand is so incredibly gentle.

#xmen #xmen x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #scott summers #scott summers x reader #Cyclops x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner x reader #jean grey #jean grey x reader #xmen headcanon #lumiwritings

[maivolpe]

as long as you’re with me (you’ll be just fine)

summary: you neglect an injury to be able to see your boyfriend. he, however, sees right through your charade.

a/n: my first "full" one-shot! this is a reminder to take care of yourselves or else. i hope you enjoy ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: descriptions of blood, stitches, wounds, needles, bucky dog-earing a book wc: 1.5k

the lights were dimmed when you arrived home, battered and bruised. you almost sank to your knees upon entrance, the exhaustion from the day coursing through your body. you dropped your backpack just inside the door with a resounding thud. you'd deal with it later.

your suit still stuck to your skin unpleasantly, the slick feeling of blood still coating your leg. it had taken a few minutes to even realize you had been stabbed, but that was a small mercy. it was a sharp pain like you'd never felt before, and the heat of it all tortured you through the rest of the fight. you had lost the feeling, for a few fleeting seconds, thanks to adrenaline, but now it was back. and worse than before, as your stupid suit rubbed against the wound.

shower, was the plan. shower everything off, bandage it up, and pretend like nothing happened. then you would get to spend the time with bucky that you missed on the mission.

"baby?"

his voice echoed softly across the room, and you squinted before realizing that bucky was tucked under a pile of blankets on the couch. only his eyes, his nose, and his battered copy of the hobbit showed. you laughed breathily, slowly making your way across the room to him. "hey, lover."

he dog-eared his page, causing you to wince internally, and struggled out of the blankets he had trapped himself in. his eyes flitted over your face, taking in your features. the small crease in your forehead, the bags under your eyes. the little tilt to your head, because... you were favoring one leg over the other. busted.

"where are you hurt?" he asked, though he already knew.

you groaned, defeated, and displayed your left leg in front of him. though your suit was still on, there was a sickening stain of blood collecting where you'd quickly wrapped it up and tied it off before leaving the compound.

"it's really not a big deal, doesn't hurt that badly. don't worry about me!"

bucky cocked an eyebrow at you, and reached for your leg. he gently bent your shin backwards, eliciting a hiss of pain from your lips.

"sure, princess. not that bad. sit down."

he headed off to the bathroom to fetch the kit, and you let yourself slowly sink onto the couch.

"if it was bad they wouldn't have let you leave," he called from the other room. "knife wound?"

"yeah," you answered. "i kind of... hid it? but i think they knew you were gonna patch me up regardless."

bucky walked back into the room, his bare feet grazing the carpet. "i'm nothing to you but a nurse."

you laughed and leaned forwards, trapping his lips in a soft kiss. it tasted like heaven after a long day of granola bars and the metallic tang of your own blood. but then again, it always tasted like heaven.

"hottest nurse i ever met."

he chuckled, tying his hair up to keep it out of his eyes and squatting down to see your thigh in the dim lighting. "don't tell sharon that."

he slowly untied the cloth you'd had tied just above your knee, muttering "crude" before letting it fall to the floor. while it wasn't completely soaked through with blood, you still looked away from it, instead watching bucky's jaw set as he pulled out a pair of scissors.

"'m just gonna cut your suit here," he assured. "you've got like fifty of 'em anyways."

you nodded your assent, laying back on the cushions as you heard the tear of fabric. he hissed upon seeing the wound, a three- or four-inch gash just above your knee. it was probably three-quarters of an inch deep, he figured. dried crimson covered every available inch of skin. if it had happened to himself, he wouldn't have cared. he had plenty of scars, and the serum would help to heal it fast enough that it didn't matter.

but to his girl?

he was filled with a rage he hadn't felt since the forties, when steve would show up bloodied and bruised, acting as unaffected as you were right now. he'd been against you going on missions in the first place - while he knew you were capable, he couldn't protect you in the field. he wanted, needed to protect you. but he knew the best way to do that would be to help now, to clean you up, and so he did.

"how're you feeling, pretty girl?" he asked, moving to the faucet in the kitchen. he ran the water over a clean cloth, never taking his eyes off of the couch where you lay.

you pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, sighing. "'m a little dizzy. stitches?"

"mm-hmm."

"ugh."

you closed your eyes - just for a minute - and it felt like the couch would swallow you up, or you would sink right through the cushions. it was quiet, only the ticking of the clock and the hum of the tacky lamp that bucky loved to read by filling the air. they soon faded, and you didn't question why. there was silence for a moment, and the burning in your leg subsided until it was just a dull ache.

your eyes flickered open in surprise at a cool pressure on your lips, parting them just a bit when you realized bucky was holding a glass to your mouth. it felt cool and wonderful trickling down your throat, and before you knew it, the cup was empty and he was pulling it away. he made up for it with the loving look he gave you, though it was tinged with a bit of sadness. it could've just been the shadows, the way the light fell on him, but you knew better.

"hang in there for me, doll," he murmured, sitting back down and pressing the wet cloth to your skin. the sting of the fabric against the gash was more than enough to bring you back down to earth. you groaned, and bucky nodded in sympathy.

"almost done."

he was finished in no time, though it felt like forever, and soon wielded the needle and nylon that you so dreaded.

“here, baby, i got you.” he tucked the end of one of his blankets into your mouth, letting you bite down on it. "ready?"

you nodded, giving him a weak thumbs up. ready as you'd ever be, you supposed.

he went in as quickly as he could, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he slammed out stitch after stitch. you gritted your teeth, your breath hitching. it stung so badly. but it was done as fast as it had begun, and the needle clattered to the ground.

bucky pulled himself onto the couch next to you, his hands moving a million miles a minute. he gently took the fabric from your teeth, laying the blanket softly over your legs, hiding the stitches from view. you held your trembling hands out to him, and they were swallowed up in an instant, deft fingers tracing your veins.

“good job, darling, that was amazing,” he murmured, pressing a tentative kiss to your mouth. your lip quivered and he pulled away quickly, cautious eyes searching for any kind of pain he might’ve caused.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

tears gathered at your waterline, and you sniffled before choking out, “you treat me so well.”

he smiled, but knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “you’ve been stabbed. do you think i wouldn't help you?”

“no i know you'll always help, but… i don't think i deserve it. i didn’t do amazing. it hurt.”

he laughed. “pretty girl, when i had to sew myself up for the first time, i was cussin’ and screamin’ everywhere. you didn’t even make a single sound.”

"well then i shouldn't have gotten stabbed," you grumbled.

he pulled you into his arms. “you got through the fight, first of all, and that's a win in my book. and on top of that, you toughed it out just to come see me, dove. which you shouldn’t have, that was stupid and reckless, but the point here is that you're strong. even stronger than me, i think."

you only hummed, moving your head to rest on his shoulder. it felt as though all of your energy had evaporated from your body, and would float away through an open window somewhere. the rumble of bucky's voice deliberately softened, proving your exhaustion did not go unnoticed.

“want me to sleep on the couch with you tonight?”

you hummed, leaning forward to kiss his neck as your way of saying yes. he chuckled again, the sweet melody of his laughter bringing a ghost of a smile to your tired face. you couldn't see his, but you knew he was grinning.

“c’n you read to me?”

bucky reached for his book, flipping to the dog-eared page. "i thought you'd never ask, dove."

"you know, one 'f these days 'm gonna get tired of hearing about dwarves."

"you won't," he said confidently. "you love me too much."

you snorted, but settled in, tucking your uninjured leg close to your body. bucky tightened his grip around you, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. he cleared his throat dramatically, coaxing another smile from your features.

“bilbo rushed along the passage, very angry, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered…”

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #protective bucky barnes #winter soldier #avenger reader #marvel #mai writes

[ameliathornromance]

Rain, Rain, Rain - Orc Romantic Short Story

There was a growl in the back of your throat as you attempted to clear it. God’s be damned, you had fallen ill. It was nothing serious, a cold from being exposed to the elements. All thanks to your Orc partner. He was the one who had insisted on you both travelling through the storm, so that the two of you could reach the encampment shared by his tribe.

The two of you had gone out on a walk that day, since the weather promised a warm and sunny day. As you listened to your partner’s stories of Orc history, thunder grumbled above you and by the time afternoon became evening, the Heavens had opened. “You’ll be fine.” He’d called to you over the thunder. “You’re one of us now, you won’t fall ill in my care.”

But alas, you had a fever by the time you arrived back. “Won’t fall ill my arse.” You snuggled into your animal skin covers, deeper and further away from your tent entrance, left open to give you fresh air.

Candle light flickered gently next to you, giving you enough light to see your surroundings. The storm had passed the night before, but left you bed ridden and shivering.

It was only now that you could fully recognise what was going on around you: It was night, judging from the darkened sky outside, the camp seemed to bustle with it’s usual fervour. You could hear the familiar grunts and growls of the harsh Orc mother tongue.

A part of you wondered where your boyfriend had gotten to. You hadn’t seen him since your fever had broken and the tribes healer had given him a well deserved tongue lashing. You had only been able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, “you know humans are not like us!” Lashed the old Orc at your boyfriend. Something about ‘you foolish oaf’ and ‘not knowing enough about human bodies’ and, ‘not doing enough to take care of something as fragile as a human being.’

You sniffled, pouted. You hadn’t seen the tribe healer much either. He only came by to bring you water and some stale bread. “Good for the stomach when you are unwell.” He said as he handed you the food. “The big fool has lumbered off somewhere. He’ll be back.” He assured you at your worried expression.

You could not fault your partners eagerness to return to camp; There are worse things than a storm, outside the camp. Due to poor visibility and no way of hearing approaching horses thanks to the thunder and ever pelting rain. Human beings are vicious and sometimes more monstrous than Orcs can be. If they had caught the two of you together, they would have done God knows what to the both of you. Being ill and confined to bed was better than being hung, drawn and quartered by Orc Hunters or a mob of angry villagers. Even in your cloudy state, you knew that this, was definitely not the worst outcome (even if it did sting to admit it.)

The tent flaps parted and revealed your boyfriend. He was covered head to toe in mud and dirt, a brown potato sack thrown over his shoulder, book clutched in his other free hand that hung down by his side. He huffed and panted as he laid eyes on you. “Oh.” He said, surprised. “You’re awake.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him as he set down the sack and thumped the book on the table in the corner of the room, “so I did all that for nothing.”

“Huh?” You asked, nasally.

“I went out to go and get some ‘erbs and that,” your Orc had his back to you as he unloaded the sack, different bundles of roots, branches and nettles of plants on the table, “so you could get better quicker… but I guess I won’t be needin’ ‘em now, will I?” He grumbled.

Your heart twinged at his words. Forcing yourself up, you gazed up at his dirty form. “Thank you for trying.” You sniffled.

He rushed over to you as you tried to sit up further, “no, don’t say that. I should be apologisin’. Shouldn’t ‘ave dragged you through that storm.”

You shook your head. “’ts better than the alternatives.” You sniffled again, “here, if you hand me the book, we could make something to help.”

“No, I’ll get the old geezer to do it,” your Orc partners weight caused the bed to dip below his weight as he sat next to you. “You should rest.” He cupped your head with his hand. His whole palm was as big as your head. His eyes fell to the ground in front of him, “I made the mess, so I should fix it.”

You pursed your lips. “After you’ve washed,” you started, “do you want to come and get into bed with me and you can finish that story you started yesterday?”

Your Orc boyfriend was silent for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Packing up the supplies he bought, picking up the book. He cast a short look back at you, “I’ll give these to the ol’ geezer and bring back somethin’ that’ll make you feel better. Then I’ll finish the story I started yesterday, yeah?” And with one last, toothy grin, he left.

You smiled to yourself. He probably spent the whole day looking for that book and those herbs, and it looks like it wasn’t easy for him to do, judging from the state of him. You shuddered to think where he could have gotten that book from and hoped it wasn’t from the Healer’s tent – there would be more trouble if he had done that.

You snuggled up into the animal skins again, a warm fuzziness taking over you. How lucky you are to have such a lovely Orc partner. Before you knew it, he’d come back, a cup of strange liquid in hand, clean and in a fresh set of clothes and settled himself beside you to finish his story.

#orc boyfriend #orc fiction #orc romance #orc x reader #monster romance #monster lover #monster x female #monster x reader #monster x human #monster x you #fantasy #fantasy romance #fantasy writer #short story #x reader #orc x human #orc x female!reader

[mockerycrow]

May I request a Reader coming to Soap,Ghost, and König for help when they are having an Asthma attack? It’s the boys first time seeing Reader having one and Reader felt guilty for it happening on their watch, but gets reassured by them?

Feel free to skip if it’s too much <3

Ghost, Soap + König Do Their Best To Help You With An Asthma Attack

cod masterlist - multi-characters masterlist

A/N: hi, so i don’t have asthma,, so i did some research!!!! please let me know if this is inaccurate. i also made it so that these three were all together at once. i’m also sorry if it slowly turned to shit at the end :( i feel like it did

[WARNINGS: Asthma attack, slight angst, comfort.]

König had been down in the gym room with Ghost and Soap which was a bit out of place, but König had been ordered to take sparring lessons from you three. Apparently, using your size isn’t the only method you should use to take someone else down. You excused yourself a bit ago to the bathroom, leaving the three alone together—but you have been gone for a concerning amount of time. They decided to take a break when you excused yourself, and that had been maybe 10 minutes ago?

“I’ll go see if I can find ‘em.” Ghost grunts as he stands up from his sitting position, grabbing his water bottle. He brushes dust from his cargo pants and he heads towards the door, but he pauses in his place when you come through the doorway, sweaty and wheezy.

Something is wrong.

“Oi, what happened?” His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s demanding. Ghost walks over and looks over you for any physical injuries, hating the way he winced every time you inhale and it’s incredibly wheezy. He abandons his water bottle and grabs your arm, his other hand going on your back and he leads you further into the gym room. Your chest burns with need for air, and you feel as if someone is sitting on top of your rib cage. You cringe as you try to speak, but your throat aches from the desperate inhales for air you’ve already taken. Soap picks his head up and is immediately alarmed by your twisted expression, and taps his knuckles on König’s shoulder to get his attention.

You cough, one hand gripping Ghost’s sleeve and the other on your chest. You point at your chest, taking a deep wheezy gasp and you manage to push out, “Asthma.”

That makes Soap’s heart drop—yes, that’s right, you’re asthmatic. And all three of them completely forgot. It’s not common for you to have an asthma attack in front of anyone, you usually feel it coming on and use your inhaler; but you didn’t bring your inhaler to the gym today. The one day you forgot, and now you’re wheezing in the middle of the gym room. König looks at you with worried glances, not completely understanding at first—you said the word too fast for his brain to catch up.

Ghost is silent for a moment before he helps you properly lay down and props you against the wall, and he watches the way you’re struggling. The guilt eats at him as he opens his mouth under his mask to speak. “Where’s your inhaler?” You shake your head in an attempt to let them know that you don’t have it with you. “What?” Soap says, marching towards you. You nearly start tearing up and you manage to say you don’t have it with you, causing König to head for the door. “It is in your room, yes?”

You have to take a second, but you nod and König is gone within a blink. “I know it’s hard to breathe, but yer alright, bonnie.” Soap’s voice is rough, but it’s assuring. Something for you to focus on aside from the pressure in your lungs. Your throat begins to ache from how hard you’ve been gasping for air, and you know you are not going to have a fun time after this. You can’t help but expect to be reprimanded because of how important your inhaler is, you know you need to bring it everywhere but sometimes you truly forget!

Ghost puts a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes it in an attempt to keep you grounded. “You’ll need water after, yeah?” He murmurs and you nod, your hand flying out to grab onto his sleeve, panic filling your gut again. Soap grabs your other hand and speaks with a reassuring voice. “König will be back soon, I promise.”

And he was indeed back.. very soon. You could hear him running down the hall. König busts into the room, holding up your inhaler as he runs over, panting. “I got it!”

König helps you take two puffs of your inhaler, all three of them looking at you all worried-like, but you knew you’d be okay because they were there to help.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #mw2022 #modern warfare ii #mw2 2022 #cod #mw2 fanfic #mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #könig x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #konig x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig imagine #konig cod

[em-prentiss]

Hello. Big fan of your writing. I was wondering if you could write Hotchniss from someone else’s perspective maybe the team watching them being cute and soft together and them seeing their new side?👀🤭

Heyy, thank you!! I really love this idea, so I hope you like my execution of it <3

you can see it with the lights out (you are in love)

----

“I think,” Penelope whispers, her smile evident in her voice, “this is the best thing to ever come out of the BAU.” Her eyes snag on the way Aaron buckles Emily’s seatbelt before he shuts her door. She’d been disbelieving at first, unable to imagine the two of them together. But now, looking at them, the gentleness of their love, she can’t imagine things being any different.

The car pulls away and JJ smiles at the sight of Emily’s head resting against the window. She’s already fast asleep.

“I think you’re right.”

Aaron and Emily, through different lenses.

Word count: 5.2k

Mild cw for some minor injuries, nothing graphic but a little blood mentioned

----

It starts slowly. 

At first absolutely nothing changes, Aaron and Emily going about their work as Hotch and Prentiss—last names, the occasional (and still prevalent) disputes—as if the team hadn’t caught them making out in a storage closet.

It takes a few months for them to evolve further than the generously filled cup of coffee with a gentle hand to the shoulder and the secret holding of their fingertips beneath the table, a habit of theirs they still haven’t broken.

Their armor starts crumbling on a rowdy night out. One Aaron does not want to go to. 

“Let’s just go home, Em.” It’s as close as he’s ever come to pleading in the nine months they’ve been together. It’s been a strangely quiet day and all he wants to do is go home and spend time with her and Jack, make them dinner and fall asleep on the couch to Cars with his head in Emily’s lap and her hand in his hair.

“And do what? Eat dinner and go to bed at 10 like old people?” Emily wrinkles her nose in distaste. “It’s our weekend, Aaron. The first one without a case in god knows how long.” 

She’s restless, her body humming with unspent energy, and today is exactly the kind of day where a night out at a bar actually sounds good. She perches on the edge of his desk, lets her knee touch his. “Please?” She smiles, her eyes bright and her smile brighter still.

Aaron wilts. He has yet to find a way to say no to her when she flashes those brown eyes, dark and beautiful and like a knife straight through his heart. 

He sighs. Emily’s smile widens; she knows she’s got him. 

“It’ll be fun,” she assures, the open blinds of his office only barely holding her back from kissing his downturned lips. 

“You’ll get to touch me,” she reminds him, reaching her hand out to soothe the furrow between his brows instead. “And dance with me.” Her thumb softens the creased skin, runs over it until it’s flat. Aaron feels his lips tip upward in a smile.

“And you’ll finally get to scare off any guy that tries to hit on me,” Emily grins, recalling the last time they went out with the team. She could see the tight line of Aaron’s jaw all the way from the bar, his forceful gaze searing onto her skin as he gripped his drink so hard she thought the glass would shatter in his hand.

“Okay,” he concedes.

Emily beams at him. She leans forward, her nimble fingers undoing his tie with ease. Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up. “Undressing me in the office already?” He asks mildly. “At least close the blinds.”

“Hush,” Emily laughs as she slips the tie from his neck. Tossing it carelessly on his lap, she pops his collar and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, feeling her whole body heat under his gaze as he watches her closely. “I’m making you bar-ready.” She murmurs. 

“I see.” Aaron hums. Emily looks up at him and smiles as she meets his eyes. She brings a hand up and runs it through his hair, thoroughly messing it up. 

“Hey!” He laughs and grips her wrist lightly. “You said bar-ready, not…delinquent.” He protests.

Emily laughs and swats his hand away. It falls to her thigh as she continues messing up his hair, shaking up the leftover gel in it until it’s soft and wilting over his forehead.

“That’s better,” she murmurs, proud of her handiwork. Now he somewhat resembles the Aaron she sees at home, soft and relaxed. Only one thing left. “Take off your jacket.”

Aaron sighs and obliges. “Any other orders, Ma’am?” He looks up at her as he places his jacket on the desk, his softened gaze betraying his annoyed act.

Emily smiles coyly and takes his right hand into her lap. “Roll up your sleeves,” she says as she starts doing the task herself, popping open the button on his cuff and rolling his sleeve up to his elbow.

Through the open window, JJ, Morgan, and Reid watch with rapt attention as Emily perches on their boss’ desk and casually attacks his meticulous appearance, her fingers mussing his hair and undoing his buttons.

“Interesting,” JJ murmurs when Hotch simply shakes his head at her, his laugh visible even from the bullpen in the way his large shoulders shake. He does nothing to stop her, leaning back in his chair when she takes his hand into her lap, her head bent as she fusses with his sleeve.

“Weird is more like it,” Morgan mutters. He’s never seen Emily smile so wide at Hotch before, never seen him smile like that at all.

“He’s letting her sit on his desk,” Reid comments, mildly intrigued at their lack of interest in the open blinds.

“That, pretty boy, is one of the many advantages that come with dating the boss,” Morgan says, his voice dripping faux wisdom. 

“You seem like you know all about that,” Reid retorts snarkily. 

Morgan exclaims in surprise and JJ huffs out a laugh, “Behave, both of you,” she looks behind her to find Hotch and Emily walk out of his office. “Or else Mom and Dad will ground you both.” She winks at them, promptly shutting them up.

________

He’s tense against her, his eyes fixed on the table their friends are at. Reid ducks his head to avoid Aaron’s gaze but Rossi meets him head on, making him grimace. 

Emily turns to glare at them, her icy expression forcing Rossi to turn away. 

“Ignore them.” She loops her arms around Aaron’s neck and tilts his head down. He meets her warm eyes, feels the ruckus around them slow down to a buzz as she threads her fingers into his hair and smiles reassuringly at him. She presses closer to him and he relaxes, his shoulders slumping as she presses a lingering kiss to his jaw.

Until he hears the loud squealing and whooping of Penelope and Morgan back at their table. Aaron instinctively turns to them, his eyes leaving Emily’s. She feels him tense against her again and holds back a growl.

Emily tugs his head back to her, a little too forcefully. “Eyes on me, Aaron.”

His eyes immediately snap back to hers. Emily smiles at the darkened look in them, her words accidentally snapping into a command. He turns his back to the team and focuses solely on her. “Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smile before he bends down and presses them against hers.

Emily grins into the kiss. She links their fingers together and tugs him deeper into the dance floor until they’re crammed between throngs of people, away from the eyes of the team. 

She starts moving against him and he’s gone, so far gone, any inhibitions disappearing as Emily moves to the beat of the music in his arms. Aaron finds himself smiling as he matches her rhythm. He suddenly realizes that they’ve never danced together before, at least not like this, with pounding music in his ears instead of her soft sighs and bitten back moans.

He voices the thought out loud to her as his hands tightly grasp her hips and pull her closer. “We’ve never done this before,” he breathes in her ear, feeling her link her fingers together behind his neck.

“Fun, isn’t it?” She smiles brightly, her eyes glittering, and he can’t help but agree. 

“Yeah,” Aaron murmurs, leaning down to kiss her. He slips a hand into her fluffed out hair, his other digging into her waist and feeling the smooth skin peeking out from the hem of her shirt.

Across the bar, two blonde women are clutching each others arms. 

“Oh my god.” Penelope squeals, just barely holding in the urge to jump up and down in glee. “Look at them, Jayje. Hotch is smiling!”

“I see them, Pen,” JJ laughs, but she can’t help but feel her friend’s reaction is just a little bit understandable—just a tiny bit.

Aaron and Emily are deep into the dance floor, lost in their own universe as they dance together, laughing and smiling, their bodies moving against each others with practiced ease. It feels almost private to see, the way Aaron smiles at Emily, how she digs her hands into his hair so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her shirt rises up her stomach, her jeans low enough on her hips that she sees something on her skin. Multiple somethings. Four circular marks, dark against her pale skin and peeking out from the hem of her jeans. JJ frowns, wondering if she got hurt, but she’s moving around carelessly, the bruises obviously not bothering her. She’s about to look away when Hotch’s hands trail lower, his fingers pressing directly on the bruises. They disappear beneath his fingertips, the perfect size, and—oh.

JJ flushes.

They watch as Emily turns around in his arms. She leans into him, cards her fingers through his unusually messy hair and pulls him down for a kiss. His palm slips up her shirt and JJ turns away, swallowing down her surprise.

Penelope grins next to her, officially losing her mind. “Oh my freaking god,” she slurs, throwing back her drink and gripping the glass tightly, “boss-man has moves?” She exclaims in disbelief, her eyes widening. “No wonder Em is all over him.”

JJ doesn’t like to intrude, but her eyes are drawn to them. Hotch seems so carefree, so relaxed, his body limp as if Emily had taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. She sees his face break out in another smile, a dimple dug deep in the cheek she can see—she’d bet money there’s another equally deep one carved into his other cheek—as he says something to Emily. She laughs back, her cheeks flushed, and Hotch brightens, his whole face glowing.

JJ smiles, her heart warming at the sight of them. At first she’d doubted Emily could fall for someone so serious and stoic, but she glows under his gaze, his touch. She doesn’t know how this happened, but she does know one thing; they’re in deep.

“Did you know he has a dimple?” She turns to Penelope, her eyes sparkling.

Emily turns her head slightly and laughs at the sight of JJ and Penelope gawking at them. She’s sure if she was in other situation, any less drunk, she’d have been annoyed. But right now she can’t really bring herself to care.

“They’re losing their shit,” she whispers to Aaron, her lips nipping at the warm skin of his jaw. He hums as she continues her lazy kisses and slips her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let them.” He looks down at her, breaking her contact from his skin. Aaron tenderly tucks her dark hair behind her ear, his knuckles lingering on her cheek. He shifts so his back is to their friends and leans down to kiss her, softly, gently, starkly different from the heated kisses they’ve been sharing all night.

“I’m glad we decided to come,” he squeezes her waist. 

Emily’s eyes light up. “Really?”

Aaron smiles. “Really.”

****

Penelope startles when she catches sight of her boss standing in the doorway. It’s still weird to see him like this, as simply Aaron and not Hotch. He’s dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, his lips turning up in a soft smile as he looks at Emily. Her friend is sprawled next to her on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest and laughing at JJ’s story, cheeks softly flushed pink from the multiple drinks she’d had. She doesn’t notice him yet, her attention on JJ sitting cross legged on the floor.

“Sir Hotch!” Penelope may or may not yell, and Emily’s gaze slides from JJ to Aaron. Her face transforms as she beams at him, her smile spreading impossibly wider as he awkwardly scratches his hair. 

“You don’t have to call me sir outside of work, Garcia.” He insists yet again as he crosses the living room, his eyes already locked on Emily’s.

“Feels weird not to,” she says cheerfully, yelping at JJ’s pinch to her socked foot. What? She mouths at her friend. JJ mimes zipping her lips shut, her eyes wide and curious.

Her comment goes unanswered as Aaron crouches down in front of Emily. “Hi, Em.” He says softly.

Emily smiles lazily. “Hi,” she slurs. She drops the pillow and lurches forward to wrap her arms around his neck. His arms band around her back as she almost slips off the couch and halfway into his lap, her movements unsteady and clumsy. Her knees knock into his chest but he doesn’t seem to mind. She whispers something to him, her dark hair nestled beneath his chin, and he smiles.

Penelope feels something in her melt at the still unusual sight of his dimples, his smile so soft her heart aches. 

The room is too quiet to mask his reply. “I missed you too,” his voice is quiet, low as Emily leans back and gives him a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

Aaron flushes. His eyes dart to Penelope and JJ, who hurriedly look away as Emily mumbles, “Let’s go home,” into his skin, her inhibitions lowered as she slips her fingers into his hair and nuzzles her face away from her friends, into his neck.

Penelope bites her thumb between her teeth, trying to hide a smile as Aaron clears his throat and awkwardly stands up, juggling Emily in his arms as he unsteadily gets to his feet. She feels a grin spreading wide on her face despite her best efforts, a look at JJ telling her she’s struggling, too. They hadn’t seen more of Aaron and Emily since their initial night out, case after case steering them clear of bars and dinners.

At least the alcohol is a good excuse for their unabashed interest.

Hotch—Aaron’s—cheeks are dusted pink as Emily stumbles into him, her arms wrapping around his waist. She lays her head on his shoulder and turns back to her friends. 

“Sorry guys, I hav’ta go,” she tells them, her eyes almost comically wide. “My pretty boyfriend gets lonely when I go out for too long,” she whispers loudly, breaking out into giggles as Aaron bites back a sigh.

“Right, Aaron?” Emily turns to him, her lip bitten between her teeth. Her hand slips off his hip and slides into his front pocket, the movement thoughtless, instinctual. 

Through her drunken haze, Penelope watches Aaron’s cheeks flush bright red, as if he’d been drinking along with them. Another giddy thrill goes through her at this new side of him, another chip of his armor removed and thrown to their feet. The reason for it is still moving impossibly closer to him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

He swallows but doesn’t refuse her touch as she leans into him. “Sure, Emily,” he mutters, clearing his throat and turning to JJ. “Can we have a bottle of water for the ride?” Aaron asks, firmly wrapping his arm around Emily’s waist as she sways against him.

“Uh huh,” JJ nods and pushes herself to her feet, unsteady as she heads to the kitchen. Penelope scrambles up to follow her, socks slipping on the hardwood floors.

“Oh, Jayje, aren’t they the cutest?” She whispers as JJ opens the fridge and takes out a water bottle. “Hotch is blushing,” she sighs dreamily. “I didn’t know he could do that.” Her eyes drift to the living room wall separating them from Aaron and Emily, briefly wishing it were transparent as Emily’s voice faintly drifts toward them.

JJ giggles, “He’s like a tomato,” she agrees, promptly taking out another bottle and pressing it to Penelope’s flushed cheek. Her friend yelps as JJ takes out another bottle for herself along with Emily’s. “Now we know he’s kinda human.” She wiggles her brows.

Penelope gasps loudly. “That’s mean,” she slaps JJ’s arm. “Hotch has always been fully human with me,” she insists firmly, even as her words slur together. 

“Em is just helping him show it more. Isn’t that cute?” She sighs as they walk back to the living room again. She stumbles and JJ loops their arms together, though she’s hardly any more steady.

“’s cute,” she mumbles, resting her head against Penelope’s as they walk into the living room again. 

Emily’s face is firmly tucked into Aaron’s neck, her hands in his back pockets and his arms around her back. He abruptly stops whatever he was saying, his soft voice tailing off into a hesitant smile as he takes the bottle from JJ.

“Thank you, JJ,” he says. His cheeks are decidedly less pink than they were before, but he still doesn’t hold their gazes for long.

“Sure,” she hums in reply. 

Emily untangles herself from Aaron’s arms and gives her friends a joint hug, JJ’s arm still looped through Penelope’s. 

“Night, mes amours.” She gives them quick kisses and bounces back as suddenly as she came, her arms barely wrapping around them before she goes back to Aaron’s side. 

“Next time at my place, yeah?” Emily grabs his hand and pulls it around her shoulders as JJ and Penelope hum in affirmation.

“Good night.” Aaron tells them over his shoulder as Emily pushes him toward the door.

“Night,” the women grin back. JJ smiles at the way he submits to Emily’s will, lets her push him around even with his arm steady around her waist. Who would’ve thought, she sighs as they disappear from view, her heart unbearably warm at the sudden, unexpected happiness her friends had found. 

“Pen’s bangs are nice.” Emily’s voice floats to them from the foyer, wistful and slurry, a couple octaves louder than it usually is. “I should get some too. D’you think I’d look pretty with bangs?”

The door creaks open. Aaron’s voice is low as they walk out into the night. “You’d look pretty in anything.” He says, affection seeping through the words. “Just not tonight, hon.”

The door slams shut behind them and the two blondes wilt against each other, sighs and giggles escaping their parted lips as they see Aaron guide Emily into his car, his hands gentle on her even through the living room window.

“I think,” Penelope whispers, her smile evident in her voice, “this is the best thing to ever come out of the BAU.” Her eyes snag on the way Aaron buckles Emily’s seatbelt before he shuts her door. She’d been disbelieving at first, unable to imagine the two of them together. But now, looking at them, the gentleness of their love, she can’t imagine things being any different.

The car pulls away and JJ smiles at the sight of Emily’s head resting against the window. She’s already fast asleep.

“I think you’re right.”

****

Dave can count on his fingers the amount of times Aaron Hotchner ever lost his shit. Even when he was a quiet, overly confident agent fresh out of the academy, he barely lost his cool, always staying frustratingly in control. 

That is, of course, until Emily walks into the conference room leaning heavily on an officer, blood slowly leaking from a gash in her forehead and her left eye quickly turning sickening shades of purple. 

“Emily.” Aaron jumps up from his seat at the table. She lets go of the officer supporting her and sways on her feet, but Aaron is in front of her in an instant. 

“Woah,” she says quietly as she grips his forearms, her knuckles white and her face bloodless. Dave feels a pang in his heart as she stumbles headfirst into Aaron, her legs shaky and weak.

“What the hell happened?” Morgan demands as Aaron helps Emily into a chair, his brows tightly drawn and his jaw clenched. His hands are soft, though, his voice softer still as he quietly whispers sit down, honey, frowning when Emily slumps into the chair with a low groan.

Dave turns away from them and looks at the officer that accompanied Emily, his brows raising as he waits for an explanation. They were only supposed to interview the victim’s boyfriend. 

The officer pales when Aaron turns to him as well. 

“We saw him outside his apartment, he was already looking like he was ready to bolt. We just introduced ourselves then he kinda…slammed her into a lamppost.” He ends lamely, swallowing as Aaron’s gaze turns vaguely murderous.

Dave doesn’t blame him.

A weak scoff breaks the tense silence. “He wasn’ too happy we wen’ to visit him,” Emily mumbles. She raises her hand to block the lights, her face twisting in a grimace as she leans back into the chair.

Aaron grips the back of her seat, standing guard over her even though the damage is already done. His tone is low when he speaks, buzzing with barely controlled anger. “JJ,” he grits out, “put an APB for that asshole’s car and tell the detective we need to be on the lookout for him. Morgan, call Garcia and have her track his phone. Reid, get me a first aid kit. Now.” He barks, and they all snap into action.

“Than’ god, I really didn’ wanna go to the hospital,” Emily slurs as everyone clears out of the room. She squints at Aaron as he crouches down in front of her. “Y’re all blurry, though.”

Dave reaches for one of the cold water bottles on the table and holds it to Emily’s forehead. “Hold that there, bella,” he says quietly as Aaron works on unlocking his tight jaw. 

Emily holds the bottle without complaint. “Than’s Rossi. Tha’ bastard got me good,” she winces.

“If it’s too bad, we will go to the hospital, Emily.” Aaron says firmly. His eyes don’t leave her as he blows out a breath and gently tilts her face under the lights to see the extent of the damage. Dave can almost hear his teeth grind together as he examines her eye, nearly swollen shut.

“No, ’ron, I don’ need it.” She mumbles. Aaron ignores her as he carefully runs his finger around her eye, prodding along her cheek. He presses on the bruised skin of her nose and she flinches. 

“Ah, fuck, why’d ya do that?” Emily hisses.

He blanches and pulls away as if he’d been burnt, “Sorry, sorry,” he rushes out, dropping his hands from her face. “Just wanted to check if anything’s broken.”

“Is it?” She scowls, holding the bottle with her other hand. 

Aaron shakes his head and steadies the bottle himself. Emily lets go and closes her eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallows. She curls her fingers in the fabric of her pants, her knuckles turning white from her grip.

The sudden silence makes Dave hyper aware of his own presence. 

“Anything you need me to do?” he asks, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding on something unbearably vulnerable; Aaron crouched in front of Emily, her knees pressed against his chest as he holds the bottle to the split skin on her forehead.

“Have Garcia dig into his life,” Aaron says tightly. “We need to work him into the profile, re-interview the parents and their friends and see what their relationship was like.”

Emily opens her eyes and flinches back a little, her knuckles sharpening under her skin. “The lights hurt,” she mumbles. 

Aaron’s pained look doesn’t surprise Dave so much as Emily’s admission, quiet and slurred, clearly meant only for one person. Reid finally comes back with the medical kit and Aaron sets down the bottle, popping the kit open and grabbing a pair of alcohol wipes.

“I know, honey, just close your eyes.” He whispers, gently swiping the wipe over her skin. It grows red in seconds, and he quickly discards it to tear open another one. “You definitely have a concussion.”

“Doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” Reid murmurs, leaning forward to examine the gash as Dave leaves in search of the detective. He explains the turn of events and is halfway through re-arranging the interviews when his phone buzzes with a message from Aaron.

Taking Emily back to the hotel. I’ll coordinate with you once she’s settled.

We’ll handle it, Dave sends back, unsurprised by the message. These past few months Aaron has slowly been loosening his tight grip on work, instead shifting his focus to prioritize his son and a certain brunette whenever they needed him.

He sees them walking out of the precinct, Emily leaning heavily against Aaron with her arm around his neck, trying her best not to sway. Aaron’s grip is tight around her back, his steps small as he matches her pace.

Dave is half surprised he doesn’t carry her outright.

****

Spencer stands next to the sliding door leading to the backyard, trying to leech warmth from the living room. He stuffs his cold hands into his pockets and wonders who encouraged Dave to plan a barbecue in the midst of winter. 

“Here,” JJ walks over and hands him a mug of coffee. 

“Oh, perfect, thanks,” he sighs as he wraps his freezing fingers around the mug, tipping it back and feeling the hot coffee scorch his throat as it goes down. JJ hums in response and takes it from him to steal a sip, the cold seeping into her skin despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“This really was a terrible idea, wasn’t it?” She laughs as she looks around at the backyard, Emily hissing and spitting as she rubs her arms, Penelope huddling next to the grill and effectively Morgan, her gloved hands wrapped around his bicep. 

Dave seems to be the only one enjoying himself, watching over Morgan and Aaron like a hawk, making sure they don’t burn the steaks as he leisurely sips his scotch.

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, shivering as a gust of wind cuts through his clothes. 

JJ smiles. “Here,” she opens up the blanket so he can join her. He doesn’t hesitate, eagerly wrapping it around himself and huddling into her for warmth.

“Thanks.” He hums as the cold starts to leave his body. She hands the mug back and Spencer tries not to fuss too much over the idea of her lips touching the same area of the rim as his. He lets it warm his hands instead, his eyes catching on Aaron and Emily next to the grill.

She’s frowning, rubbing her arms as her mouth moves quickly—no doubt in complaint, Spencer thinks with some amusement; he always appreciated Emily’s bluntness. The tip of her nose is red, the sleeves of her sweater stretched over her knuckles as she rubs her palms together, her lips turned down in annoyance.

Aaron smiles at her and passes the tongs in his hands to Dave, who mildly protests as he takes them. Aaron ignores him as he steps away from the grill and in front of Emily. 

JJ’s arm presses into Spencer’s as she reaches for his coffee mug again. He hands it to her absentmindedly, his eyes on Aaron as he opens up the sides of his jacket.

“That’s weird,” he murmurs as Emily’s frown disappears. “Why’s he—oh.”

She walks into Aaron’s arms and promptly stuffs herself inside his jacket. 

He hears her laugh as Aaron tucks the sides of his jacket closed around her body, fitting her snugly against him and pressing his lips to her hair as she snuggles closer. Emily’s scowl is nowhere to be seen as she looks up at him, her lips twisting in a smile as she says something, too far away for Spencer to hear.

He feels his heart grow warm suddenly, as if he were the one tucked into someone’s jacket. Spencer smiles a little, his mind clocking the difference between this Aaron and Emily and the ones he’d known a year ago. They used to be tense and stiff, hesitant to show outward affection as if someone would scold them for it. But they’re both fully relaxed now, soft dimples in each of their cheeks as they ignore everyone else, brown eyes locked on brown.

“Wish I had that,” Spencer mumbles to himself, acutely feeling the cold sink into his bones. 

JJ turns to him in surprise, an excited sparkle in her eyes. “A relationship, you mean?” Her brows raise into her hairline.

She looks far too excited at that prospect. Spencer shudders, “God, no. The warmth,” he clarifies, looking down at JJ and giving her a wry smile. “They look awfully comfortable, don’t you think?”

JJ laughs as she looks back at Aaron and Emily, the two of them huddled close together. Her head is tucked under his chin and his lips are pressed to her hair, his hands holding the sides of the jacket closed over her back. There’s not an inch of space between them.

“They do,” she agrees.

However, not everyone enjoys the domesticity.

“Hey lovebirds!” Morgan calls out, pretending to twist his mouth into an irritated frown. “How about you make yourselves useful?” 

Penelope slaps his arm and he bites back a grin.

Emily rolls her eyes and puts her lips to Aaron’s ear, mouthing something that looks an awful lot like flip him off.

Spencer is proven right when Aaron hesitates, his hands tightening on her back. “That’s childish,” he hears him say. 

Emily heaves a huge sigh and turns her head back to meet Morgan’s gaze. “Fuck off, Morgan,” she grumbles and huddles close to Aaron, fitting her head under his chin. “You wish you were as warm as me right now.” 

“Like I want to be that close to your boyfriend,” he scoffs, setting down his tongs. “Besides, I got my own babygi—”

“He’s my fiancé, I’ll have you know.” She retorts, the way her eyes widen telling Spencer the words slipped past her lips without much thought.

It’s quiet for a few stunned seconds before Aaron breaks the silence. 

“Emily.” He laughs, the sound breaking them all from their reverie. “It hasn’t been two days,” he shakes his head, but he’s smiling at her, amused and utterly infatuated.

“Sorry,” she grins up at him, not looking sorry in the least as Penelope grabs her shoulders and pulls her out of his jacket. 

Emily yelps and stumbles backward, but the blanket flaps against Spencer’s side and suddenly JJ’s there to steady her, hands tight on her shoulders.

They squabble around her and Spencer smiles as she takes out the chain tucked beneath her sweater, the one he’d seen the outline of earlier today and asked her about. Spencer tunes out the squeals as her ring glints in the weak winter sun and raises his brows in mock surprise as he approaches Aaron along with the other guys.

“Congratulations, Hotch,” he grins, his words drowned out by Morgan’s enthusiasm and Dave’s I knew it.

And when Aaron smiles, the curve of his dimple is no longer unusual, but familiar.

#hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[queer-irritator]

Impure Thoughts (Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader)

Prompt: It’s a boiling hot day and the reader wears next to nothing.

Content warnings: Adult language, smut

Takes place in Clemen’s Point. Fem reader physique, neutral pronouns. Continuation of Bloody Knuckles, but not necessary to read it first.

Despite how cold the nights can get on the lake, the days can be brutally hot. Unfortunately today was boiling hot, and sticky from humidity. Days like this make you want to do nothing all day. Not to mention, the clothing options in stores all had far too much fabric. That’s why you’ve taken to making some undergarments of your own. You took an older pair of drawers and cut off about ¾ of the pant leg. You were currently finishing up hemming the bloomers, keeping the signature ruffles on the edge. You also added another layer of lining to make your new shorts more opaque. You cut off any loose threads, closed your tent flaps and tried them on. You sure weren’t used to seeing so much of your thighs exposed… but, then everyone else around camp walked around in their underwear. This was just shorter. You took a deep breath and assured yourself it would be fine. The camp was like family, no one would care what you wore. You exited your tent and tied up the flaps. 

“Oooh, you got some short shorts there, (y/n)!” Tilly was the first to see your new garment.

You turned around to face her, “I know… but it's just so damn hot. Does it look bad?” You asked her. 

“No, not at all! I just think you might have some of the boy’s eyes on ya.” Tilly let out a giggle. 

You blushed lightly. There was only one person here you’d want to look at you in that manner. You shifted your stance awkwardly, “You think so? I think of most of them like family.” 

“Yeah,” Tilly agreed with you, “But men will be men… especially the ones that haven’t seen that much skin in years.” 

You chuckled a little, “I’ll just give ‘em a good slap across the face.” 

Tilly laughed with you, “There you go!” She headed off to work on some laundry. 

You glanced around to see who was in camp at the moment. You started to feel a little self-conscious. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself of the countless times you’ve seen the men walk around without a shirt when it gets this hot out. You tugged on your sleeveless chemise slightly. You were just going to go about your normal routine, which started with filling wash basins. You bent down to pick up an empty bucket and felt the back of your shorts ride up slightly, exposing the bottom of your ass cheeks slightly. Standing up straight again helped the cloth cover yourself again. This is something you’ll have to get used to. 

You made your way across camp, carrying the empty pail. You definitely felt more eyes on you than normal. As you passed Dutch’s tent you saw him do a double take at you out of the corner of your eye. 

“Excuse me, (y/n), but are you TRYING to give the men in this camp a heart attack?” Dutch’s voice boomed throughout the camp. 

You stopped and turned toward him, “If the men can’t control their own thoughts then that’s their fault. It’s hotter than hell out here, Dutch. You don’t say anything when Charles or Sean parade around without a shirt.” You protested his sexism. 

Dutch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I do not have time to argue with you right now.” 

“Well, I do.” You stated, placing the pail down and crossing your arms.

Dutch was searching his brain as to why he had agreed to take you in, “Just… ONLY on hot days, understood?” He gave in, having too much on his mind to stand and argue.

“Yes, sir.” You said, laced with as much sarcasm as you could muster. You picked up your pail and headed to the lake to fill it up. 

Arthur was listening to Charles tell him about a lead on a stagecoach carrying a lot of money when he spotted you on the shore of the lake, bent over and filling up a pail. He could see the distinction between your upper thighs and the roundness of your ass. He shifted his feet as he could feel blood starting to head south. 

“Arthur? Are you listening to me?” Charles snapped Arthut out of his filthy thoughts.

“Yes, I am! Go on…” He lied.

Charles turned his head to see you walking back towards camp, immediately noticing your new bottoms. Seeing the full bucket in your hand, he could imagine exactly what was holding Arthur’s attention.

“Unbelievable…” He looked back to Arthur and shook his head slightly, “Come talk to me when you're done thinking with your pisser.” Charles said as he walked away. 

“I- I wasn’t thinking with my- !” Arthur turned to call at Charles but he was out of earshot by now. He let out a sigh. Why the hell were you walking around like that? God only knows what the other men were thinking about when they saw you. He walked over to Pearson’s wagon where you were emptying the pail of water into a wash basin. 

You heard his footsteps approaching you and you turned your head to greet him, “Hey Arthur.”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Arthur’ me… what the hell are you wearing?” He questioned you. You bent down to place the now empty pail on the floor, “Somethin’ I made because it’s so damn hot.” You replied to him.

He clenched his jaw as he felt his cock jump in his pants. Getting to see you bent over up close was nothing compared to earlier. 

“You can’t just walk around like that.” Arthur told you as he ran a hand down his face.

“And why not?” You turned to look at him, getting fed up with all the men telling you what to do. 

“‘Cause… the men ‘round here are gonna get… impure thoughts.” Arthur lowered his voice for the last part of his sentence. 

You sighed and had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “Frankly, Arthur, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Well…” He was trying to think of a way to convince you to cover up without outing his jealousy. “Ya just need to cover up…” He spit out, “I’ll find ya something.” He put a hand on your upper back and led you to his tent and let down the covers for privacy the second you both were inside. 

You sighed and leaned on his cot, arms crossed across your chest in defiance. You looked around his space, it had a lot more space than your tent. His wasn’t even a tent, it was a tarp over the overhang of his wagon. He had a flower, a carton of cigarettes, and a photo on a crate near his bed. 

“Here.” Arthur handed you a pair of pants he’d been digging in a chest of clothes to find. 

You took the pants and immediately set them down on his cot next to you, “I’m not gonna change, Arthur. It’s too hot.” 

You met his gaze as he sighed and noticed a flush over his cheeks and a sheen of sweat on his face and chest. He even had a few more buttons of his shirt undone today. Your eyes continued down his body until you noticed an unusually large bulge in his pants. It made sense now as to why he was so desperate to get you to cover yourself.

“Arthur?” You called to the flustered man, looking strictly at your face. 

“Yeah?” His throat sounded a little dry.

“Are you the man in camp having “impure” thoughts about me?” You decided to tease him.

“No, I’m just trying to look out for you is all.” He deflected, now avoiding looking at you entirely. 

You pushed yourself off his cot and took a few steps closer to him. You placed a hand on the side of his face gently and turned his heat to meet your eyes once again. 

“That’s too bad. Because you’d be the only person I’d want to be havin’ those thoughts ‘bout me.” You rubbed your thumb against his cheek softly. 

“...Really?” He took a moment to respond to you, unsure if what he had just heard was correct. 

You nodded at him, “Mhm… You gonna kiss me, Arthur Morgan, or do I have to?” You teased him. 

Arthur placed his hands on your waist and closed the space in between you and gently kissed you. 

You closed your eyes and sighed happily into the kiss, you moved your hand to the back of his neck and deepened the kiss and parted your mouth slightly.

Arthur slid his tongue into your mouth and tugged your body closer until it was flush with his. You could feel the pressure of his clothed erection against you which caused your face to flush. You reluctantly broke the kiss and instructed Arthur to sit on his cot. He obeyed and sat so that his back was resting against the wagon. You climbed on top of his lap, legs on either side of him and kissed him again, your hands on either side of his face. Arthur’s hands found their way to your ass and he began to knead your flesh. 

This caused you to moan into his mouth and grind your hips down on to his strained erection. Arthur’s grip on your ass tightened and he began to plant kisses down your neck. You moved your hands down and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and explored his torso with your hands. 

One of Arthur’s hands left your ass and slipped in the front of your shorts and found your clit with ease. 

You gasped at the feeling of his hand in your pants, it was like all your fantasies were coming true in this single moment. You fumbled with the buckle to his gun holster and then groaned in annoyance when you found he had another belt buckle to get through. 

“Too many fucking buckles.” You whispered, more to yourself than to Arthur, but it earned you a chuckle from the beautiful man beneath you. You worked on his belt buckle while Arthur’s fingers began to rub you in lazy circles. 

You leaned your forehead on his shoulder and moaned softly at the sensation. You wanted to make him feel just as good, so you got his belt off and ripped open his pants and shoved your hand down them and found his cock. He was definitely gifted, just the right length and the most girth you’ve ever felt. He let out a groan of pleasure, he spread around the wetness you were producing and easily slid two fingers inside you. It was like a competition of who could make the other person feel the best. 

You moaned, louder than you mean to, when you felt his fingers inside you. You began to kiss him sloppily, and open-mouthed as you grinded down on his digits. You also began to stroke his length, earning a muffled moan from Arthur. 

You broke the kiss and straightened your back, causing Arthur’s fingers to hit your g-spot. You moaned and started to move your hips faster, speeding up your strokes as well. 

“Yes, please, Arthur, right there!” You could feel yourself getting closer to your release. You started to apply more pressure to the head of Arthur’s cock on each stroke. You could feel his body start to tense up. 

“Gonna make me cum with all your dirty talkin’” Arthur grunted.

“Can’t help it. You feel so good.” You blubbered, starting to feel incoherent from all the pleasure.

Arthur used his thumb to rub your clit at the same time. You used your free hand to clasp onto his shoulder as your orgasm peaked and washed over you. 

“Holy shit.” You moaned as you rode yourself through the pleasure. 

You unknowingly had tightening your grip on Arthur’s member and he began to thrust his hips up in time with your strokes. Arthur moved both his hands to a death grip onto your waist as he moaned with his own climax. 

“So fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He praised you as he used one hand to move some hair that was sticking to your face with sweat. His cum had splattered onto his own naked torso and onto your white chemise. 

You sighed in contentment and leaned all your weight against Arthur, feeling exhausted. 

Arthur stroked your head and mumbled all sorts of nonsense at you. 

“Don’t know how long I’ve been wanting that… Better than I could have imagined too.” He kissed your head.

His words made you smile, “Well, now I’m yours so we can do it whenever you want.” You told him, your subtle way of confessing your feelings. 

“Sounds perfect.” He switched from stroking your hair to rubbing your back, “But I’m the only one who gets to see you in these, okay?” He said, a hand resting on your ass. You blushed and nodded, “Alright.” You assured him as you straightened up and slid off his lap. 

“Give me the goddamn pants.” You finally gave in. 

Arthur gave you a smile as he gave you the pants that were next to him and you slid them on. 

“Looks like you need a shirt too.” He observed, a stripe of cum was already drying on your shirt. 

“Mmh, everyone’s definitely gonna know something’s up when I come out in your clothes.” You took off your shirt and grabbed one of Arthur’s button ups and put it on. 

Arthur shrugged slightly, “Pretty sure the whole damn town knew I was sweet on ya.” He cleaned up himself and buttoned his shirt and pants, followed by his belt and gun holster. 

You smiled at him, “I could say the same thing.” You said, giving him a kiss.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan x gn reader

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

Poems of Love (Gaz x F!Reader)

This is part one of the Love letter series (In slow process, please be patient). Starting off with everyone’s favorite pretty boy Gaz! This is just a love poem from reader to our helicopter surivor!

Warnings: Violence against another person, mentions of racism, hurt with written comfort, fluff, writer has very, very little military knowledge!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you could have had it your way which you did but only a little bit, you would have scarred up the bitch that decided it was a great idea to talk shit about your sergeant. Price had intervened when he was brought in for the commotion, finding you and her in a pile on the ground of the mess hall, your fist repeatedly meeting her face. The guy she was with looked just as bad as she’ll look after Price had Ghost pull you off of her.

”Alright! What the hell is going on here?!” He turns to you expecting an answer, before you can speak however the girl you had been wailing on decided to speak up.

”She just went mental and attacked us!” Ghost scoffed, “Sounds like a load of shit private.” Ghost looks to Price who says nothing, still looking at you for an answer. “What happened, sergeant? I won't ask again.”

You took a breath to center yourself, placing a hand on Prices wrist, a sign you were truly pissed and grateful for your captain holding you back. You looked at Gaz who was staring at the floor, with Johnny patting his back. “Sir, the guys and I were simply enjoying our lunch, when Private Downs and her buddy Private Fallow decided it was an amazing idea to address Sergeant Garrick by racial slurs. I took it upon myself to defend his honor.”

Price looks at Gaz and Johnny, who confirm the story. Price turns you loose to Johnny so you can see if Gaz is okay. He had told you not to worry about it, to leave it be as it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, he admired your sense of violent justice and need to defend him.

Price clears his throat, “Well, as it stands we here in the military, especially the 141, don’t take kindly to that sort of talk. You both being in the military, fairly new or not, should probably re-evaluate your life choices. If you find joy in tormenting your fellow high ranking officers perhaps we should remove you.”

”Remove us how?! It’s just words! W-we were just joking!” Ghost rolls his eyes and jostles Private Downs to shut her up. “You’ll shut your bleedin mouth! Sergeant Garrick is more of a soldier than you and your friend’ll ever be in your whole career!”

”Ghost take ‘em to my office. Sergeant!” “Captain?” “Good work defending your colleague, next time though try to make it a bit less bloody, eh? Cleaning duty for a week.” “Totally worth it sir!” Price and Ghost leave with Downs and Fallow in hand ready to put them through back to basic for behavioral and tolerance training.

Gaz had thanked you but told you it wasn’t necessary, he seemed distanced after that. Only saying hello in passing, you thought it was either what the two idiots had said or that he was mad at you, possibly both. Johnny and Ghost had assured you it wasn’t anything you did.

Taking the time you had to sit around after hours you penned him a letter. A poem really but you were hoping it would put him in a better mood. It took you a few hours but once you had finished it and read it over, you folded in up and went to slide it under his door for him to read in the morning.

-The next morning- Gaz pov-

He really wasn’t up for dealing with anyone today, especially not after yesterday's events, but none the less he had to get to up and start his day. Duty called and he had to be at morning training to help Ghost with recruits. He thought back to you and how fast you were to defend him, he was appreciative yes but it really wasn’t a big deal, it came with the military. Some people are just stuck in the Middle Ages like and you can’t help them.

Freshly showered and changed he was about to leave when he noticed a letter on the floor, his name scrawled across the front in beautiful script. He picked it up and sat at his desk to read it.

It looked like your hand writing but he doesn’t remember it looking so nice and neat, havin only ever seen you writing reports in messy, somewhat legible chicken scratch. As he opens it and begins to read he feels his heart swell.

‘To the prettiest man I know

Your bravery knows no bounds, leaving me breathless at your wonder. Akin to a warrior, a deity, war and peace become you. An angel.

Your beauty would be compared to that of Narcissus, of a warm summer day and lovely autumn nights. Your eyes bring delightful thoughts of dark chocolate in the shade and shine like the brightest amber whiskey in the light.

Skin aglow in the afternoon sun and glistening with sweat,  who could ever deny you? Aphrodite herself would bargain with you for your secrets. Would regale you with tales of beauty and mark you as one yourself and no one would bat an eye in disagreement.

I look upon your beauty and heroism with awe and hope that one day I could stand in even a shred of your greatness. If you were a god I would worship at your alter for all of my days, the most devoted supplicant, spreading your praises through any means.’

Gaz must have read it 4 times and he didn’t know what to say, his eyes were a little bit misty. Others had praised him yes, for his efforts on the field, his medals, but no one had ever called him a deity. No one had ever complimented his eyes like that. He rubbed at is eyes, letting out a huff, before folding up the letter and placing it in his desk drawer before heading out to morning practice. His heart feeling lighter.

If you would like to join the Tag list comment and I’ll add you!

Tag List: @cumikering

#~Harley finally writes something🫣 #The Love Letter Series #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #Kyle Gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle garrick x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Good Times, Bad Times, Past Times

Author: Lazarus Rose

Artist: avalonlights

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (Mentioned(

Length: 25000

Warnings: No major archive warnings

Tags: Time Travel, Post-Canon, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence

Posting Date: October 11, 2023

Summary: With his demon deal almost due, Dean didn't foresee much of a future for himself — until he is faced with a version of him from 2023. This apparent future is accompanied by Sam and another man who seems very close to Dean's future self and claims to be a fallen angel. Dean thought he and Cas had finally gotten their happy ending after defeating Chuck and semi-retiring from hunting. But, after Jack informs them of a rogue angel who has gone back in time to kill Dean before he ever went to Hell, the two of them agree to join Sam for one last hunt.

Excerpt: The dark-haired stranger fixed Dean with an intense blue-eyed stare, squinting slightly before looking over at the other Dean. “I believe,” he said, “that we have found your younger selves.” “Uh-huh,” the other Dean replied, his eyes focused on the guns that were being aimed at the three of them. “Ya think, Cas?” “What the hell?” Dean said, pointing his gun at his doppelganger’s head. “Who the hell are you and why do you look like us?” The other Dean smiled wryly. “There’s a simple answer to all of that, but I doubt you’ll believe me,” he said. “I’m you from about fifteen years in the future.” Dean stared at him, his eyebrows raising in disbelief. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? Time travel?” “Yup.” “Okay, screw this,” Dean said to Sam without taking his eyes off their doubles. “I say we shoot ‘em now.” “Wait!” the other Dean said, holding up his hands. “Look, before you go doing something you’re gonna one day regret,” Dean snorted, “just give us a chance to prove ourselves. You got any holy water or silver on you?” Sam cautiously removed first a flask from one of his pockets and then a short silver blade from the other. He walked forward slowly, holding the objects carefully. The other Dean took them and drank some of the holy water. Dean watched carefully, but there was no reaction. The other Dean passed the flask over to the second Sam with a grin. “Bottoms up,” he said. The other Sam winced at him before downing some of the holy water. He didn’t react negatively either, and neither did the third man. All of them flinched when they cut their forearms with the knife, but only in reaction to the pain and not because they were something supernatural. “So, as you can see,” the other Dean said, gesturing to the cut in his arm, “we’re not shapeshifters or demons.” “Right, you’re only time travellers,” Dean scoffed. “Where’d you park your DeLorean?” The other Dean laughed. “No DeLorean. Got our friendly neighbourhood witch to zap us back.” “Oh, you’re working with witches now?” Dean asked, believing the guy’s story less and less with every word he said. “That’s right. Demons on occasion too. Also vampires, werewolves, angels—” “Angels aren’t real,” Dean said, ignoring the way his brother winced at the comment. “I assure you, they are,” the other man said, stepping forward. Dean switched targets, aiming at the guy’s chest. “One of them is coming to kill you.”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Hello!! I want to request Hibiscus for Allen please, thank you very much :D

Allen Sugasano:

Hibiscus - the realization of a friendship becoming something more.

Allen hated it when you talked to him about dating.

He had never voiced this so it’s no surprise you still did it, calling him to complain about a date or how someone had treated you. You’d received messages from people only interested in your looks, thinking the pictures you received unsolicited were even worse, but you never shared many details about those with him. He normally sat there, listened, assured that you deserved better, and when you hung up, he couldn’t help but mutter ‘what about me…?’

“You know, they call you like, every night.” Anne leaned forward on the counter, placing their elbows and holding their face in their hand. “I know it’s always about their dates, but don’t you think that’s weird? That they say something new about it pretty much every day?”

Allen crossed his arms, head tilted and eyes closed as he tried to think why that should be weird, finally accepting that he couldn’t figure it out, “Why wouldn’t they be on dates every night? They’re attractive enough, and friendly… They probably get messages on dating apps all the time.”

“Know what app they use?”

He never asked, never wanted to think about it more than he had to when you called him. He felt the jealousy flare up again, each time he thought he had it extinguished it rose like a phoenix and left behind a scorched shadow in his chest that would ache for days.

“No.”

“Hm.” Anne tapped their cheek, again pretending to be in thought despite knowing exactly what was going on here. “Have you ever actually tried asking them on a date?”

“…No.” Allen looked away from Anne’s smile, thinking it made him feel a little pathetic; he knew what he was doing when it came to hip hop, but fielding his feelings was certainly not at the top of his skill list. But even music had taken time, it hadn’t started off smoothly but his passion led to something more, and BAE was formed by the passion of three people coming together to do something they thoroughly enjoyed. Romance was harder to pin down, harder to ‘practice’ without going on countless dates but that would be meaningless to him when he only wanted to date one specific person.

“Text ‘em and see what they say.” Anne tapped their fingers against the countertop now, the clicking of their nails on the hard surface snapping Allen from his thoughts. “You never know unless you try, right?”

“But what if…”

“If they reject you?” Anne sighed, mirroring Allen’s crossed arms pose now. “Is that any worse than having to hear about them talk about other people all the time? Texting and asking when you know them is like, uncool, but I think you’ll be forgiven.”

So, he just had to take a chance, huh?

Allen had been through much worse, finger hovering over your name, trying to find his voice again as the ringing tone filled his ears.

#Paradox Live #Paralive #Paradox Live Imagines #Paradox Live x Reader #Paralive Imagines #Paralive x Reader #Allen Sugasano #Allen Sugasano x Reader #Flower Meme #Scenario

[darkness-and-books]

I’ll marry you

TOS Leonard McCoy x fem!reader

⚠️: reader dies in the end, reader is fem

word count: 903

“When I grow up, I’ll marry you” she said it all the time when they were young. She and Leonard grew up next door to each other. They were the best of friends and from the start a little bit more too. It was the innocent kind of love, the kind where they shared everything and would do anything for each other. If Leonard got a cookie from his mother he would always ask for a second and run off with them both. His mother never had any doubt of where that second cookie was going. —————— Age 5 “Hi Lenny!!” Y/N squealed as she saw Leonard running into her yard. “Hi Y/N!! Look I brought you a cookie!!” Leonard shouted, waving the second cookie over his head as he ran. “Really?” Y/N asked breathily, she knew Leonard loved his cookies, these weren’t just the store bought ones, these were the special ones that his mama only made once in a while. “Yeah, mama just made ‘em, they’re still warm!!!” He cheered, “oh I love you, you’re the best!” Y/N jumped around. “Wait here!!” Y/N called as she was already running into her own house. “Mom! Mom! Can I have two juices!??” Y/N bounded through the house. “What’s the second one for?” Her mother called from the kitchen, she knew of course but she still found it adorable. “Lenny brought me a cookie!! I wanna bring him a juice!” Y/N explained rapidly as she watched her mother open the fridge and pull out two juice boxes. As soon as she handed Y/N the juices, she darted for the door like her life depended on it. “Lenny, I’ve got juices!!” Y/N shouted in glee as she plopped down on the steps next to him. They traded one of each with each other and munched happily as the day came to a close. ————- Age 10 “Hey Lenny!” Y/N called as they got off the bus from school. Leonard looked over and nodded to show that she had his attention. “My mom said you can come over and watch a movie after dinner if it’s okay with your mama!” Y/N rushed in the same excited tone she generally kept, “Oh, I’ll run in and ask right now, wait there I’ll be right back” Leonard ordered. He ran in and dropped his school bag at the door, “Hey mama, is it okay if after dinner I go over to Y/N’s and watch a movie?” Leonard pried. “I don’t see why not, just be back by eight” his mother informed, “okay mama!” Leonard replied before running back out to tell Y/N the good news. “My mama said it’s alright, long as I’m back by eight!” He called as he hung out the door of his house, “Alright, see you then Lenny!” ————-

Age 15 “Hey Len, you see the new girl yet?” Y/N asked as she chewed her gum at her desk. “Nah, not yet. Why ya ask?” Leonard was quick reply from the desk next to her. “I dunno, I just hear a lot a people talkin bout her. Figured that if you’d seen her you might know what the fuss is about” Y/N explained as she swung one leg loosely over her desk. “Maybe, but I’m sure she’s not all that, she’s just new, new people are a big deal round here if you hadn’t noticed. Besides she’ll be in here soon just like the rest of us, then you can see what the fuss is for yourself” Leonard remarked. “Yeah, I guess” Y/N acknowledged with a soft sigh. “Don’t worry bout it, darlin I’m sure you’ll still be the prettiest girl around” Leonard assured her. “Flatterer” Y/N muttered to herself, “I heard that” Leonard lamented “Good” Y/N mocked. ————- Age 16 Y/N and Leonard walked down the street to a cafe. “Did you catch what the math homework was” Leonard questioned, “Not even a little, I’m pretty sure I was asleep” Y/N admitted. “That explains the snoring” Leonard noted “I do not snore!” Y/N contested. “I know, just messing with ya” Leonard conceded. “Cross here” Y/N informed, looking back at Leonard as she crossed. “Wait!” Leonard reached for her, but he wasn’t quick enough and neither was the driver who stomped on his breaks just a little too late. Leonard rushed to her as the man got out of his car. “Call 911!” He urged the stranger as he held Y/N. “Hang in there, remember you said you would marry me. You gotta live long enough for us to have the best wedding” Leonard pleaded softly as he held Y/N, who fought to keep her eyes open. “Just know that I would have said I do” Y/N let out in a brittle voice. “You’ll make it, you can tell me you do later” Leonard protested the idea that she wouldn’t be there to tell him that herself. “Love ya Len” Y/N sighed softly and closed her eyes. She had stopped, stopped talking, stopped breathing, stopped. The sirens wailed around him, but it didn’t matter, just like Leonard and the driver, they were too late too. Everything around him was a flurry but all he could think was that she loved him. She really loved him, not just the cutesy kind after he would give her a cookie when they were five, but she really loved him and he never got to say it back.

I can’t believe I chose to traumatise 16 year old Bones. 😭I’m so sorry😭

#star trek #leonard mccoy x reader #Bones #leonard mccoy #i can’t believe I wrote something that wasn’t fluffy

[anabdaniels]

Christmas purchases

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 960

Rating: +18

Warning: Fingering, movement restrain

Main Masterlist | Cowboycember Masterlist

If it was a competition, you’d probably beat the little children on the excitement of that shopping day. In all the time you were married, Jack always had accompanied you during shopping with all the goodwill and patience one could have and it wasn’t different on that afternoon, even with you entering five different stores to find the perfect ornaments for the Christmas tree.

When all that was missing for the decoration was bought, you were planning to go home, but of course, you ended up trapped by your favorite clothing store with a breathtaking holiday collection on display. You told yourself and Jack that it would be just a quick looking around to see the novelties, and his response to that was a simple “Of course.” followed by a chuckle.

Two hours later, you were finally back at the ranch, with more shopping bags you would be proud of, but the joint of your excitement and Jack assuring you that he was more than happy to use his bank card to buy whatever your heart may desire got you carried away.

“I still have the feeling I forgot something.” You said while observing everything you had bought spread all over the living room.

“Considering that you got sweaters to our dogs and an ornament to all the horses, should I be concerned ‘bout what you might’ve forgotten?” Jack looked at you with a raised eyebrow, trying to remain serious.

“I warned you about how dangerous it could be to let me around so many animals.” You said with a convinced smile while moving to inspect another bag, realizing that was your new dresses “I hope you know that you’ll help me choose between them.” You said while examining one of the dresses.

“And let me remind you that I don’t care about what dress you’ll wear.” He stated while hugging you from behind “What matters is the fact that, at the end of the day, I’ll be the one taking ‘em off.” Softly he nibbled your cheek while letting one of his hands move down to grope your butt, only this being enough to make you squirm and melt between his arms. Before you could think straight, you already were lying on your stomach on the sofa, with your hips resting on Jack’s lap.

“Do I want to know what you have on mind?” you questioned while turning your head to look at him.

“You see, honey, I had different plans for you once we got home.” Jack answered while caressing your ass “But you seem to forget that I ain’t 20 years old anymore.”

“Fair enough.” You chuckled and rested your head on the cushion, enjoying the warmth of his hands on your butt.

Unworriedly, Jack moved his hands under your skirt, moving it up and making no flourishes as he tangled his fingers on the sides of your panties, sliding the fabric down your legs and letting it on the sofa seat next to him.

With your forearms crossed under the cushion, you contorted slightly as you felt his rough warm palm brush the sensitive skin of your inner thigh while his free hand was resting on your lower back, softly massaging the region. You arched your back as his fingertips circled your wet folds, but the hand on your back prevented you from moving more than that while Jack pushed your hips against his lap.

Sinking your face on the cushion and whimpering was the most you could do as his index and middle fingers slid inside you and his thumb pressed and rubbed your clit. Aware of the teaser man you were married to, you were prepared for him to keep that cruel slow pace until you were begging for more, but of course, it was Jack fucking Daniels, the least trustable motherfucker when the subject was sex, you should have foreseen that sudden change of pace.

“Shit…” you mumbled while choking on your breath and squeezing the cushion, listening to the noise of the few tree ornaments that were next to you falling on the floor, but unable to care about it.

“No, no. Y’didn’t made me walk that much downtown to break the decoration now.” Given your inebriated state, you didn’t realize what Jack was doing while pulling both of your wrists behind your back until he held them together.

You looked over your shoulder, ready to complain, but barred from doing it when Jack curled his fingers inside you, resulting in you closing your eyes and moaning indecently loud. Smirking satisfied with your reaction, Jack kept the consistency of his task, mercilessly rubbing your clit and keeping hitting that devastating spot inside you over and over.

Uselessly you tried to pull your wrists from his grip, even knowing it wouldn’t work. Having not much more to do, you started to move your hips against his hand, becoming a mess of whimpers, swearing, and moans. In no time your hips were having a few spasms and your legs were trembling slightly and you cried out as you came, tightening Jack’s fingers inside you and melting on the sofa, feeling the damp spot on his jeans against your skin. After a moment, you moved your torso slightly to look at Jack when you felt his hand petting your hair.

“Every time I make you spend a whole afternoon shopping this will be the consequence?”

“Why do you ask?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Because if it is, I think we’ll need to go shopping again tomorrow.” Jack chuckled and leaned on the sofa to approach his face from yours.

“I wouldn’t make such a decision yet, sugarcube. I’ve never said I’m already done with ya.” He winked at you and leaned to press a soft kiss on your lips.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey fic #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #Kingsman: the golden circle #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

[standfucker]

Sunrises; part 3: Days Five, Six, and Seven

Read Part 1 Here and Part 2 Here!

@rogerpirateswk​​

Word Count: 11,990

CW: None

Ao3 Link

Day Five.

You spend most of the day sleeping, body and mind recuperating from the panic attack. The sun’s dipped below the horizon by the time you wake, the last light of dusk fading out.

Much of the crew greets you as you pass by them on the deck. No one brings up the prior day, though a few do ask if you’re feeling better, which you hastily assure is the case. The first thing you do is find Scopper, who beams once he catches sight of you.

“Hey there. Rest well?” He briefly touches your forearm, making your heart leap. Yesterday’s moment rushes to the forefront of your mind, your hands tingling with the memory of holding Scopper’s.

“Yes! All better now.” You fidget a little, flustered at whatever it is that hangs between you two. You both know it’s there, you both felt it the prior night. And while it’s somewhat nerve-wracking, you can’t stop smiling, either.

“Sorry I didn’t wake you. Seemed like you needed it.”

“You’re right, I did. But that’s okay. There’re still two more sunrises left.”

“Two more…” Scopper says glumly.

Up until then, you had only been eager to get back to the safety of the Marine outpost. But at the hint of dejection in Scopper’s voice, you’re struck by the fact that you’ll probably never see him again. He sees the realization in your eyes and brightens up, though you can tell it’s forced.

“Then we’d better make ‘em count,” Scopper says, taking your hand, “yeah?”

“Yeah!” You automatically squeeze his hand in response. Whatever it was growing between you, it couldn’t go anywhere. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t savor it while it lasted.

What am I doing?

It was okay, you told yourself. This was all temporary, fleeting. Not something you had to analyze up and down. You could worry about it after you were back with the Marines and everything was over. For now, just live in the moment.

A pair of rapid footsteps approaching from behind you makes you quickly withdraw your hand. From the lightness of them, you instantly know it’s the kids. You turn to face them, and they come screeching to a halt in front of you.

“Y/n!” Buggy shouts. “You’re okay!”

“We thought you were dying!” Shanks yells. “When Doc told us it was a panic attack, I was surprised! It didn’t look the same as I’d seen from–”

“Oi!” Scopper cuts him off, shooting him a warning look. 

Shanks clams up, making Buggy point and laugh at him.

“Idiot!” Buggy jeers.

“You’re the idiot!” Shanks snarls.

“What did you two want?” you interrupt before they can escalate. “Or did you just come to say hi to me?”

Both kids blush at the comment, firing off furious protests that contradict their earlier greetings. Scopper chuckles next to you, leaning in to whisper, “I think they like you. They normally take longer to warm up to new people.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, raising a hand as if that would silence the two, “you didn’t come to say hi. What, then?”

“Play with us!” they say in unison.

You hesitate. It would be one thing if that request came from normal children. You’re not sure what kind of play is involved for ones raised by pirates, and the sword sheathed at Shanks’ hip does not inspire confidence.  

“Play, how?”

Buggy draws a pair of short daggers from his pants, brandishing them far too exuberantly for your liking. “Let’s spar!”

You step back, bumping into Scopper’s chest, but you’re too concerned about the child with sharp objects to feel shy. “Nope! No thank you. I don’t know how to fight, anyway.”

“They said they weren’t a Marine, dipshit,” Shanks says to Buggy.

“Hey!” you snap, “be nice.”

“Make me!”

“Shanks…” Scopper says, voice low in warning, “behave.”

Shanks tenses, but stands his ground, teeth grit defiantly. “Why? Buggy’s a jerk all the time!”

You crouch in front of Shanks to look him in the eye, hands on your hips. “You and Buggy are the only kids on this ship. Maybe on this whole stretch of sea. You have to look out for each other.” You look at Buggy, too, to make sure he’s heard you. “Understand?”

“Yes,” the boys grumble.

“Good!” You stand up straight. 

Buggy reaches over and slaps Shanks hard across the face, then bolts.

“Agh! You bitch!” Shanks spits, tearing after Buggy and tackling him to the ground.

You and Scopper have to pull the boys off of each other. Luckily, it only takes another stern command from Scopper for them to stop trying to break out of your hold to fight.

“How about this?” you offer, growing exasperated, “you two work it out by sparring–without weapons–and I’ll watch?”

“Without weapons?” Buggy sneers.

“That’s lame!” Shanks says.

You have no interest in watching children get cut or stabbed, but you’re pretty sure you can change their minds.

“Oh…” you exaggerate your disappointment. “I was wondering if pirates knew anything about hand-to-hand combat. I used to watch cadets spar, so I was hoping you could show me, too… But I guess it’s just something Marines are better at.”

The boys look flabbergasted, jaws dropping before they start rancorous outcries of denial.

You hear Scopper snicker behind you and have to repress a grin. “So you two do know how to fight unarmed?”

“Yes!” they shout.

“Then prove it!”

You wave to Scopper as the kids drag you off to a clear section of the deck, closer to the bow of the ship. Watching them wrestle, it becomes very clear very quickly that they were never taught not to fight dirty, though you suppose that’s for the best if they’ll be in life-or-death situations later on. At least they don’t try to injure each other too badly.

They’re feisty kids, endlessly energetic and as passionately combative as brothers. Where they hold back physically, they don’t spare a single thought to the spiteful things they say to each other as they fight. Just in case, you sit next to the weapons they’ve discarded off to the side, ready to prevent them from grabbing one if tensions flare too high.

Eventually, they burn off some of the energy, panting while they lean against the foremast.

“That was pretty impressive!” you commend, smiling when they puff up proudly. “Seems like the crew taught you well.”

“Did your parents not teach you to fight?” Shanks asks, fanning himself with his straw hat.

“Just a little self-defense, but I don’t really practice, so it’s not that useful.” You don’t think you could use it effectively against someone who actually knew what they were doing.

“Then do you know how to sail?” Buggy asks next.

“Not a ship like this one,” you reply. “My parents taught me how to sail short-handed, but a single-person boat is far simpler than a vessel like this. My knowledge is very basic. I can’t rig a sail or read a log pose.”

Suddenly Buggy’s jumped to his feet, expression contorting with rage as he stomps toward you. “Who are you calling ‘big nose?!’”

“What?” You stand up, alarmed at the abrupt hostility. “What are you talking about?”

“Buggy!” Shanks yells, scrambling to his feet after him, “you heard it wrong!”

Buggy’s fists are balled up, and the fury in his eyes tells you he intends to strike you. Before he can get any closer, you hold him back with an outstretched hand firmly on his head, fingers digging into his hat to grip the hair underneath. There’s enough height difference between you two that he can’t reach you past the length of your arm, though he makes a valiant effort, swinging his fists wildly but ineffectively.

Shanks pauses once he sees that you’re okay, looking amused at Buggy’s fruitless attempts.

“Chill out! That’s not what I said!” you try to explain, but Buggy’s not having it, growling and cursing as he tries to reach you. You consider knocking him down with a move your dad taught you, but it seems like overkill for the situation–he’s just a kid.

Then Buggy reaches into his pants and pulls out a knife.

Alright, you wacky little shit. You will be having none of that, thank you very much. You wrench the knife away from Buggy so he won’t hurt himself when he falls, then sweep his legs out from under him. Being rusty, it’s not the cleanest move you’ve done, but he’s both small and not expecting it from you. Buggy goes crashing to the ground with a yelp of surprise.

Shank bursts into hysterical laughter. A few of the crewmates who witnessed the spectacle laugh, too. As Buggy pushes himself up, his scowling face going red, you can’t help but feel a little bad for him even though you’re still cross.

“I can’t believe you drew a knife on me!” you say incredulously, though you probably shouldn’t be shocked. “You could have really hurt me, Buggy!”

“You made fun of me!” Buggy yells, like that makes it okay.

“I said ‘log pose,’ you walnut!” you admonish, “if you had listened, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Shanks is laughing so hard he’s doubled over. “Bahaha! Buggy! You lost to someone who’s not even a Marine or a pirate! A nobody!”

You narrow your eyes, then sweep Shanks’ legs out from under him, too, sending him sprawling on the ground. The crewmates watching howl with laughter.

“Hah!” Buggy points at Shanks. “They got your ass too!”

“Not fair! I wasn’t ready!” Shanks cries.

“Watch your mouth next time,” you huff, crossing your arms. “You’re not pirates quite yet.”

Despite what you say, you’re pretty sure that in a fair match where you’re both armed, you would lose to either of the boys. You won’t tell them that, though. They’re already looking at you differently than they have before, with a touch more esteem.

“Y/n!” A familiarly excitable voice calls out behind you. You turn to see Mr. Momora cavorting your way, stopping a little too close into your personal space to be comfortable.

“Good evening, Mr. Momora,” you greet, taking a step back.

“I was waiting, but you were indisposed yesterday! Now we only have a day!” he practically shouts. “I made changes!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The song, Marineling!”

The memory of the duet makes you smile. “You made changes to the song?”

“Yes! I was so inspired by how good it sounded, I stayed up all night working on another version. I wrote parts for Taro and Moony, too! We’re gonna have a quartet!”

You pause, remembering what Taro said. “You wrote parts for the instruments they already play, right?”

“Yes?” Mr. Momora looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. “Why would it be anything else?”

“Um… No reason. Nevermind.”

“Anyway, I want to debut the song during tomorrow night’s party!”

“You’re having a party?” you ask. “What for?”

“We’re having a party! And isn’t it obvious? To celebrate your last night with us!” Mr. Momora is unfazed by your astonishment, bending over so he’s closer to your level. “You’ll play, won’t you?”

Shanks and Buggy come to either side of you, Buggy holding your sleeve possessively. “We were already playing, Mr. Momora! Go away!” he barks.

“Yeah, wait your turn!” Shanks says.

Their wanting of your attention spreads warmth through your chest, making you smile wider. “Why don’t you two go get cleaned up for dinner?” At their hurried protests, you add, “unless you want me to embarrass you in front of the crew again?”

That stings their pride enough to reluctantly concede, though they mutter under their breaths as they go. You promise them you’ll hang out with them again later.

Mr. Momora ushers you to the mess room, where he’s already set up music stands and instruments. Along with the two guitars from the other day, you also see a drum set and a double bass that’s taller than you are.

“Taro and Moony started practicing their parts yesterday, so they’re ahead of you. But with how quickly you picked up the guitar, I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time!” Mr. Momora says. “They’ll join us after finishing their shifts.”

You’re more than happy to play again, especially knowing that you’ll get to play in a proper band–something you’ve never done before. Crewmates come and go from the mess room as they complete their duties, and a little while later, Shanks and Buggy come in, now clean, taking seats across from you to watch you and Mr. Momora practice. The longing on their faces gives you an idea.

“Mr. Momora?” you ask, “if you want another music partner, why don’t you teach Shanks and Buggy to play?”

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Momora flares, shaking his head rapidly. “Those demons break everything they touch! No way I’m letting them get their calamitous little hands on my instruments.”

“Then buy them cheap ones. I’ve seen the treasure hold; I know your crew can afford it,” you say, “kids should have the opportunity to play music. Even if they’re growing up on a pirate ship. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm…” Mr. Momora pouts, hunching over his guitar.

“Imagine them learning the songs you write. Imagine getting to play it together!”

“Hmmmm…” He hunches further.

“If you don’t, then Taro or Moon Isaac Jr. might convert them to play their instruments instead.”

That makes Mr. Momora sit straight up, eyes widening. He blinks at you, then looks at the kids, then back at you. “...I suppose you have a point! I will contemplate this proposal.”

The boys light up where they’re sitting, and you send them a sly wink when Mr. Momora’s not looking.

Taro and Moon Isaac Jr. join you later on. Given Taro’s attitude toward Mr. Momora the other day, you’re surprised to see his demeanor change once he’s in the seat of the drum set, becoming far more jovial than you’d ever seen him all week. Moon Isaac Jr., on the other hand, does the opposite–ever in a jolly mood, he unwinds considerably once he starts playing, focusing on the music with a seriousness you’ve never seen from him.

Once the mess room starts filling with crewmates, Mr. Momora yells that the four of you need to move elsewhere so the song is a surprise. Taro points out that there’s nowhere on the ship you could go where the crew wouldn’t overhear, anyway, which Mr. Momora has no choice but to accede to.

Practice is a lot of fun, and you talk about it enthusiastically with Scopper over dinner, sitting next to him as usual.

“Unlike the ukulele’s nylon strings, guitar strings are typically made of steel. It’s harsher than I’m used to,” you explain, brandishing your hands to show the developing calluses on your fingertips, “but it’s worth it! I’ve always wanted to play in a band.”

Scopper brushes his fingertips over yours to feel them for himself, sending goosebumps down your arms. Years of sailing and fighting has gnarled his hands far rougher than yours, but it’s nothing new to you as someone who’s grown up with Marines. You kind of prefer it, actually, but you keep that to yourself.

“Once you get home,” Scopper says, “you should look for other people to play with. It was plain to see how much you were enjoying yourself.”

Your parents would never approve, but you no longer care. It was far too much fun to ever consider not doing it again.

“I’ll join a band,” you say intently, grinning, “and maybe we’ll become so famous, you’ll hear about it from wherever you are.”

Scopper grins back. “I’d like that.”

It hits you later, once you find yourself relaxing more deeply than you have all week, that you no longer feel unsafe on the ship.

Day Six.

Scopper wakes you for the sunrise. Much of the day crew is already there, assembled for the morning ritual. Scopper stands so close beside you that his arm touches yours. You lean into him as you watch the sun.

Roger lets Mr. Momora, Taro, and Moon Isaac Jr. off early in the day so you can all practice for the evening. The changes for the guitar parts aren’t drastic, so once you get that down, the majority of the time is spent working on harmonizing the four parts and sharpening your timing. You’re in the middle of a break when Rayleigh pulls you aside.

“We need to talk about tomorrow,” Rayleigh says solemnly.

A curl of anxiety creeps through your gut at his seriousness. 

“Okay. What about?” you ask.

“About what you’re going to tell the Marines.”

That makes you pause. It’s not like you have to get your stories straight–Roger’s crew won’t exactly be conversing with them, so you’re not sure why it matters.

“I’ll tell them how you saved me!” you say. “Maybe they’ll pardon you…” Your confidence falters as you say it, knowing how unlikely that is.

Rayleigh knows it too, smiling sadly. “You can’t do that, Y/n.”

“Why not?” you frown. “It’s the truth.”

“That doesn’t matter. Listen to me,” Rayleigh says firmly, looking you in the eye, “you have to tell them you were captured. Understand? Not just for your sake, but for your parents’ as well. They could lose station if their kid was thought to be consorting with pirates.”

The revelation nearly steals the breath from your lungs, because you immediately know he’s right. Somehow, the thought never crossed your mind. You cover your mouth. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. So here’s how the story will go: We wiped out the Marine crew, took you as a hostage, and you spent the week in the brig.”

“No!” you shout, surprising Rayleigh. Then you cringe at having yelled at the first mate. “S-Sorry. But I can’t agree with that! You didn’t kill those men! You can’t just take the blame!”

“Y/n,” he says your name gently, like a parent about to explain a life lesson to their child.

“No!” You hold your ground, fists balled up at the injustice. “I won’t lie about their deaths! I refuse!”

Rayleigh’s quiet as he deliberates, taking in your determined expression. Then he smiles slowly. “You’re something else, you know that? Alright, then, fine. The beginning of the story can be the truth: The Marine crew was killed by other pirates. We found you a few days later and took you as a hostage. That acceptable to you?” He says the last sentence teasingly, making you realize how absurd it is for you to be making demands.

You unclench your fists, relief drooping your shoulders. “Yes, sir. I can live with that.”

“So long as we’re on the same page,” Rayleigh pats your head. “Go enjoy your last day, now. We’ll arrive at the Marine outpost before sundown tomorrow.”

It’s not hard to stay busy. Once Mr. Momora is satisfied with the song, you spend the rest of the afternoon entertaining the boys. The last time you painted with them, Buggy pretended like he wasn’t interested in such a “lame” activity. This time, he bashfully asks if you can all do it again. You have to put a sheet down over the workspace with how much messier the kids are, and they end up being covered in paint, but they hold up their creations proudly in the end.

In the beginning of the week, the hours had dragged on, every minute seeming to expand with your nervousness. Now that you’re comfortable and engaged all day, the time flies by. It’s a bittersweet contrast, one you find starkly unfair. 

Before you know it, the sun’s gone down, and the party is in full swing. Even the night crew joins in, and the day crew happily introduces you to them all. Tone dials blast lively music in the background. Food and booze is abundant, and for the first time, you accept a mug of grog, much to the delight of the crew. They don’t water it down as much as the Marines do, so you have to pace yourself.

A crewmate named Ganryu tries to invite you to join a drinking contest. You giggle, but his lack of amusement tells you he’s serious.

“You’re twice my size,” you point out, “how would that be fair?”

“Bankuro’s a short king, and he can outdrink half the crew,” Ganryu states.

You look a few seats down, where, surely enough, Bankuro is currently drinking Mugren under the table. 

“Sorry, but I’m not much of a drinker in the first place. I appreciate the offer, but I will respectfully decline.” You pause. “Besides, we reach the Marine outpost tomorrow. Should you all be drinking that much?”

“Trust me, we’ll be fine.”

The crew swaps stories around the table, though having mostly heard each other’s already, they’re more interested in yours. You tell them the craziest ones you know, stories you’ve heard from your parents about the wilder incidents among the Marines. Being told secondhand, the stories don’t really compare to the ones the pirates have lived, but they listen and laugh all the same.

Jacksonbanner, a tall man who’s curly hair completely obscures his eyes, slings his arm over your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re not a Marine, Y/n,” he says. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“Dude,” you say flatly.

The crew rolls with laughter, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“You are all so fucked up!” you cackle. “Do you know what the captain said when he found me? He joked about torturing me for information! Like that would be funny in that situation!”

“It was a little bit funny,” Rayleigh mutters, making Roger crack up.

“I was literally dying,” you say, but Rayleigh can see from your grin that you’re not actually upset. You turn back to Jacksonbanner. “Anyway, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“So long as you take it,” he says coyly. He squeezes your arm, and you stiffen. There’s a drunken flush to his cheeks that disappears under his hair.

Scopper, sitting on your other side, reaches over and peels Jacksonbanner’s arm off of you. The latter’s head snaps up to look at Scopper, and… Well. With Jacksonbanner’s hair and Scopper’s shades, you can’t say for sure that they’re exchanging glares, but you feel the tension there all the same.

“What gives, Scopper?” Jacksonbanner says thickly. “You don’t have dibs.”

“It ain’t about dibs,” Scopper says with equal venom. “They’re not interested.”

“Hi! Excuse me. I’m right here,” you chirp.

When neither of them back down, Roger calls out from further down the table. “Hey, knock it off, men! What have I told you about fighting over hole?”

The crude statement catches you so off guard that you spit out your drink. Then you laugh until you’re tearing up. For some reason, it really gets to you. Maybe it’s all the stress from earlier in the week finding a better outlet. You’re not sure. Nevertheless, you’re in hysterics, continuing to laugh until you’ve fallen out of your chair and the tears are streaming down your face.

“Man down!” Roger yells, making you laugh even harder.

It’s not clear if it’s Roger’s words or your reaction that breaks the tension, but either way, Jacksonbanner and Scopper put it past them, their cheerful dispositions returning in full force.

You’re dizzy by the time you regain composure. Scopper offers you a hand, helping you back into your seat. He doesn’t let go right away.

“Thanks,” you pant, wiping at your face with the heel of your free hand.

“Here…” Scopper plucks a clean napkin from the table with his other hand and dabs at your cheeks, which get so warm in turn that you’re afraid he’ll be able to feel it through the paper.

You tense, waiting for the expected jeers and wolf whistles from the crew, but it never happens. You do, however, hear someone mumble “You never had a chance, ‘Banner.”

Scopper doesn’t let go of your hand until Mr. Momora declares that it’s time to play his song, and you have to get ready. The tone dials are shut off, the crew falling respectfully silent. You and the band only warm up briefly, as you’re only going to play one song, but you’re thrumming with excitement the whole time.

“Just like we practiced,” Mr. Momora says, then counts you off.

Life before, you play alone for four measures, with Mr. Momora jumping in on the fifth. For a few seconds, it’s just the two of you weaving the introduction together. Then, on the eighth measure, Taro and Moon Isaac Jr. join in, and the song commences in full, taking hold of all four of you.

While the main tune is largely the same, the addition of the other two instruments transforms the whole piece. Steady drum beats set the pace, a frame from which the other musical components are built up. The timbre of the double bass reverberates, adding depth to the ensemble. The simple structure of the initial version of the song has been built off of, modified with additions that showcase the ability of the instruments. The guitars are still the star of the piece, but the drums and bass provide the foundation that makes them shine in the first place. 

And the feeling–what a feeling! Much like with painting, you lose yourself in the bliss of creation, compounded by your connection with the players around you. For a few minutes, the rest of the world falls away, leaving nothing but the mess room and the music you fill it with. You can’t look up, but you don’t need to: You can feel the pulse of the audience as easily as your own heartbeat, seeming to strum alongside the plucking of guitar strings. 

The guitar parts separate and rejoin like waves lapping against a shore, going off onto their own melodic tangents before falling back together into a perfect harmony. At only a minute longer than its predecessor, and with a faster tempo than before, the song seems to end almost as soon as it began. Like a reflection of your time spent on the ship, you have mixed feelings now that it’s about to be over. 

You and Mr. Momora draw out the final notes, and before they’re even finished echoing, the entire crew breaks out into thunderous cheers and applause. The noise rolls over you like a song of its own, and you look to the other three players. All four of you are beaming.

“Yesss!” Mr. Momora hisses, setting his guitar down before jumping to his feet, turning to face you with tightly clenched fists. “Yes yes yes! That was perfect! I knew the other two would do great, but you played most excellently!”

“T-Thanks,” you look down, flustered by the praise.

“Don’t look away from me! Look me in the eye!”

Mr. Momora looms over you, and you leap to your feet in anticipation of another shakedown, ready to jump away if he goes to grab you again. But he keeps his hands to himself, though not without struggle–he’s literally vibrating with the effort to contain himself. His gaze is piercing, but the intensity comes from a profound joy, one you feel within yourself thanks to the music.

“Well done, Marineling!” Mr. Momora exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

“You wrote it! The credit’s all yours.”

“But I couldn’t have realized my vision without you! Ah, what a shame you won’t be sticking around. A quartet is far grander than a trio.”

“All the more reason to teach the kids how to play,” you smile, glancing at where the boys are sitting. They had listened raptly during the song, and now that it’s over, have proceeded to busy themselves jabbing each other with chopsticks.

The crew piles on the praise once you return to your seat. You’re not accustomed to so much flattery, and the attention becomes quickly overwhelming. In need of a break and some fresh air, you excuse yourself to step outside.

A few crewmates are hanging out on various parts of the deck. You find an empty spot on the bow of the ship and lean against the railing, taking a deep breath. The night air is cool on your skin and in your lungs, helping to clear your head. Though you had a bit to drink, the heaviness of the food kept you from getting any level past tipsy, and the buzz is already starting to fade.

The ship’s lights cast a muted glow, barely illuminating the deck before getting swallowed up by the pitch blackness of the surrounding ocean. You almost can’t see the water with how dark it is, if not for the reflection of the stars on its surface, glittering like snow. While the darkness of the untamed sea continues to instill a deep-seated, instinctive fear, there’s also something calming about it at the same time. A tranquility that lets you get lost in your thoughts. In the open ocean, there’s no one around to cast judgment. The crew was capable of it, sure, but they had witnessed the core of you, the most fragile parts of your being, and never once made you feel broken for it.

The events of the week almost seem like a dream. If your frenzied emotions throughout hadn’t been so raw and all-encompassing, you would have thought that you died on the Marine ship and imagined the whole thing as you passed into the next life. But you were very much alive, with only Roger to thank for it. And despite existing as a tightly-wound ball of nerves, your sanity remained intact, largely thanks to one other person.

You hear footsteps behind you. As if being summoned by your thoughts, Scopper appears by your side, once again standing so close that his arm touches yours.

“Hey there,” he says softly, “you doing okay?”

“Mhm. Just taking a break,” you reply, leaning into him. “You guys sure know how to throw a party.”

“Wilder than you’re used to, I bet.”

“Oh, not necessarily.”

“No?” Scopper removes his shades now that he’s out in the dark, hanging them on his collar and looking at you with interest.

“I grew up on base, so my friends were other Marines’ kids,” you say. “Most parents have trouble not bringing work home, so to speak, and tend to be strict, so their kids can be pretty repressed. And let me tell you, no one cuts loose like a teenager with daddy issues and no common sense. I’ve seen some crazy shit. Nothing in comparison to your crews’ stories, but they were crazy to me, at the time. Although, now…”

Scopper waits for you to finish, but you trail off, going quiet with realization.

“Now…?” he repeats, prompting you to continue.

“Now, not only do I have a story that blows everything my friends and I have experienced out of the water, but I can’t tell it to anyone at all. I have to say I was captured. I have to lie to everyone.”

“Hmm… Well, why don’t you think about it this way?” Scopper holds your hand, threading his fingers with yours. “It’ll be our secret.”

The warmth of his hand seems to spread throughout your whole body, your heartbeat picking up. “Our secret, huh?”

“Just you, me, and twenty seven other dudes.”

You laugh. “I could think of worse people to share it with.”

“I’m relieved that you and the crew warmed up to each other,” Scopper smiles. “They’re family to me. I wanted you to like them.”

“They could have gone easier on me in the beginning. But now that I know them a bit better, I get it. This crew is special. I mean, I’ve never met another pirate crew, but I just know it. You’re different. You especially, Scopper… You were nice.”

Scopper pauses. “...Do you think I’m nice to everyone I meet?”

“That was the impression I got.”

He chuckles. “Don’t get the wrong idea about me, love. I’m still a pirate.”

Your heart skips a beat at the pet name. “Why, then? Why did you treat me the way you did?”

“What can I say?” Scopper’s grin is cheeky. “You took my breath away.”

You shoot him a disbelieving look that he would make such a terrible joke, which makes Scopper laugh, and his laughter makes you laugh, too.

“Well,” you giggle, “you certainly returned the favor.”

Scopper’s grin turns sheepish. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay. If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have had you protecting me those first few days.”

“I would have protected you regardless.”

Your chest swells with heated elation, and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Thank you… You didn’t have to stick up for me the way you did. It helped. It really, really helped.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The two of you look out over the shadowy water for a quiet moment, soaking in each other’s presence.

“Rayleigh says we’ll arrive before sundown tomorrow,” you say faintly, “this is my last night on the ship.”

“Yeah…” Scopper sighs and squeezes your hand. “It’ll be a load off my mind to know you’re home safe.”

“I was never in any danger here. I get that, now.”

“True, but you didn’t have an easy time of it.”

“Not at first, no. But in the end, I had fun.” You meet his eye. “When I get to the Marine outpost tomorrow, I’ll probably weep with relief. And yet… Despite that… I kind of want to stay another night. Isn’t that messed up?”

Scopper looks surprised for a second, then grins wide. “Maybe just a little bit.”

A familiar pair of light footsteps clatters across the deck toward you, making you look over your shoulder to see the boys. Shanks is bleeding from his left nostril, and the sight of blood startles you, letting go of Scopper’s hand so you can turn around all the way.

“Shanks? Why are you bleeding?” you ask.

“Me n’ Buggy had a competition to see who could get a chopstick furthest up their nose,” he explains blithely. “I won!”

“Um… Okay. Why don’t you do me a favor and never do that again?”

“Why?”

“Because,” Scopper says gravely, “if you slip, you could stab through your brain and die.”

Shanks and Buggy gasp, horrified at how close they came to death.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling. “I hope it was a clean chopstick, at least. Otherwise you could get a sinus infection.”

The boys exchange worried glances that tell you otherwise.

“They’ll be alright,” Scopper says, “with all their rolling in the dirt and eating shit off the floor, they’ve built up a strong immunity by now.”

“You’re not giving me confidence about their situation, Scopper,” you say, bending down to wipe at Shanks’ lip with your sleeve. He jerks away, making a face, and you tut at him to hold still. “I have half a mind to take them with me tomorrow.”

Scopper knows you’re joking, but Shanks and Buggy look aghast and start shouting protests.

“No way! I don’t wanna go with you!”

“You can’t make me go! I won’t!”

“Calm down!” you chide. “I wasn’t being serious. I wouldn’t separate you from your family.”

They settle, but look at you warily.

“Don’t worry, boys,” Scopper reassures, “no one on the crew would let that happen.”

They relax fully at that. You smile, comforted by the obvious love the crew has for them.

Buggy looks between you and Scopper suspiciously. “Why were you holding hands?” he demands, mildly disgusted.

Before you can answer, Shanks chimes in. “I know why!”

You’re immediately apprehensive, remembering Shanks’ response to your bruises earlier this week. Scopper looks even more worried, grimacing like he knows what’s coming.

“Scopper talked about you!” Shanks tells you earnestly. He glances at Scopper, then takes a few steps back. 

“Shanks–” Scopper starts to say, only to be cut off.

“He said you’re hot!”

“Shanks, you little rat bastard!”

Before you have any chance to react to the new information, Scopper has drawn one of his axes and hurled it at Shanks.

You scream, but Shanks dodges it, scampering away on all fours.

“Scopper!” you shriek, grabbing his arm with one hand, the other clutched over your petrified heart.

“He’s fine,” Scopper grumbles. “I wasn’t actually trying, and Shanks is nimble. Buggy, too.” Scopper throws his second axe at Buggy to demonstrate, making him squawk and jump out of the way before racing off.

“Scopper!”

“Don’t worry so much, Y/n. They’re not normal kids.” Scopper goes to retrieve his axes, sheathing them on his belt before returning to your side.

You sag against the railing, feeling slightly faint. “I’m really gonna take them with me at this rate.”

“Good luck with that,” Scopper says, “you’ll have to fight the entire crew.”

“I’d do it for them,” you say, and he smiles. You take a slow breath, waiting for your heart to calm down, then side-eye Scopper. “So you’ve been talking about me, huh?”

Scopper tenses, then quickly sputters, “Nothing disrespectful, I swear!”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” you tease, “you said it yourself–you’re still a pirate.”

“I guess you just have to take my word for it,” he says coquettishly. 

You’re going to say something about the worth of a pirate’s word, but then something Rayleigh told you at the very beginning of the week crosses your mind. Roger never goes back on a promise.

“Guess so...”

Who would have ever thought pirates could be like this? Holding to their vows, going out of their way for a stranger, protecting you, sharing in food and drink and song? There’s genuine trust between the members of the crew, which is more than you can say for the Marines. You’ve only spent a week on board the Oro Jackson, and already you long for a similar camaraderie. If anyone back home knew how you felt, how you were getting cozy with pirates, what would they think of you? And yet you don’t care, you wish only to throw yourself into whatever these feelings are and not look back.

When you don’t say anything else, Scopper nudges you. “What’re you thinking about?”

Your lip curls. “I’m thinking about how much I want to disappoint my parents.”

“Yeah?” Scopper trails his fingers down your forearm, leaving a trail of pleasant goosebumps on his way to hold your hand again.

He’s so touchy, it makes you ache. You’re going to miss him so much, and the closer he gets, the more it’ll hurt to say goodbye.

“You’re only gonna make tomorrow more difficult,” you blurt out, even though you know it’s far too late for regrets.

His hand pauses at your wrist. “...Do you want me to stop?”

You briefly reflect on the time you spent with Scopper, the conversations you shared during the week. No matter how you look at it, the same thought keeps resurfacing: It wasn’t about the journey. 

It was about desire. 

Doing what you wanted, no matter the consequences.

And right then, more than anything, you just wanted to be close to him. You’d never get another chance.

“No,” you quietly admit.

Instead of going to hold your hand, Scopper reverses direction, sliding his hand up your arm, over your shoulder, continuing up your neck until he’s tilting your chin up to look at him.

Your heartbeat kicks right back up as you realize his intent, written all over his face with the soft yearning he regards you with. Scopper’s thumb brushes your cheek affectionately.

Further away, Shanks and Buggy poke their heads out from their hiding spot behind the foremast. 

“KISS!” Shanks yells.

An axe tossed their way sends the boys running off for good, leaving the two of you alone once more.

“Please, Scopper,” you don’t mean for it to come out so breathy, but it does. “Don’t do that.”

Scopper looks at you sharply, those captivating eyes of his seeming to burn. He cups your face in both hands. “Say that again.”

“Don’t do that?” you question, heart thundering in your chest at how he’s looking at you, touching you.

“The other thing.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Please, Scopper,” you whisper.

Scopper leans in and gently presses his lips to yours.

Like the lights of the ship dwindling in the encompassing night, the rest of the world seems to fade away. The Oro Jackson itself may as well have disappeared, because it feels like you’re floating. All the stress, all the worry, all the anxiety, gone. In its place, something vibrant and rhapsodic fills your body, each individual cell seeming to tingle with the sheer delight of his touch. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of his soft lips, and don’t open them until he pulls away.

You and Scopper behold each other with awe, like you can’t believe how good it felt. Then Scopper smiles adoringly, and you giggle, and he leans in to kiss you again. The apparent absence of your surroundings is not unlike when you played the song earlier, or when you paint, absorbed in the present moment. There’s creation here, too. You find fulfillment in the motions of his mouth against yours, in his rough hands cradling your face, in the flick of his tongue across your lips.

You throw your arms around his neck, angling your head to kiss him a little deeper, and as he pulls you closer, you know that neither of you have any intention of stopping, not even if the sun rose and you arrived at your destination at that very second.

Day Seven.

The final sunrise is the most beautiful of them all. It’s almost cruel in its irony. Scopper stands behind you as you watch it, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin on your head. Your hands come up to hang lightly on his arm.

You look at the crew around you one last time. This time, you can name the feeling that blooms in your chest: It’s fellowship. Brotherhood. A bond you had sensed but didn’t understand until now. A bond that, just for a short time, was opened up to you.

You have to bite your tongue to keep from tearing up. Not now. Not during this. You want this memory to be clear, unblurred. To recall every minute of it with perfect clarity. You soak it all in; the crew standing together, the radiant colors bursting across the sky, Scopper’s tender embrace. The warmth of his body exceeds even that of the dawn.

It simultaneously feels like ages ago that Roger saved you from the sinking Marine ship, and like it happened just yesterday. 

There’s not much time left. You can’t help but feel restless, anxious at how the return is going to go. If Roger has a plan, he doesn’t share it with you. The thought of anyone getting hurt is agonizing. After what the crew’s done for you, you don’t know how you’d live with yourself if something happened to them.

You approach the captain shortly after the sunrise.

“Captain Roger?” you ask.

“Yes, Y/n?” he replies. He’s as casual as ever, not an ounce of tension in him despite the upcoming confrontation with the Marines.

“Captain, when we reach the outpost later…” You fiddle with your hands nervously. “I know this is asking a lot, but… I don’t want anyone to die because of me.”

“Ah, yes. Your parents will be there, after all.”

“Not just the Marines,” you clarify, “this crew, too! I don’t want any casualties on either side. Maybe that’s naive, but I just can’t go through something like that again!”

Roger grins breezily. “Don’t you worry, Y/n. Just for you, I won’t let anyone die.”

The captain’s particular brand of humor is something you’re still adjusting to. You’re not sure you could fully get used to it even if you spent years on the ship. Regardless, you’re too concerned to be amused.

“Do you promise?”

Like the first day you met him, Roger crouches down to your level and takes your hand, looking you in the eye. 

“I promise.”

The reassurance helps you relax, letting you focus on the last hours you have on board. Shanks and Buggy are cleared of duties for the day so you can spend some time with them. You regale them with the tale of how your friend tried to steal the hat of a sleeping Rear Admiral Tsuru on a drunken dare. He learned two valuable lessons that day: One was that Tsuru had razor keen observation haki, and the other was that she had no qualms about using her devil fruit power on an insolent brat.

Scopper joins you a while later, mentioning offhandedly that another crewmate’s covering his shift, and the four of you hang out well until noon. Shanks and Buggy have their own stories to tell; their unique perspectives and simpler understanding of the world prove to be fascinating. Scopper occasionally cuts in, correcting a fact they had misconstrued or stopping them before they reveal anything too embarrassing about the crew, much to the kids’ irritation.

Lunch rolls around, and you stare at the food in astonishment when Spencer serves your portion. He’s made sesame chicken. You gape at him. 

Spencer scowls, but it doesn’t have the iciness it did earlier in the week. There’s the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, “don’t make it weird, okay?”

You resist the urge to grin, settling for a subdued “thanks.”

After lunch, you go right back to being with Scopper and the kids. At first, the boys clamor for your attention. It’s sometime mid-conversation with Scopper that you notice they’re not hanging around you anymore. Right as the thought occurs, you hear their voices from further down the deck.

“Move, Doringo! Let me go talk to Y/n!” Shanks says hotly.

“They’re leaving soon, you stupid jerk!” Buggy snaps. You hear a thump, followed by Buggy’s pained yelp.

“You shitheads have bothered them enough,” Doringo says brusquely. “Give them some time alone.”

“Why?!”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

You smile at the continued thoughtfulness of the crew. Right up to the very end, they never ceased to surprise you. So it is that you and Scopper while away the time together, talking for hours without a single lull in the conversation. Sometimes you stroll around the ship as you do, sometimes you stand at the rail and look out over the sea. Every time, you remain in physical contact, whether that’s holding hands or leaning into each other’s embrace.

The night crew is woken up in preparation for the conflict, signaling that you’re getting close to your destination. You go to see Roger.

“I’m gonna miss you all,” you tell him.

“Eh, you’ve got some time,” Roger says brightly, “we still have to go get your ransom.”

“What?”

“What?” Roger echoes.

You search his face, but can’t read him at all, can’t tell if he’s joking. Looking to Rayleigh for help doesn’t work, either, the first mate opting not to provide clarity this time around, wearing a poker face that conceals his thoughts on the matter. You push away the slight sense of uneasiness. Of course Roger is joking. He wouldn’t do anything like that.

The entire crew gathers to say goodbye. Most offer their well-wishes from afar, though Mr. Momora steps forward to rest his hands on your shoulders and fervently imparts that you need to keep playing music. He manages to do so without shaking you.

“Don’t let me down, Marineling!” Mr. Momora hollers.

You crouch down in front of Shanks and Buggy, holding your arms open in invitation.

“We’re pirates, Y/n!” Shanks proclaims, crossing his arms.

“We don’t do hugs!” Buggy agrees.

The boys don’t budge even when the crew encourages them, and you stand up, laughing it off despite feeling a twinge of hurt.

“I guess it can’t be helped. Grow big and strong, okay?” you say, and the two of them nod determinedly. You turn to Roger. “That reminds me, Captain–there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?” Roger asks.

“If anything ever happens to Shanks or Buggy…” you begin, and suddenly you’re not a delicate civilian talking to a pirate captain, but a guardian hell-bent on the kids’ safety, threat radiating off you in potent waves. You smile sweetly. “I’ll find you.”

For a split second, Roger tenses, but then he breaks into a grin. “Noted.”

The moment passes, you returning to your normal self. “It was fun, sailing with you. I’ll never forget this week…” Your throat gets tight as emotion swells, and you swallow to try and correct it. “Thanks for everything.”

Roger’s grin softens, looking down at you with what you’d dare to call fondness. “Don’t sweat it, Y/n.”

An urge tugs at your heart, but you hesitate, unsure if it’s appropriate. And then you remember: Do what you want, no matter the consequences. There may never be another opportunity.

You throw your arms around Roger, hugging him tight.

Roger chuckles, wrapping his arms around you in turn. The corners of your eyes sting at his reciprocation, but you hold it in. 

“How can I ever repay you?” you whisper, the warble in your voice betraying your current state.

Roger pats your back, and you release him. He holds you at arm’s length. “If you want to pay me back… then do as you please! Live a free life, Y/n! One that a pirate would be proud of! When you want something, take it! When you’re overwhelmed, scream, regardless of who’s around! Do that, and I’ll consider the debt paid.”

“I will!” you nod vigorously.

Roger lets go, a familiar look of approval flashing in his gaze.

You take a deep breath in an attempt to keep composed. “This week will be reported by the Marines as a kidnapping. I’ll never really know which stories published about you will be true, and which ones will be bullshit–but if you cause enough trouble, I’ll hear about it. Even if it’s not the truth, at least I’ll know you’re still out there.”

“Oh, make no mistake. I fully intend to.”

You grin. “I hope you make it. To the end of the Grand Line, I mean. If anyone can do it, Captain, it’s this crew.”

Roger beams. “Thank you, Y/n! We’ll carry your faith with us the whole way.”

You glance at the crew. Shanks and Buggy look conflicted now that they’ve seen Roger hugging you, both of them fidgeting in place. Sensing their change of heart, you open your arms to them one more time. Just in case.

To your delight, the boys dash into your embrace, nearly knocking you over if not for Roger placing a hand on your back. You squeeze them so tightly they squirm and giggle in halfhearted protests. The dam almost breaks, tears threatening to run. Luckily, neither of them cry–it would have instantly set you off.

You release the boys reluctantly and scan the horizon. The island that the Marine outpost is situated on has become visible in the distance, its appearance rousing your anxiety.

“Once they spot us, you won’t have much time,” you say. “Nearby ships will be called in to try and cut off your escape.”

“Your input is appreciated, Y/n, but this isn’t my first tango with the Navy,” Roger says.

Before you get the chance to feel too sheepish about that, Erio climbs down the mast from his position at the crow’s nest, waving his spyglass as he runs over to Roger.

“Hey, Captain! Want to guess who’s stationed at the base?” he says playfully.

Roger’s eyes light up. “So Garp is there!”

The name freezes your blood, eyes practically bulging out of your head in horror. You knew some strong Marines would be present on base, but you never expected The Fist himself to be there. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out. “Are you serious?! Commodore Garp?! This is bad! This is very bad! He’s going to capture or kill you!”

Roger waves it off like it’s trivial. “This isn’t my first tango with Garp, either. Just leave everything to me.”

You place your hands on your head, tugging at your hair in stress, not assured in the slightest. If Garp was there, the chances of the crew surviving weren’t nearly as high.

“Trust in me, Y/n,” Roger says.

You want to. You want to believe this can end without the loss of life. And if Roger’s achieved one thing during this week, it’s your trust. Slowly, you lower your hands. The relief is fractional, but it’s better than nothing.

The closer the island gets, the more your anxiety heightens. Scopper comforts you, holding you as much as you need it. You all but cling to him, eyes closed as you commit the feeling of his arms around you to memory.

Rayleigh approaches the two of you, holding a length of rope. You eye both it and Rayleigh with suspicion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry to spring this on you all of a sudden, but I really, really recommend that you let me bind your wrists.”

You take a step back, deeply apprehensive. You’ve never been bound before, and you’re not exactly in the best place emotionally to experience it for the first time.

“I’m not going to force you. But think about what the Marines will see when they scout our ship, Y/n. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but this will give you less explaining to do afterwards. Make it look convincing.”

Scopper takes your hand, getting your attention. “Would you prefer if I was the one to do it?” he asks gently.

There’s not enough time left to deliberate. Rayleigh is right–if the Marines saw you moving freely on the ship without fighting back against your ‘captors,’ they could become suspicious.

“Yes,” you relent.

Rayleigh hands Scopper the rope. He faces you, hesitating, then brings his free hand to cup your cheek. He’s standing with his back to the island, his larger frame hiding yours so any potential scouts won’t see you submit willingly to the bindings.

Neither of you speak, everything communicated with your eyes alone. Scopper rests his forehead against yours, and the flood of emotion comes surging back, breaching through the anxiety and crashing into your heart. Then he’s running his hands down your arms, guiding them behind your back. He starts looping the rope around your wrists. Face to face with each other like this, his arms around your sides are like an embrace.

Scopper lowers his head, capturing your lips one last time, and the tears start rolling down your cheeks. He kisses you tenderly, lovingly, as he works. You wish you could hold him. All you can do is kiss him back, letting him feel every ounce of longing that burns within your heart. His lips against yours paint the same picture of covetousness. He doesn’t stop kissing you until the rope is tied securely around your wrists, and even then, he continues just a bit longer. Just a little more. Again and again, unwilling to let it end, unprepared for it to be over so soon.

But the two of you can’t stay like that forever, even if that’s what feels right. Scopper finally pulls away, and you hold each other’s gazes. His eyes are glistening. He unwraps his sash from around your neck, and it feels so conclusive that you ache, having to fight to keep your sniffs and whimpers under control.

“I’ll probably never see you again,” you say softly, the words like glass shards in your chest.

“You never know,” Scopper murmurs. “Nothing is set in stone. Unlikelier things have happened. Like a pirate crew rescuing a Marine’s kid.” He uses his sash to dry your face.

The island grows steadily larger as the distance shrinks. You can’t cozy up to Scopper anymore, the risk of being seen through a spyglass too high. Roger has you stand next to him at the ship’s bow.

Eventually, the Oro Jackson is spotted. Four Marine ships take sail on an intercept course. It’s a miracle that the outpost is on the smaller side–with fewer vessels and soldiers at their disposal, the odds of your mission succeeding are boosted.

You and Scopper exchange one final, lingering look. Then you face forward.

“Here they come,” Roger mutters, wearing his signature grin.

Your trepidation skyrockets as they get closer. You keep waiting for the shelling to start, anticipating the deafening blasts of cannonfire. When it never comes, you suddenly realize why Roger wants you up front and on display: The Marines won’t fire as long as you’re in range.

The crews on both sides expertly man the sails, adjusting them to bring the ships to a halt some distance away from each other. One Marine ship stops a bit ahead of the other three. You can see Garp’s massive form sticking out among the rest of the soldiers from where you are. He’s even bigger than Roger.

“GOL D. ROGER!” Garp bellows, his voice carrying like he’s using a loudspeaker. “When we lost contact with our ship last week, I knew something was wrong, but I never imagined it was your doing!”

“Then you need to be more creative!” Roger calls back just as loudly. “Try dreaming a little bigger!”

“Where is the crew, Roger?! Where are my men?!” Garp picks up a cannonball from a pile on the floor, winding his arm back in threat.

You tremble where you stand. The energy coming off of the two rolls over you in heavy waves, and they’re only shouting.

Roger ignores the question. “Better watch your aim, Garp! You don’t want to hurt one of yours, do you?” He grabs you by your bound wrists, pushing you in front of him.

Garp’s voice dips low. “Let them go.”

“Nope! You’ll have to make it worth my while,” Roger grins, “I came all the way out here, didn’t I?”

You can practically hear Garp grinding his teeth. “Don’t expect me to accede to your terms, Roger. But I could use the laugh! So let’s hear it, then! What are your conditions?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Roger’s giant hand wraps around your neck, and you freeze. “If you want your subordinates’ precious kid back, bring me one hundred million berries!”

An icy chill grips your heart. You can’t turn your head, but your wide eyes snap to Roger in horrified disbelief. 

Was… Was this his plan all along?

Was this why he bothered to rescue you in the first place?

Were Roger’s promises empty from the very beginning, uttered to keep you calm and complacent? Roger, who gave you a personal tour of his ship? Who joined you in your overwhelmed shouting so you wouldn’t feel alone? Who sat with you while you were in the midst of a panic attack, then carried you to bed?

Your eyes well up with tears as the sting of betrayal sets in.

It’s not true, you think desperately. It’s an act. Please let it be an act. The doubt crawls through your gut until you’re nauseous.

Your breath comes out in short, frantic puffs. But it comes out. That fact strikes you suddenly, fending off your uncertainty. Roger’s grip is firm, but he’s not squeezing at all.

“Trust in me, Y/n.”

Roger glances behind him, nodding at his crew. Then he lets go of your neck, grabbing you around the middle with one arm and slinging you over his shoulder, making you yelp. Now facing the back of him, you can’t see what’s going on, but then Roger starts to sprint forward.

Toward the Marine ships.

Roger hops over the railing, charges down the bowsprit, and leaps.

Your scream dies in your throat, and you shut your eyes.

Instead of falling in the water, Roger’s launched himself with so much force that he sails clear across the distance between the ships, landing bent-legged on the deck of the main Navy vessel.

You open your eyes to see at least fifty Marines, their rifles trained on the two of you. Looking over your shoulder, you can see Garp right there, not even twenty feet away. He’s even more imposing up close, the gnarled scar around his left eye curving with the tension in his face.

Why had Roger separated from his crew? Now he had to face an entire battalion of soldiers alone. Just what the hell was his plan? 

You anxiously scan the crowd for your parents, but don’t find them. You can’t make out their forms when you squint at the other ships, either. Garp must have forbidden them from joining the rescue, concerned that the personal attachment would potentially cause problems.

“Where’s the cash, Garpy?” Roger asks merrily, like he’s not heavily outnumbered. 

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Roger,” Garp snarls. “You’re surrounded. At this distance, my snipers can kill you without harming L/n.”

“You really sure you wanna take that bet?” Roger shifts you in his grip, angling you over his vital spots, though his back is still vulnerable.

“Don’t be a fool! You can’t take on four ships by yourself!”

You can’t see his face, but you’ve spent enough time with Roger to know he’s grinning wide.

“Is that what you think?”

You don’t fully grasp what happens next right away. It’s like some kind of monstrous shockwave, exploding outwards with you and Roger as its focal point. Everything not secured on the ship is instantly blasted away. Almost every single Marine drops, collapsing like dominoes. Wind whips your hair and clothes so hard they sting your skin. You shut your eyes tightly against the intensity.

It feels like it goes on for minutes. Later, you’ll realize that it only lasted for a few seconds.

Once it’s over, you tentatively open one eye, then the other. The only Marines left standing are Garp and one other man you don’t know. The ones on the ground do not get back up, their eyes rolled back and foam bubbling out of their mouths. You look out at the other Marine ships to see them having fared the same, only one or two soldiers on each ship still upright.

For a moment, you’re just confused. Garp and the remaining Marines are stunned silent. Then Garp speaks, deep voice wavering with awe. He only says two words, and you finally understand.

“Conqueror’s Haki.”

You recall something your mother once told you long ago, when she had explained the three types of Haki. It was already exceptionally rare for anyone to be able to use Conqueror’s Haki, as it was something you had to be born with. Only one in several million would have the capability, and even amongst that fraction, it took rigorous training to learn to wield. Most of its users, upon flexing their ability, would indiscriminately hit everyone around them. 

But the most powerful ones, she had said, could limit its effects, simply choosing not to impact certain people.

Roughly two hundred men across four ships had just been knocked out cold, and you didn’t feel a single thing.

‘Dumbfounded’ isn’t even the word. You’re gobsmacked. Just totally overcome by the implications. 

The qualities of a king, they say. A candidate chosen by heaven. And he had gone out of his way to bring you here.

It wasn’t over yet. But you had a feeling it would be very soon.

“You’re so stingy, Garp,” Roger says nonchalantly. “If there’s no money, I’m leaving. Taking this one back with me, too. I’m sure I can find a buyer in Sabaody.”

Garp quickly recovers, face contorting with rage. “Like hell you will!”

Roger tilts you back. Garp lunges.

Roger throws you at Garp. 

The world becomes a momentary blur, and then you hit a wall of muscle with an oof.

Garp catches you. The force of your body doesn’t even push him back, but he pauses–just for a split second–to set you down. That consideration is what Roger was counting on, that split second all he needs. He’s already launched himself back to the Oro Jackson before Garp can pursue him.

With the Marine crew down, they can’t fire the cannons. Garp hastily starts plucking cannonballs from a pile on the deck, pitching them as if they’re mere baseballs.

You’ve heard of Garp’s abilities, but you’ve never seen him in action before. Your jaw drops as the cannonballs hurtle through the air faster than if they had been fired from actual cannons. Then you cover your mouth, terrified that the crew who had taken care of you would be killed.

You shouldn’t have worried.

The Roger Pirates deflect the cannonballs. Every single one. Some crewmates use weapons to do it. Some use their bare limbs, coated in Armament Haki. Like a well-oiled machine, the crew works in sync, some defending the ship while others man the sails. Not a single cannonball finds its mark. The Oro Jackson catches a tailwind, its beautiful maroon sails snapping taught, and the ship swiftly departs, the Roger Pirates making a clean getaway.

You, Garp, and the last Marine silently watch it leave, getting smaller and smaller on the horizon.

It’s over.

Everything comes crashing down on you at once. You start to cry. Not like the repressed weeping when you said goodbye to Scopper, but gross, inconsolable sobbing.

Garp comes to your side and embraces you in an attempt to offer comfort. You can’t imagine what he thinks the pirates must have done to you. 

“You’re okay, L/n, you’re okay,” he says, rubbing your back soothingly. “You’re safe now. It’s all over.”

Therein lay the problem. It was over.

The downed Marines eventually regain consciousness, enabling them to sail the ships back to the dock. Your parents are waiting onshore, both of them bursting into relieved tears once you fall into their arms. For a week, they had no idea what had become of you, having had to grapple with the possibility that you were dead. Naturally, the bruising on your neck severely upsets them, and it takes lots of repeated assurance that you weren’t taken advantage of for them to calm down.

Once you have a few days to decompress, you’re called in to give your account of what happened. Garp himself is the one who debriefs you. You tell it like Rayleigh had instructed, even managing to spin a story about your neck bruises on the spot: Initially trying to fight back, you were choked, and became so frightened as a result that you complied with anything the pirates asked. Given that you hadn’t lost any weight, you can’t lie and say you were denied food. Combined with your insistence that no, they didn’t take advantage of nor torture you, it paints a strange picture, one you know Garp finds suspicious. You’re fearful that he’ll pry deeper, find the flaws in your story, but he doesn’t. There’s a terrifying minute where he stares into your eyes like he’s trying to figure it out, but he only nods and dismisses you.

Adjusting to your previous life is a struggle. You cry a lot in those first few weeks. Everyone assumes your bawling is due to trauma. It’s a convenient cover. And really, you  are  traumatized–the slaughter of the Marine crew was only a week ago. It may take years to come to terms with it.

But everything that took place afterwards–your time spent on board the Oro Jackson–it’s changed you. You’re not the same person you were before. It’s your loved ones who point it out, noting that there’s something different about your attitude. You’re still as anxious as ever, of course. That will always be a part of you. But you’ve made peace with it now. For a week, you were surrounded by people who couldn’t care less if you weren’t normal, because none of them were, either. Their acceptance teaches you, with time and reflection, to accept yourself as well.

Roger and his crew will probably never know that what they did for you went far beyond just saving your life. That’s okay. You intend to pay your debt as Roger had said. You intend to live your life to the fullest, pirate-style–to do what you want.

No matter the consequences.

 {EPILOGUE}

“What the hell is this? What on earth did you order?” your roommate grunts at the door, struggling with the cumbersome package.

It’s been half a year since your unexpected adventure. You’ve since moved in with a friend on a nearby island, putting some healthy distance between you and your parents. Without their hovering scrutiny, you can freely create to your hearts’ desire, trying your hand at any and every form of arts and crafts that you come across. And if you start to miss them too much, they’re only a short voyage away. While some of your artwork sells, it’s not quite enough to live off of yet, but you’re getting there. Like before, you fill in the gaps with odd jobs. Soon, you’ll have saved up enough for a good-quality instrument, but you haven’t quite decided what kind you want to buy yet.

You jump to your feet to help your roommate bring the package inside, frowning. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Well, it’s addressed to you. Maybe an admirer?”

You take the package to your room. The outer wrapping is tough, needing a knife to cut through it, and the box within is sturdy enough to have survived the journey with no dents. You have no idea what to expect when you open it.

Inside the box are layers of cloth, bundled around something hard. You lift the bundle and peel away the cloth carefully, pausing when a corner of the item is revealed. It’s immediately familiar, something deep red with a gold trim.

No way. How…? 

You hurriedly remove the rest of the cloth, and surely enough, it’s your ukulele, the one that was looted off the Marine ship six months ago. It’s scuffed in a few places, but is otherwise intact.

There’s an envelope in the box that was tucked underneath the bundle. Within it is both a letter and a photograph. The letter consists of a single line in the middle:

‘Found the bastards. Momo wanted to keep the ukulele for himself. He named it Mini Jackson. ♡’

Next to the heart is a doodle of two black circles connected in the middle–a pair of shades.

You cover your mouth, heartbeat picking up. It’s only one line, but you read it over and over. You’ve never seen Scopper’s handwriting before. It’s nothing fancy, but that hardly matters, because it’s from him.

Next, you inspect the photograph. It’s a picture of three paintings hanging on a wall: In the middle is the ocean sunrise you had painted. It’s flanked on either side by cruder paintings that Shanks and Buggy had created under your guidance. You recognize the wall the artwork hangs from as the mess room of the Oro Jackson–the Roger Pirates had hung them somewhere where they would see them every day.

“We’ll carry your faith with us the whole way.”

You flop back into your bed, holding the photograph to your chest. And you cry for a while. But you can’t stop smiling, either.

You give yourself time to just feel, basking in the memories of that week.

Then you sit up and grab your ukulele. You wonder if you can adapt Mr. Momora’s song for the simpler instrument.

You intend to try. 

And if it doesn’t work out, well, then you know which instrument you’re buying next.

[Obviously with the song I linked, the guitars would be acoustic and not electric, but I couldn't resist. Check out the entire Gitaroo Man album if you like music, it's full of bangers!

Thank you so much for reading!

I wanted to keep this fic SFW, but I am also currently writing a smut scene of what happened at the end of Day Six. It will be posted separately, so stay tuned!]

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #scopper gaban x reader #gaban x reader #scopper gaban #gol d. roger #silvers rayleigh #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #shanks one piece #buggy one piece #zen writes

[player1064]

February 2004

WIP asks but it's just the various sections of my happy (???) beville (/angsty carraville) WIP

ohohoho I loooove this section tbh. not sure WHY i love it but I do it's got it all it's got angst it's got fluff it's got gary being pathetic.... beautiful

---

February, 2004.

“Are you at Old Trafford yet?”

“Still in the car, we’re not due out on pitch for warm-up for another hour still.”

On the other side of the car’s back seat, Scholesy is sat slumped against the window, staring out with a bored expression. There’s no music playing – they can never agree on what radio station to tune to, and Gary spends most drives to matches on the phone with Becks anyway. He feels a bit guilty, though, ignoring him the whole drive, even if they have spent all morning together.

“Tell me when you get there, yeah?”

“Becks, I swear, you’re worse than my dad. I’ve only been doin’ this ten years, haven’t I? I’ll give the finger to one of the cameras just for you, how’s that sound?”

Next to him, Scholesy groans.

“Don’t, Gaz,” he says, “you’ll get fined.”

At the same time, down the phone Becks is saying “not sure that’s worth the fine, babe.”

“The two ‘a yous are always ganging up on me, it’s not fair.”

“Tell Scholesy I’m giving him a big wet kiss next time I see him.”

“I’m not tellin’ him that.”

“Is he threatenin’ to kiss me again? Tell him I’ll drop out of England squad next week if he does that.”

“Scholesy says he can’t wait to give you a nice big snog when we get to London on Monday.”

David laughs, pretty and perfect and it makes Gary’s chest ache just hearing it, makes him wish they could just skip the stupid match and get to Monday already.

“Good luck today, Gaz,” he says warmly, “you’ll smash ‘em, I know you will. I love you.”

Gary pulls a face at that, aware that Scholesy is watching him, that he can see his blush creeping up and know exactly what David’s saying to him. These things have always seemed to come so easily to David, it’s baffling. The first time he’d told Gary he loved him, a million years ago, Gary had blinked and said ‘do you fuck’, then spent the next ten minutes scrambling to assure him that he knows, that he knows, that there’s been no lack of affection on David’s part to make him doubt it. That he loves him too.

“Yeah,” he says now, darting his eyes towards Scholesy who looks away, pretends not to be listening. He clears his throat. “You too.”

*

When they walk into Old Trafford, the receptionist at the staff entrance calls for him to wait a second before going through to the dressing room. In the blink of an eye, Gary finds his arms being loaded up with chocolates, and roses, and a stupid little teddy bear with the Manchester United crest on it.

He shuffles into the dressing room awkwardly, struggling to see around the giant bouquet, and just as he’d expected (dreaded) he’s met with teasing cheers and wolf-whistles when he walks in and drops them into his locker.

He snaps his phone open and texts David ‘you are horrible <3’, before looking around the room with a glare and saying “not a fucking word”.

“Look at you, Nev,” Butty says with a grin, because he never just keeps his mouth shut. “You’re more popular than Giggsy, who’d’ve thought?”

Giggsy raises an eyebrow. “Is he fuck, those are obviously just long-distance guilt gifts. I’m the one who actually has a chance of getting laid tonight.”

Gary looks down at the floor, scratches at his head awkwardly. “I think he jus’ doesn’t want me feelin’ bad that we can’t do any of the Valentines nonsense this year.”

He swear he sees Roy lean towards John and mutter “he’s feeling guilty about something, that’s for sure”. But what would that even mean?

*

He should be focused on the game. He’s always focused on the game. Single-minded, that’s him.

Today, though, he can’t stop thinking about what Roy had said, about the concerned look he’d given Becks’ stupid flowers.

Surely, surely he hadn’t meant –

Because why would he even think that?

There’s still a game to win, though, and Gary does try to get on with it. Except that when he dives (yes, he dives, he’s in the penalty box – of course he dives, anyone would) and the City players start yelling at him, he feels everything bubbling up inside him and oh god, the Boss is going to kill him.

He storms back to the dressing room and is tugging off his shirt to go shower when his phone starts ringing, because of course it does. Because, if he was thinking clearly, he’d’ve been worried if it didn’t.

“I was provoked, Becks,” he says when he picks it up, skipping the greeting.

“You silly cow,” Becks replies softly, like he’s not disappointed. Like Gary’s not just put the cup at risk. “No you weren’t. What’d you go and do that for?”

“He –”

“Gaz, that’s a three match suspension.”

Gary’s been a professional footballer for ten years now, he knows perfectly well that he’s going to get a three match suspension, so he’s not sure why Becks feels the need to remind him of it. It’s not the sort of thing he’d rub in his face, when he knows that Gary’ll be getting the hairdryer treatment any minute now. When he knows it’ll mean –

Oh, god.

International break starts on Monday.

“Becks,” he says desperately, apologetically. “Becks, I forgot – I weren’t thinkin’, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it doesn’t have to mean – I can still come down, with the lads. I know I can’t train, but – but I can still come. We can still –”

“Gaz.” David sighs. “D’you really think the Boss would let you do that?”

Fuck.

*

“Boss,” he says, voice wobbly, “Boss, please. Double my fine, or – or bench me, but please. Just one day, not even that – half a day, and I’d be back for the next morning’s training.”

It feels a similar situation to the one he’d been in last summer, stood alone in front of Sir Alex’s desk with tears streaming down his face and a snotty nose, begging please, Boss, you know how stubborn he can be. He is sorry, it’s been eatin’ him up, he just doesn’t want to look stupid if he apologises and you sell ‘im anyway. You know how much he respects you. This is all he’s ever wanted. Boss, please.

“Gary,” the Boss says slowly, “actions must have consequences.”

I don’t – I can’t do this without him, I’m not good enough. You know I’m not good enough. I’ll do anything. Please, Boss, please.

He remembers the way Sir Alex had looked at him over his glasses, that long calculating stare of his. You assured me this… attachment of yours wouldn’t get in the way of your game.

“Okay,” he says now with a grim nod. “You’re right.” His voice cracks as he talks, so he blinks a few times and repeats “you’re right, I know. I jeopardised the match. I’m sorry.”

Sir Alex nods, and looks down at the papers on his desk, starts shuffling through them. This, Gary knows, is his cue to leave. They’re done here.

I know you don’t owe me anything, but it’s – it’s not just for me. It’s the team, we need him. He’s special, don’t – I know it’s been difficult between you two, but can’t you fix it? If anyone can fix it, surely you –

– You only get this one favour, Gary. Do you understand?

I’ll do anything, just – please. Please don’t sell him.

A one season loan. It’s an excellent opportunity, the chance to experience a new league, a new style of play. Gives our less senior players a chance to earn more minutes. Then he’ll come back, and we’ll all be stronger for it.

And you promise he’ll come back?

I promise he will be given the option. That’s my only offer, lad, not many people could get away with asking this of me.

#when i learnt that after becks went to madrid he and gary would talk on the phone before and after EVERY utd match #it was so over for me. that information WRECKED me. christ. #beville #wip asks