#(they own boats and jet skis?????)

[puckinghischier]

Choices

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: jack proves that he will always choose reader, no matter what anyone has to say

notes: so, the first part of this is literally my favorite thing i’ve ever written. the ending? meh. i don’t hate it, but i definitely think it could have been done better, i just struggle so hard with endings 😭. i also lowkey don’t like the title, but literally couldn’t think of a different one. anyways, i hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

can be read as a part 2 to this fic, but can also be read by itself

request: Could you write something with Jack getting defensive/choosing her? Maybe he gets cornered by an ex flame or someone about what makes reader so special to get him to commit to a serious relationship when he didn't with her

[6.7k]

“Are you sure I don’t need to dress up tonight? I know you said they’re just some old family friends, but I want to make a good impression,” you question Jack, standing in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall.

You’re wearing a pale, yellow sundress with daisies imprinted all across the fabric. Jack insisted the Lawsons were just old friends of the family, having owned the house down the street since he was just a kid.

Since meeting Jack’s family last year, you’ve been his plus one to every single trip he’s made home. At thanksgiving he brought you home for a quick, two day trip to meet his grandparents and a few pairs of aunts and uncles, before having to fly out again because of his game schedule. Around Christmas the two of you split your time, spending the actual holiday with your family, then flying to meet Jack’s family for New Year’s activities, where you met several cousins and old school friends of Jack’s.

This year, you’re celebrating the Fourth of July in Michigan, finally getting to experience the infamous Hughes lake house. Jack was able to convince you to spend an entire month here at the large house, telling you the trip was for the Fourth festivities, but suggesting you leave a few weeks beforehand, wanting you to get the full lake house experience.

You had spent your days switching between joining his family on the large pontoon boat sitting at the end of their dock and going out on adventures with Jack alone on the pair of Jet skis Quinn had bought after his first paycheck came in during his rookie year. A few nights a week, Jack would tell you to put on something nice, showing you around the small town a few miles away from the house, taking you to each of his favorite childhood spots for dinner.

One night he had told you to put on the nicest dress you brought, then proceeded to take you to an old, beach themed bar. He sat across from you at the high top table in a collared shirt and khakis, the rest of the patrons around you in their bathing suit cover ups or shorts and t-shirts.

You scolded him, telling him you two looked like fools in there, all dressed up to eat fried seafood. He laughed, telling you the only fool in the room was him, because he was “foolishly and wholly in love with you.” You rolled your eyes at his mushy-ness, a blush making its way to your cheeks at the same time.

That memory, however, is the reason you no longer trust Jack when he tells you to either dress up or dress down for dinners. Including tonight.

“I promise, you don’t have to dress up. You could wear your bathing suit for all I care,” he calls out from the bathroom where he’s ‘fixing’ his hair, which usually means brushing it and then ruffling it around with his hands. “I mean, mom might not be too happy if you’re sitting at the dinner table in just a bikini, but I’d sure enjoy the show.”

You scoff at his words, turning to go and stand in the doorway of the ensuite, crossing your arms.

“I’m being serious, J. I want to make a good impression on these people. They’re really good friends of your parents. Your mom was telling me how you all used to spend almost the entire summer together, constantly over at one another’s houses for dinner and fire talks,” you remember how excited Ellen was to be having her friends over for dinner tonight, claiming she hadn’t seen them in years because of how busy their lives had gotten.

Ellen also mentioned they had a daughter around your and Jack’s age who was in with her parents for the summer. Her name is Sarah and she’s a department director of some big advertisement company in New York. She stopped coming around as often around the same time Jack got drafted to the Devils, according to Ellen. Her job being too demanding for her to make the trip every summer.

You were excited to meet yet another person that knew Jack as a kid. You were hoping to rope a few stories out of her over the course of dinner, wanting to know as much as you can about Jack’s childhood from those around him. Sometimes you really hate the fact that you haven’t known Jack his whole life. You count yourself one of the luckiest people alive to be able to share his life with him now, but you’re always picturing him growing up, wanting to know every detail of what makes Jack, Jack.

Quinn and Luke are always eager to tell you anything you want to know about Jack, from the time he wanted to be “TP man” for Halloween and proceeded to wrap his entire body in toilet paper, wearing the empty rolls on his hands, to the time he wanted to ask his eighth-grade crush out on a date, but instead blurted out that he had to go home to massage their dad’s feet.

You always enjoyed hearing stories about him from people that weren’t his mischievous brothers, though. Like when his grandma told you about the time she got home to see that Jack had rearranged her kitchen cabinets, placing everything he saw her use on a regular basis closer to where she could reach it after watching her drop her favorite mug while trying to put it away on the second highest shelf that morning. Or when his best friend from high school told you about the time Jack gave him a ride home from practice, stopping in to say hello to his parents when Jack heard his little sister crying in her room because she couldn’t figure out her math homework. Jack stayed over for nearly two hours to help the little girl with her multiplication table and gave her words of encouragement the entire time.

You knew Jack was someone special, his calming energy easing your nerves from the first time you ever spoke to him. Hearing the stories that confirm he’s been this way his whole life, from the people that have known him far longer than you, though, makes you burst with so much love for the man you think your heart might actually explode one day.

“And I’m being serious, Sunshine, what you’re wearing is fine and won’t change the fact that they’re going to absolutely love you, just like everyone else does,” Jack walks over to stand in front of you.

You uncross your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Jack reaches down and takes each one of your hands into his, stepping forward slightly.

“I just…I care about how the people that know you view me. It’s important to me that the people important to you know that I love you, not that I’m just trying to ride on the back of some hot shot hockey player,” you whisper, referencing a blog post you were sent by one of your coworkers back in Jersey, asking if the girl in the picture was, in fact, you sitting on Jack’s lap in a crowded bar you went to for a post-game celebration.

The post talked about how you had been seen with Jack at a few games and were seen leaving several bars with him over the course of a few weeks early into your relationship. The blog site was a silly, hockey gossip blog, more concerned about who the players were sleeping with than any of the games themselves, but the accusation made your heart sink nonetheless. You knew you were with Jack for no reason other than you love him and he makes you feel safe, comfortable, and loved. Jack knows you’re not with him for his money, and anyone close to him knows you’re not with him for his money or fame.

He could quit hockey tomorrow and it wouldn’t change even an ounce of your feelings towards him. With or without hockey, he’s still your Jack. The Jack that makes you honey lavender tea every night because he knows it helps you sleep. The Jack that somehow manages to bring you flowers after every home game, no matter how late it is. The Jack that insisted you move in with him after your lease ended because his apartment is closer to your new job, but really because he was tired of not coming home to you every night. The Jack that showed up to your graduation this spring, bringing nearly his whole team and his family, the group cheering so loud when you walked across the stage everyone in attendance laughed, the person handing you your diploma commenting “sounds like you have a few fans out there.”

Even though you know that Jack knows, and his family knows, each time you meet someone new from his life, you feel the need to prove yourself. It’s part of the reason you were so anxious to meet his parents all those months ago. You worry that each person you meet has seen or read an article like the one you were sent. You worry they’ll think you’re not right for Jack, or that you’re only with him to get a taste of the popularity and lifestyle that comes along with his job. All you want is to show them how much you love him for him, and how you never want to leave his side.

Jack looks down at you, bringing your joined hands up to his mouth, pulling them together and kissing your knuckles.

“I promise you, no one here thinks that,” he starts, his words oozing with sincerity. “There is not a single person that matters to me in my life more than you. And absolutely no one’s opinion of you matters to me other than your own. Do you think you’re with me for the wrong reasons?” He asks you, waiting for you to answer him.

You shake your head no, breaking his eye contact.

“Hey, look at me,” he squeezes your hands that are still resting near his mouth, bringing your eyes back to his. “Then absolutely nothing else matters, okay? I know who you are, and you know who you are. Last time I checked, we’re the only two in this relationship, so that’s the only two people I’ll ever be looking to for opinions concerning my choices in this relationship, got it?”

You nod, a little embarrassed you were ever worried in the first place after his small speech, but still needing the hear his words nonetheless.

You’re still looking up at him, opening your mouth to tell him how much you love him when your stomach growls between the two of you, loud enough you nearly jump back.

Jack’s eyes flicker down to your stomach and back up to your eyes, the amusement in them making the blue shade shine even brighter.

“On that note, let’s go get you something to eat,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead before dropping one of your hands, the other still intwined with yours, pulling you out of the room behind him.

Jack led you down to the kitchen, digging around in the fridge to sneak you a snack before everyone sat down for dinner, knowing the meal wouldn’t be ready for at least another hour.

After he was satisfied that you weren’t going to starve, thanks to the small bowl of fruit he found, the two of you walked out to the back deck, joining everyone else.

The Lawsons had already arrived, Jim and Ellen standing on the other side of the large deck, conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Lawson separately.

Mrs. Lawson is a short, slim woman. Her hair is flawlessly styled into a ‘looks lazy but really took an hour’ up do, wearing a light purple, short sleeve pleated dress that fell just above her ankles, a simple pair of sandals on her feet.

Her husband is a tall man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a matching polo shirt and khaki shorts, a pair of Hey Dude brand shoes on his feet.

As soon as the two of you walked out onto the porch, Ellen was immediately halting her conversation to introduce you to the guests.

“Oh! There they are! Aren’t they just dolls? Look at them!” she gushed, walking over to greet the two of you.

You smile warmly at her, your relationship with Jack’s mom almost as dear to you as your relationship with your own. The two of you were able to sit and talk with one another during the hockey game her and Jim had come into town for the first time you met them. You both were invested in the game itself, considering all three Hughes boys were on the ice that night, but the intermissions were full of conversations and stories. You left the rink that night feeling like you had gained another mother, exchanging numbers with Ellen and promising to keep in touch. You now have weekly phone calls with Ellen, her interest in your life and well being matching that of her interest in her son’s.

“Mom, we literally saw you an hour ago on the boat, calm down,” Jack tells her, earning soft smack to his chest from you.

“Don’t be a grump, Jack. She’s telling us how good we look and you choose now to suddenly act like you don’t love being told you look pretty,” you scold.

Jack looks down at you with his mouth slightly open, putting on his best fake offended face.

“See, I told you she keeps him in check for me. Now I don’t have to carry the burden all by myself anymore,” Ellen tells Mrs. Lawson, earning a laugh from the woman standing just behind her.

You and Jack continue to have a small stare down until he conceded, choosing to flash a smile at you instead, sticking his tongue out like a child and earning a small giggle from you.

“Y/N, this is Deborah, but we all call her Deb. Deb, this is Y/N, my new baby girl,” Ellen breaks up yours and Jack’s moment, introducing you to Mrs. Lawson.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you Mrs. Lawson,” you say, removing your hand from Jack’s so you could step forward and give a small, greeting hug to the woman in front of you.

“Oh honey, Mrs. Lawson was my mother-in-law, please, call me Deb,” she tells you as she pulls back from the hug.

“Okay, Deb is it,” you laugh, stepping back beside Jack.

“C’mere, I need a hug from you too, Jack,” she motions Jack over to her, your boyfriend walking over to give her a slightly longer hug than you shared with her. “My, you’ve grown up, haven’t you? Last time I saw you, you were just getting ready to declare yourself draft eligible. Now look at you, the real deal.”

Jack blushes as he steps back towards you, knowing how shy he gets when complimented.

He may be cocky on the ice and in interviews, but you’ve learned that when it comes to the people that are close to him, Jack is extremely humble. He turns a light shade of pink any time you compliment how well he played after a game, or when his mom calls to tell him she watched his game on tv and cheered so loud she woke their cat up anytime he scored a goal.

“Just enjoy playing the game, is all,” he slips his hand back into yours. You give it a light squeeze.

“Ron, quit talking golf and get over here! Come say hi to Jack and his girlfriend!” Deb turns and shouts to her husband behind her. Both Mr. Lawson and Jim leave their spot by the heating grill and walk over to join your small group.

“Jack, how are ya, boy?” Mr. Lawson walks up, pulling Jack from your hold, bringing him in by his arm for what you call a ‘guy’ hug, each having one arm slug over the other’s shoulders, their clasped hands trapped between their chests.

“Getting by alright. Happy to have a bit of a break. Couldn’t wait to show Y/N here the ways of the lake house,” Jack motions to where you stand slightly behind him.

“Oh gosh, where are my manners. Hi, sweetheart, I’m Ron,” Mr. Lawson sticks his hand out towards you, shaking it softly.

“Hi, Jack’s told me a lot about you two. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lawson” you reference both of the Lawsons, repeating part of your greeting to Deb.

“Oh, no, Mr. Lawson is my father, I’m just Ron, dear,” he mirrors his wife’s earlier statement, stepping over to place his arm around her waist.

You chat with the couple a bit longer, noticing after a few minutes that Quinn and Luke are nowhere to be found. Neither was their daughter Ellen had mentioned earlier.

“Not to interrupt, but where are Quinn and Luke?” you ask just as Ellen finishes telling Ron and Deb about a recent cruise her and Jim had been on.

“Oh, they took Sarah out for a spin on the boat before dinner. She said she missed the water, so away they went,” Deb explains, looking over to Jack. “She’s so excited to see you again, Jack. She always talks about wanting to get across the bridge to see a game, but you know her, a workaholic and all.”

You sense a slight rigidness in Jack’s body language at the mention of Sarah. He responds with a simple “Yeah, that’s a shame,” not offering any other words about the mystery girl.

You were confused. You had thought Ellen said the boys were friends with Sarah growing up. Why did Jack tense up when she was mentioned? Had there been some sort of falling out? Was he not excited to see her? He hadn’t mentioned anything when you brought her up earlier, causing you to assume he just didn’t know much about her, having lost contact after they both were busy and didn’t have as much time to spend at the lake anymore.

As soon as Jack had finished speaking, you heard loud laughter coming from the long deck at the end of the house’s yard, seeing three figures quickly approaching the porch you were standing on.

“See, told you I could still beat you, just like when I was a kid!” you hear an unfamiliar voice call out, footsteps coming up the wooden stairs leading to the porch.

“Not fair, you didn’t tell me it was a race until you were already at the end of the deck,” you recognize the voice this time, Luke uttering his words between fast breaths.

As you look towards the stairs, you see one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen in your life step onto the porch.

She had jet black hair that fell to her mid back, perfectly pin straight. She had the greenest eyes you think you’d ever seen, and her tan skin was a shade that people usually had to be photoshopped to achieve. She was wearing a sundress similar to yours, but hers was a baby blue color, complementing her skin tone and hair perfectly. It fell right at her mid-thigh, and had a floral print running across the fabric.

“Hey, everyone. Hope we didn’t miss dinner,” she said, waltzing over to the wet bar to grab a bottle of water as Luke and Quinn make their way up the stairs, coming to stand a few feet from you and Jack.

“Oh, not even close, honey. You’re just in time. Your dad and Jim were just about to put the chicken on the grill,” Deb tells her daughter, beaming at her.

She walks over to join everyone, not stopping until she’s stood right in front of Jack.

“Oh, Jacky! I’ve missed you so much! It’s been so long!” she wraps him in a hug. His arms stay pinned to his sides, his body going rigid with discomfort. You notice the looks from Quinn and Luke, confused at their wide eyes.

He coughs, causing her to detach herself from his body, but not removing her hand from his shoulders.

“Well, that hockey training sure has been good to you, hasn’t it Jacky,” she continues, squeezing his biceps with a smirk before dropping her hands, completely ignoring you.

The second her hands leave his body, Jack is stepping back over to you, placing his hand on your waist.

“Uhh, Sarah, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, Sarah,” Jack says, squeezing you to his side.

“Oh! You’re the new girlfriend my mom was telling me about. How sweet!” she coos, placing her hand on her chest. “Jack, she’s so pretty. But, what happened to Macey? You know, the one with the pretty blonde hair? Oh, and the absolute insane body. Seriously, I need her personal trainer’s number,” she asks, looking around at everyone.

You think about your brunette hair and know exactly what she’s trying to do.

“Not in the picture anymore. Didn’t really like the fact that she kept sticking her tongue down some Philly player’s throat when she came to visit me during an away game,” Jack spat out, grinding his teeth.

“What a shame. I liked her,” Sarah waved it off, making a small pout with her lips. “But, I’m sure you’re great too!” she added as an after thought, flashing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen.

You feel a presence step up behind you, Quinn slyly whispering “ex-girlfriend” in your ear, suddenly making Jack’s body language and her backhanded warmth towards you make sense.

“Okay, well, time to go get the food on the grill. Food will be ready in around thirty,” Jim claps his hands together, sensing the need to break up the awkward moment.

“Oh great, I’m absolutely starving,” Sarah exaggerates her last word, turning and walking towards the sliding glass door leading to the kitchen.

You stand there, not knowing how to process what just happened, Jack’s grip on you as tight as ever. You look over to Ellen, who gives you a sympathetic look.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Deb sighs and shakes her head in amusement, completely oblivious to her daughter’s fake niceness and obvious flirting with Jack. “She’s something else, isn’t she? Such a little firecracker,” she reflects, nothing but adoration in her tone and on her face.

“Yeah, one that backfires into the innocent bystanders,” Quinn mumbles under his breath, earning a snort from Luke. Ellen shoots them a glare, darting her eyes towards Deb to see if she heard, but the older woman was still staring adoringly at her daughter in the kitchen through the glass doors.

Thirty minutes later, just like Jim announced, everyone was sat at the large outdoor table, food covering the large surface.

The food was amazing, the bowl of fruit from earlier long gone as you sat down to fill your plate, wanting seconds of almost everything.

“Jack, will you hand me the potato salad, I swear, I can’t get enough of it,” you ask your boyfriend who’s sitting to your right.

He reaches over and grabs the bowl, scooping a spoonful on to your plate for you. “That good? Or you want more?”

“No, that’s good. Gotta save room for dessert,” you tell him, picking up your fork to dig in.

Jack places his hand on your thigh, smiling over at the little happy dance you do when you scoop the potato salad into your mouth.

“Oh, I’m so full,” you hear Sarah say, raising her voice to make sure the whole table hears her. “I wish I could be like you, Y/N, I’d love to have seconds, but I just cannot hold another bite, I’m already so bloated as it is,” she places her hands over her stomach to emphasize. “You’re so lucky you’ve already snagged a man and don’t have to worry about watching what you eat anymore.”

You stop mid-chew, her words sinking in.

You look around the table, everyone looking at you. Deb and Ron are smiling at you, not at all reacting to their daughter’s words, likely not even understanding the connotation of what she just said. Ellen and Jim are looking at Sarah, their eyebrows raised in shock. Quinn is glaring at her while Luke’s mouth is dropped open.

Jack’s hand is digging into your thigh, his other hand closed, clenches in a tight fist on the tablet next to his glass of water.

You finish chewing your food and swallow thickly, placing your fork down and sliding your plate away from you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop on my account. I’d kill to be able to be as comfortable as you are. Not having to worry about impressing anyone anymore, just being able to know you’re loved, no matter what you look like,” she continues, taking a sip of her water to hide her smirk.

You bow your head, your face a shade of red you can physically feel, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

Luke coughs, a faint “bitch” heard by your ears.

“Okay, I think it’s time we clear the table for dessert, shall we,” Ellen pipes up, her own smile strained.

“Great idea, let me help you,” Deb, either still oblivious or intentionally ignoring the hurtful nature of her daughter’s words, starts to stand.

“No, I got it,” Jack surprises you by standing, taking everyone’s plates and quickly stomping off of the porch.

You could feel the anger radiating off of him when Sarah was talking, probably choosing to leave the area before he said something he would regret.

“Here, let me help, too,” Sarah stands, taking a few food dishes in her hands and stepping inside behind Jack before anyone could protest.

The table is silent after she leaves. You sit there, debating on just sliding out of your seat and under the table, wanting to hide. Luke, who was sitting next to you, brings his hand over to rest on your shoulder, trying to provide some comfort.

You look over at him to see a concerned look as he mouths a silent “You okay?”, nodding your head yes, despite the heavy feeling in your stomach.

You look up again, straight at Sarah’s parents, wondering how they can be so ignorant about their daughter’s malicious words.

You meet Ellen’s eye, seeing a sad, pleading look, begging you to forgive her with her expression. You give her a small smile, shaking your head to tell her it’s alright.

Ron is the one to finally break the silence, looking around at everyone with a genuine smile, once again proving your suspicion they’re unaware of the shift in atmosphere.

“Ellen, please tell me you made your famous cheesecake. It’s been too long since I’ve had a slice,” he speaks, unable to read the room.

Ellen partakes in empty small talk with Deb and Ron about how she makes her cheesecake when you decided you need to go check on Jack.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go help Jack,” you say flatly, standing from your seat and all but running inside, the urge to walk over and shake the Lawsons while shouting “your daughter’s a bitch!” in their face your cue to leave the table.

You enter the kitchen, seeing the dishes both Sarah and Jack brought in littering the counter, but neither one of them was to be found in the spacious area.

You walk through the house, calling out Jack’s name softly as you pass the stairs, making your way to the small sitting room at the front of the house.

“Jack, I don’t get it. What does she have that I don’t? What about her makes her any better than me?” you hear the sound of Sarah’s voice coming from the foyer.

“What the hell do you mean? Everything! She has everything you don’t!” you hear Jack exclaim, stopping in your tracks.

Were they talking about you?

“Jack, we were good together! We had fun. I don’t understand why you ended things between us. Hell, I took a job in New York because you said you were probably going to New Jersey to play. We could have been the new it couple of New Jersey!” it was Sarah’s turn to raise her voice.

Jack shakes his head, a dry laugh making its way out of his mouth. “What part of I didn’t want to don’t you understand?” Jack spits out. “You had fun. You chose to move to New York. You thought were good together. There was never any we in any of that.”

You can practically see the veins popping out on Jack’s forehead through his tone, even though they were out of view.

“All you ever cared about when we were together was the fact that I was about to play professional hockey. You didn’t care about me, you just cared about what I could offer you!” he shouts again. “The fact you just admitted you cared more about being the “it” couple more than you cared about wanting to be with me proves it.”

“Well, sue me for wanting to live the life of the rich and famous,” Sarah says, scoffing.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Jack huffs out. “Y/N doesn’t care about living the life of the rich and famous. She just wants me. She wants Jack, not ‘Jack Hughes, star forward, number one overall draft pick’,” he puts on his announcer voice.

“All my life, people have only ever cared about how well I played hockey. Every coach, every teammate, every girl. They all saw me as a hockey player. They wanted me on their team, or in their bed, because they wanted what came with me: attention and popularity,” Your heart breaks at Jack’s voice, never having heard him sound so deflated before.

“Hell, you introduced me to people as a future professional hockey player before you ever introduced me to them as your boyfriend,” he continues. “With Y/N, that’s far from the most interesting thing about me. When she first introduced me to her family, she told them I was her best friend’s brother,” he refers back to the first time you took him home to meet your family, the subject of hockey not coming up until your dad asked if he liked sports, only to berate him for not being a football player. Later that night he asked him how hockey worked. Your dad has never missed a Devils game since, either in person or on tv.

“Her favorite fun fact to tell people about me isn’t a stat, or how many hat tricks I’ve scored,” he keeps going. “It’s that I love to sing Shakira when I’m in the shower. Or that I’m the only other person other than her dad that has ever made her laugh so hard water has come out of her nose,” Jack lightly laughs.

“Hey, Y/N, everything okay-“ you hear Quinn’s voice rounding the corner.

Cutting him off with a “shhh” you place your finger on your mouth to tell him, and Luke who trails behind him, to be quiet, pointing to the sitting room where Jack and Sarah are arguing.

“So, yeah, I would say I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted out of me, but I’m not. I’m not sorry that I broke things off with you. I’m not sorry that I found someone that actually loves me for who I am. And I’m not sorry that I brought the woman that I plan on marrying here with me, and you just so happened to be here too,” Jack tells her, his voice still holding a slight trace of anger.

“I am sorry that I never told my parents what really went down between us, telling them we just agreed it would be too hard and we needed to go back to being friends, because maybe they wouldn’t have invited you over tonight. I am sorry that I didn’t take Y/N out for dinner, trying to avoid what’s happening right now. I am sorry that you can’t begin to fathom someone can see through your forced smiles and backhanded comments, seeing how cold and rotten you really are on the inside. And I am sorry that your poor, sweet parents were given such a malicious bitch as a daughter,” He finishes.

“You know, my mom said Ellen told her you showed her a ring, but I thought it was just a gift. You’re really going to propose to her?” Sarah asks, annoyance clear in her voice, spitting out her last word with unmistakeable disgust.

“Of course it’s true. Bought the ring months ago, been carrying it around with me every since. Showed mom the night she met her, told her I was serious about her and that she’s the one. I think part of me knew that from the moment I met her,” you hear Jack say, hearing the tenderness in his voice when the subject turns to you.

Your head whips over to Luke and Quinn, your eyes wide and your mouth handing open. The panicked look on their faces is all the confirmation you need to know that you heard Jack right. He bought you a ring. He bought you a ring and showed his mom. He bought you a ring and showed his mom and was going to propose to you.

Before you know what you’re doing, your body is leading you to the entryway where your boyfriend is arguing with his ex-girlfriend.

“Y/N, no, wait,” Quinn tries to stop you, but it’s too late.

“You bought me a ring?” you ask as you enter the room, seeing Jack and Sarah standing several feet apart from each other.

“Oh, great, the woman of the hour,” Sarah rolls her eyes at you, throwing her arms up and letting them fall to her side.

You shoot her a glare, not at all concerned about her comments from earlier anymore.

You turn your head to Jack, who’s face looked as panicked at Luke and Quinn’s.

“Jack, you said you bought me a ring. Is that true?” you ask him, begging him to answer you.

Jack gulps, nodding his head yes.

“Right…” is all you can say, trying to digest what’s happening.

You look back and forth between Jack and Sarah, your gaze finally landing on the unimpressed one of Sarah.

“Listen, I don’t care what happened between you and Jack however many years ago, but I don’t appreciate you coming to his family’s house and acting like a nasty bitch to me because you got dumped and I’m the one getting the ring,” you tell her, earning a shocked scoff from her. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you took your nasty attitude and sad insecurities out of this house and elsewhere. I have something I need to discuss with the man that chose me .”

You hear the faint snorts of Quinn and Luke behind you, while Jack’s face moves from panicked to shocked as he looks between the two of you.

“God, you don’t have to ask me twice. All of this melodrama is giving me a headache. You’re not worth this. I can get any guy from the Knicks roster, I don’t need to waste my time on hockey players anymore,” Sarah says before she storms out of the room.

You watch her go, giving her a sweet smile and a wave on her way out.

“That was…the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Jack tells you, walking over to where you stood.

You roll your eyes at him, hitting him in the chest once he gets close enough to you.

“Ow! What was that for?” Jack asks you, rubbing where you thumped him

“For not telling me that Sarah was your ex-girlfriend when I was telling you how excited I was to meet her earlier” you exclaim while looking up at him, poking him in the chest with each word

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had anything to be worried about and get even more in your head about this dinner,” he tells you, grabbing your finger and pushing your hand down to your side.

“Yeah, well a lot of good that did,” you roll your eyes, bringing your hand up to softly smack his chest again.

“God, woman, stop hitting me!” Jack yelps again. “What the hell was that one for?”

“For buying me a ring only a few months into our relationship! And then for not telling me you were going to propose, you idiot!” you exclaim, throwing your arms around.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this or not, but most proposals are usually a surprise,” he tells you, grabbing your arms and holding them apart, preventing you from hitting him again.

“Still. Why would you buy it so soon into us dating, Jack? What if you ended up hating me once we hit six months, or you found out I snored and decided you didn’t want to share a bed with me for the rest of your life?” you ask him, earning a laugh from your boyfriend.

“I knew that you were it from the moment I met you. There’s absolutely no chance of me ever getting sick of you, or hating you,” Jack tells you honestly, the intensity behind his eyes causing you to believe his words. “Also, you do snore, and I think it’s cute, don’t worry.”

You try to hit his chest again, but your arms are still being held by his hands.

“So, is this a good time for me to say I never really liked Sarah,” Luke chimes in, reminding you that him and Quinn are standing in the entrance of the room.

“Luke, you’re such an idiot,” Quinn tells him, flicking him on the back of his curly head.

“What? It’s true. I liked Y/N the second I met her, but Sarah was always just a bitch,” Luke rubs the back of his head as he speaks. “Why do you think Quinn and I took one for the team and took the wicked witch out on the boat so we could keep her out of your hair for as long as possible?”

“Thanks, Luke,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

“Well, I guess it’s time to tell mom that she knows you’re proposing,” Quinn says, looking towards Jack.

“Oh, no, no one is going to know that she knows. I had this whole thing planned out, and I’m not letting Y/N ruin her own proposal,” Jack says, finally letting go of your hands.

“Do I at least get to see the ring?” you ask him, hopeful.

“Nope,” Jack shakes his head, popping the ‘p’.

You huff, crossing your arms and looking at him with a pout, until you remember his words from a few minutes before.

“Wait, you told Sarah you carry the ring with you everywhere, does that mean it’s here? In this house?” Jack’s face falls, eyes looking anywhere but your own.

“No…”

Your face lights up, looking towards the stairs before back at Jack, turning and making a run for your room.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he runs after you, catching up to you in no time.

He grabs you by your torso and swings you around, sitting you back at the bottom of the stairs as he guards them.

“Not fair, your stupid hockey speed and reflexes can shove it,” you pout again.

As you stand at the bottom of the stairs, Quinn and Luke watch the two of you, admiring how perfect the two of you are for each other.

Luke thinks back to when he decided to introduce you to his older brother, knowing he made the right decision, the two of you bringing out the best versions of the other.

And when he stands, hidden with his family as he watches his brother get down on one knee, proposing to the girl that stood at the bottom of the stairs, demanding to see her ring, he knew sneaking into Jack’s room and moving the ring to his own room was the right move, the shock on your face worth the two week long silent treatment you gave him when you found out what he had done.

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Wife: The Duck Dilemma

Joel x F!Reader

Summary: a day at a local farm festival is all fun and games... until it isn't for Joel.

- - - -

He thought the little farm festival with petting area was going to be a good idea.( Like a dumbass) all the way up until Sarah, sitting atop his shoulders, actually sees the little enclosed area and the happy baby goats and sheep and piglets getting cozy around other little kids. Then she starts squealing and pointing excitedly, kicking Joel's chest and tugging his hair to move faster.

He sets her down right outside. You slather the complimentary hand sanitizer foam all between her fingers and up her wrists, and then carefully do the "Listening" chant so she pays attention.

"Remember, 2 finger pet. Veeeery gentle. Watch before you touch. No hands near mouths. And they do NOT need your kisses. Okay baby?"

She nods heavily once, seemingly understanding it all.

Then, you release her into the wild.

You and Joel watch from outside the gate as Sarah carefully waddles to each one in her overalls and little boots. She pets them gently, but they seem more interested in other kids with sticky remnants of food still on their fingers and mouths. Sarah looks so dejected, crossing her hands and waiting patiently.

Like the hero that he is, Joel motions her over and hands her a milk bottle he had somehow bought when you werent paying attention. She eagerly takes it with a smile and walks back to the center.

"Babas! Get babas!" Sarah shouts, holding up the milk bottle. Immediately all the animals come rushing  to her.

You panic for a moment that shes gonna be trampled and eaten. Instead she's laughing as they all lick her cheeks and tongues wag in favor of the bottle. She even takes turns with other kids to feed with the bottle and they pass around the affection. Once she finishes up, she skips back towards you.

You slather more handsanitzer on her and wipe her with your pack of wipes.

You go from each circle, learning about the new 2 week old piggies getting milk from momma, the boat of ducklings under their heating lamp, a  surprisingly impressive show of a squirrel on a mini jet ski, until finally wearing out for the day and walking back to the car with more cotton candy than you'll ever eat in your lifetime.

He can feel the question coming a mile away from you.

"Joel, can we get baby goat."

"No."

"Baby sheep?"

"No."

"Baby...baby duck?"

He holds up Sarah to your face. "How about this baby. Take this one home."

"Oh right. I do love that one." You hoist her into your arms so she can sit on your hip.

Car is loaded, Sarah buckled in a little too happily, and you indulge in some sugary goodness.

On way hone you two hear a peep from the back.

"What was that Sarah?"

"Nufin!" She says quickly. You turn and see her casually tossing her legs and looking around the car, blowing air through her lips pretending to whistle as if bored. Shrugging, you turn back to the front.

But you hear some peeping again, and see through the mirror that Sarah is kissing an emerging little bill in her jacket that is moving of its own.

"Sarah, WHAT IS that."

The little duck pokes it's head out.

You gasp, covering your mouth. "Oh my god..."

Joel whips around and widens at the stowaway duckling nestled into her chest.

He looks between you and Sarah several times before landing his mark. "YOU!" He accuses with a pointed finger at your direction.

"ME??? I DIDNT TELL HER TO TAKE A DUCK!"

"YOU BEEN BEGGIN FOR ONE--"

" I WOULD NOT INCIRMINATE MY DAUGHTER INTO STEALING. Sarah we have to take that back."

"No! Mine!" She holds the flightless little thing defensively to her chest.

"No Sarah, not yours. She has to go with her mommy.

"Ok." She holds it out to you, "Here Mommy!"

"No not me Mommy. Her own Mommy. Duck Mommy. Although it's really... cute. And soft. Probably wanting some attention from a good family...."

"BUT!" Joel snaps, mostly at you.

"BUT we are still taking her back!"

She sniffles and rubs it's soft head against her puffy cheeks, saying goodbye to the duck as you guys go back to the farm.

"Are we raising a kleptomaniac?" You whisper to your fuming husband.

You all apologize profusely at the farm.

"It happens more often than you think," the caretaker laughs. As Joel loads Sarah back in her seat, the handler pulls you aside.

"We're actually not very well funded as we used to"

"Oh I'm so sorry. That's such a shame, this was such a great event and helps kids learn so much."

"Well the thing is.... we don't have the money or staff to continue caring for the ducks once they're a certain age. So if youre open to a donation..."

Joel checks his watch as Sarah clears her tears in the back. He looks at the rear view mirror and you're returning almost with a skip, pulling begind you a wagon.

"What the hell is--"

6 baby ducks quack happily at him.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! WE RETURN ONE AND GET 6 MORE? HOW DOES THAT ADD UP! SHE DOES GET THIS STEALING FROM YOU!"

"please Joel please please please they need a home!!"

Sarah turns and reaches as far out her seat as possible to be able to see the bickering and cart, and she instantly squeals excitedly kicking her feet.

"You're REWARDING HER FOR STEALING"

"JOEL PLEASE! I never ask ANYTHING of you!"

Hes so bewildered by that statement alone, his jaw nearly snapping off and buring 6 feet under the ground.

He puts his hands on his hips ans taps his foot angrily. Between your teary eyes and clasped hands and checking on Sarah who had an equally powerful trembling pouty lips of begging, he has to take a deep breath to relieve the smoke billowing from his ears and nostrils.

-

A smile on both your and Sarah's face and 6 happy ducks quacking away in the trunk.

"I love you," you say sweetly.

He grumbles unhappily but forces his hand in your lap to hold, scowling with a tight grip on the wheel all the way home.

- - - -

Notes: idc if nobody asks for it but i already have a pt 2 for this at the Miller Household

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[1800titz]

Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs. 

It’s a nice view. 

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor. 

Well. 

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest. 

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man. 

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely. 

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.  

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought. 

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence. 

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry,  sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon. 

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge. 

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly. 

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply. 

“Let’s give this another go.” 

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again. 

So. 

That was a failure. 

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch. 

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts. 

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?” 

Seren stares him down. 

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child. 

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?” 

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage. 

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?” 

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head. 

“I’d just like a chat.” 

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts. 

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.” 

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence. 

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech. 

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips. 

“Third time’s the charm.” 

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment. 

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed. 

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically. 

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?” 

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny. 

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute. 

“This is a pretty piece.” 

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph. 

That’s a pretty sound. 

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story. 

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin. 

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.” 

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth. 

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little. 

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs. 

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes. 

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead. 

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down. 

“Y’gonna get loud?” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs. 

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress. 

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.” 

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip. 

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth. 

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances. 

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers. 

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face. 

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day. 

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over. 

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly. 

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?” 

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth. 

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision. 

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.” 

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks. 

Almost. 

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.” 

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed. 

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority. 

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.” 

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift. 

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?” 

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait. 

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this. 

He doesn’t.  

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest. 

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.” 

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone. 

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.” 

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself. 

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.” 

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds. 

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated. 

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?” 

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t. 

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips. 

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.” 

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process. 

The silence is wonderful. 

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight. 

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold. 

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls. 

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall. 

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud. 

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift. 

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass. 

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn. 

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again. 

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall. 

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles. 

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away. 

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all. 

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before. 

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far. 

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.” 

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it. 

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.” 

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.” 

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“ 

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves. 

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t. 

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut. 

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh. 

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.” 

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag. 

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!” 

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.” 

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language. 

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.” 

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously. 

It’s a victory. 

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship. 

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.” 

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

[rollinouttahere]

Joyride

Yandere Strawhats + Ace x Isekai Reader

2.2k words

Part 2

Yet again, this fic is inspired by @lovelybrooke ‘s Isekai reader stories.

I also want to say thank you for all the support and kind comments on the last story I wrote! I’ve actually been working on my own yandere one piece fic that I’m hoping to start posting in a few days give or take, so if you like what I’ve written so far, keep an eye out for that! All future writings are gonna be posted on my writing blog @rollinouttahere-writes​ so go follow that blog if you’re interested!

Trying to act normal and inconspicuous in the One Piece universe was a far from easy task. Being the massive fan of the series that you were, it was damn hard to not give away that you knew all about the crew that was so generously letting you stay with them after appearing on their ship with zero explanation.

It became even harder to stay lowkey when Ace temporarily joined up with the Strawhats. All you wanted was to hug that man and tell him how loved he is and that he deserves to live just as much as anyone else, but you really couldn’t say or do any of that without looking weird. You’ll just have to settle for being extremely nice to him, which was very easy.

Ace himself was already an easy guy to get along with (now at least), but he was noticeably very interested in you. You couldn’t blame him, what with Luffy almost immediately outing your insane situation to him. He seemed incredulous at first, but warmed up to and accepted the story way faster than you expected. It didn’t take long for his questions to go from feeling like an interrogation to being genuine.

You were so busy soaking up the attention from such a beloved character that you almost missed how jealous your crewmates were getting. Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper were taking it the best. Chopper probably because he was still so new to the crew that he wasn’t all that bothered by one of them not paying as much attention to him. Usopp was too busy building Nami’s weapon to concern himself with it too much. Meanwhile, Luffy was just so happy to see Ace again that he didn’t really notice that you were spending a lot of time with him. That, and he would usually be hanging out with both of you anyways. 

The others though, oh boy did they not like this. Nami was the most blatant about it, straight up glowering at you and Ace whenever you two were too close for her liking. You’re pretty sure the only thing keeping her from up and dragging you away from him is Luffy dismissing her complaints and telling her to stop fretting over it. You love being a part of their crew, so she should quit worrying!

Sanji and Zoro were both vying for your attention in their own ways as well. Sanji suddenly wanted more help around the kitchen, insisting that he needed an extra pair of hands now that there was another mouth to feed. Given that Ace’s appetite was on par with Luffy’s, you could understand the desire for help. Zoro’s attempts were considerably less convincing. One time he wanted you to spot him while he was working out, making you laugh right in his face at the mere idea that you would be able to help him with the ridiculous weights he lifts. His face had gone bright red after you pointed it out to him, prompting him to walk away immediately, much to your amusement.

Right now, though, you weren’t with Ace. Him and Luffy were busy doing something and you didn’t want to butt in on all their time together. Instead, you were ogling Ace’s boat that was currently tied to the side of the Going Merry.

You absolutely loved the design of his ship, it was such a clever idea to use his devil fruit ability to power a steam engine and make what looks like a tiny sailboat function like a jet ski. It didn’t appear in the anime too many times but everytime it was on screen it looked so cool. 

“I wonder what it’d be like to ride that,” you quietly mused to yourself.

“Wanna find out?”

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sudden arrival of Ace. He laughed at your reaction, not a care in the world for the near heart attack he just gave you.

“Oh my God, Ace, you scared the hell out of me!” You lightly slapped at his shoulder, your other hand resting over your now racing heart.

He laughed some more, “I could tell, and I’m sorry about that.” He didn’t sound even vaguely sorry. Ace elbowed your side, “But seriously, do you want to go for a ride?”

The offer had you staring wide-eyed at him. Then the boat. Then back at him again. “Really? Are you sure?” You were desperately trying to keep your cool and not show how insanely excited you were about the idea.

“Of course! I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t. Come on,” he hopped up onto the railing and held his hand out to you. You didn’t need to mull it over, eagerly taking hold and stepping up with him. As soon as you did, he wrapped an arm around you and was ready to jump down onto his boat when Nami started yelling.

“Woah, woah, woah, what the hell are you two doing???” Nami, who was previously pruning her trees, had abandoned the activity entirely in favor of sprinting over to where you were and grabbing onto your leg.

“(Y/N) wanted to try riding my boat, so we’re going for a little joyride, that’s all,” Ace flashed Nami a dazzling smile, not at all deterred by her interruption.

“No way! What if they fall off? That thing doesn’t look safe at all!” Nami was now pulling on you, trying to get you down from the railing.

Ace held on tighter in response, “It’s perfectly safe, it has to be. I’m a devil fruit user, remember? (Y/N) isn’t, so really, I’m in more danger on that than they are. It’s fine.”

You could tell Nami was ready to argue more, but thankfully Luffy piped up, “Don’t worry about it Nami! If Ace says it’s safe then it’s safe!” Luffy, who was perched on his special seat at the bow, came bounding over, “But I wanna go next!”

“Sure thing, Luffy, we’ll be back in a bit,” Ace was quick to jump down with you in tow, not wanting to give any of the other Strawhats a chance to object. After untying it from the Going Merry, he knelt down slightly, “Hop on my back, you’re not gonna want to have your feet down there when we get going.”

Not wanting to get set on fire, you obliged. If you weighed anything to him, he didn’t show it, simply standing up straight as soon as you were on. “Ready?”

You excitedly nod your head, holding on tight to Ace in preparation. It was a good thing too, because he decided to immediately start at the leisurely speed of what felt like mach 7. A shriek emits from your throat as you take off. You think you can hear Nami yelling something again, but couldn’t make it out over your own screaming and the noise of the steam engine roaring to life.

Ace laughed loudly at your reaction, but did slow down slightly, “Sorry about that, I just wanted to get some distance before anyone else tried to stop us.” One of his arms let go of your leg and tugged at your arms around his neck, “But would you mind easing up a bit? I won’t be able to take us back if you choke me out.” 

“Oh oops, I’m sorry!” You immediately loosened your arms and readjusted them. Accidentally strangling Ace was not something you wanted to do today. Or any day really.

He simply shrugged it off, telling you not to worry about it. It’s not like you could really hurt him. “I’m gonna speed up again, you ready for it this time?”

The second you confirm that you are, the boat lurches forward, cutting through the waves like nothing. Now that you weren’t panicking, you could properly take in the experience and thoroughly enjoy it. 

The wind was whipping through your hair and sea water misted the air, droplets clinging to both yours and Ace’s hair. He hit a particularly big wave causing the boat to go airborne for a moment before crashing back down. You found yourself laughing and cheering as Ace continued to show off, which only egged him on more.

After a while, Ace slowed to a stop and let you down from his back. “C’mere, step up on this,” he stepped to the side and motioned for you to step up onto the front of his boat. His hands rested on your hips to keep you steady, presumably not wanting to get chewed out by Nami if you came back sopping wet. 

“This is one of the best parts of being at sea,” he was staring straight ahead. “Sunsets out here are something else, you don’t get a view like this on land.”

He was completely correct, it was beautiful. Orange, red, and pink hues colored the sky and reflected gorgeously in the ocean. It was a breathtaking view, one you would remember forever.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, quietly admiring the view with nothing but the natural sounds of the ocean around you. It was nice, very peaceful. 

“What do you think about staying here?”

You tense at Ace suddenly speaking. “Like staying out here a little longer?” As lovely as this was, the others were bound to get antsy if you stayed out after dark.

“No, I mean staying here in this world,” he stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms fully around you and resting his head on your shoulder to be able to see your face. “It’s nice here, right? Why not stick around? I know Luffy wants you to. Hell, I’m sure the rest of the crew does, too.”

You were taken aback by this statement, and weren’t really sure how to respond. Sure, it could be nice here when you all weren’t being hunted for sport by marines, but this wasn’t a place you could see yourself staying long term. That, and you had a life back home, you couldn’t just throw your friends and family to the wind like that.

Sucking in a breath, you searched for the nicest way to say all that. “It is nice here, but I have to go back.” You could feel his posture stiffen behind you, “Don’t get me wrong, you all have been super nice to me! It’s just that I’ve got all my friends and family back home and I miss them terribly.”

“Your family?” Ace said this so quietly that you weren’t even sure he was saying that to you. Abruptly, he straightened up, “I know! If you want a family so bad you can join the Whitebeard pirates!”

What? You joining the Whitebeard pirates? You already feel inadequate enough around the Strawhats, you can’t imagine how pathetic you would feel around those people. Of course, it would be awesome to get to meet them, but you want to keep to yourself as much as possible since you will eventually have to go back home.

While you were thinking, Ace kept going, “Pops would love you, I just know it. We haven’t gotten another sibling in a while, everyone would be psyched to meet you.” His once comforting hug was growing tighter by the second. Suffocating even.

“Ace-”

“And you already have friends with my brother’s crew, so that’s all taken care of!”

“Ace, ple-”

“Of course, I’m your friend too, but after you join I’ll be your big brother!”

“ACE!” Your yell startled him, mercifully making him let go of you. You take the opportunity to inch forward and create some distance, however minute.  “That’s,” oh, how to put this without hurting his feelings, “that’s very kind of you to offer, but I’d rather stay with the Strawhats for now.”

“Oh…” You don’t even need to turn around to know how disappointed he was by this declaration. He chuckled awkwardly, “I’m sorry about that, looks like I got a little carried away there.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” frankly, you just wanted to go back to the ship after that. The atmosphere was uncomfortable now.

After a few more seconds of silence, Ace cleared his throat and spoke again, “We should probably head back now, it’s gonna be dark soon.”

You were quick to agree and clambered onto his back, “Yeah that’s a good idea, Nami would throw a fit if we stay out much longer.” She’ll probably be mad regardless, but still.

Ace got his boat going and began the trip back. The Going Merry was a lot further away than you’d realized, it was so small that you could just barely make it out in the distance. You internally cringe, your crewmates are no doubt unhappy about you being this far away.

Despite the distance, you couldn’t help but notice how slow Ace was going compared to earlier. It’s like he wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. You decided not to call him out on it, not deeming it worth it.

“I’m not giving up, you know.”

“What?” 

“I’ll drop it for now, but I’m not giving up on you joining Whitebeard’s crew. Just… think about it, okay?” Ace’s voice was quiet, just barely loud enough to hear over the engine. 

The rest of the ride back remained dead silent, giving you plenty of time to mull over what just happened. It felt so… Weird. Out of character, really. He’s known you for, what? 24 hours? If that. Yet he’s trying to talk you out of going home and seems dead set on replacing your family with his own. Granted, everyone’s been more clingy than you thought normal, but this was downright bizarre. 

You really need to find a way home, and fast.

[jadeazora]

Quite a long read below, but I have to admire the dedication to the meme 😂

Feeling blue? It’s because there’s too much water. Your mood can turn gray on rainy days. From a broader perspective, water is the cause of all the world’s woes. All life exists on land. It is where Pokémon hatch from their Eggs. Where they train, battle, and evolve. It’s the source of the Berries that heal and sustain them. Even the mighty Mudkip, Hoenn’s beloved Water-type first partner Pokémon, sees a limited future for itself in water. Why else would it evolve into the Water- AND Ground-type Marshtomp?

Deep down, we all recognize the dangers of water. Land rhymes with grand. Boom! Roasted. Speaking of which, you can’t roast anything in water, and roasting is one of the five best cooking methods—but back to water’s imminent dangers. Even a puddle can ruin someone’s day, so the only safe amount of water is none. While humans fall victim to technology, turning away from nature’s sanctity, Pokémon remain deeply connected to nature. And Pokémon know that water is dangerous; why else would Dragonite dedicate its precious time to flying over immense stretches of sea to rescue people from drowning? How far have we sunk morally that this noble Pokémon must exhaust itself rescuing humans from this dire threat when there is an alternative solution at hand?

If we’re being honest—which the anti-water faction can afford to be with the advantage of facts and Groudon on our side—water tastes terrible. There’s an entire line of products specifically designed to enhance its flavor. It’s worth noting that there are no products to enhance the flavor of earth, because it tastes fine exactly the way it is. If you were thirsty in the middle of the ocean, what would you do with all that water? Clearly, the deranged water apologists bent on marinating us all in this deadly liquid have failed to accurately assess the threat that it poses to humans and Pokémon alike.

It’s no accident that many sports and leisure activities are devoted to avoiding the water. Boats are the most common method of traversing the stuff, and yet their entire purpose is to help you stay dry. Surfboards, jet skis, wetsuits, and even ridable Pokémon like Lapras, Mantine, and Basculegion are all indicative of humanity’s natural and entirely logical aversion to water. In reality, you can enjoy all these activities on land. Sandboarding is every bit as thrilling as surfing. And from a purely fashionable perspective, life vests and flippers ruin any ensemble. Of course, to each his own. Who am I to judge if someone likes the frayed shorts and bandana look? As a person whose style is impeccable, though, I’m much more aware of how important it is to look your best.

Like any person of reasonable logic, I could pontificate on the many dangers, drawbacks, and downsides of water for longer than Groudon’s subterranean slumber, but I have responsibilities elsewhere. I hope I have managed to plant the seeds of doubt concerning this insidious substance. Should you decide to take up our cause, you know where to find me.

Seeing red? You probably need more water. Irritability is a proven side effect of dehydration. There’s no problem that can’t be solved by water. Water is life. Without it, there would be no Magikarp struggling heroically to overcome the limitations of its biology, inspiring us all with its courage. No surfing Pikachu lifting spirits with its gnarly moves. No Squirtle, and certainly no Squirtle Squad. Eager young Pokémon Trainers would visit Professor Birch, excited to meet the Mudkip that would become their first partner on their Pokémon journey, only to find an empty Poké Ball.

What’s so great about land, anyway? There’s a reason land rhymes with bland. You know what isn’t bland? Soup. Everyone knows soup is the epitome of culinary ambition and delight, and what is soup if not seasoned water? If only being bland were the land’s only crime. Land is dangerous—volcanoes, quicksand, drought, and so forth. You know what extinguishes volcanoes, liquefies quicksand, and ends drought? Water. In fact, Kyogre, that magnificent master of aquatic realms, is known to save people suffering the effects of droughts. Without the parched, overrated land, the world and its many beautiful Pokémon would never know the horrors of another drought.

If the land is so safe, explain shoes. While swimming or otherwise interacting with water, we shed our footwear, instinctively wanting to maximize our physical contact with water. When walking on land, though, we wear shoes, acknowledging the inherent danger and uncleanliness of the earth. It’s not unreasonable to theorize that any pro-land faction is secretly funded and driven by Big Footwear.

If land is so wonderful, explain the existence of swimming pools. What are these giant, land-bound containers if not an expression of humankind’s yearning for the soothing, invigorating embrace of that life-giving liquid? Similarly, we embark on cruises because we long for the sea. Without water, we would forever lose the majesty of jet skis, gliding as effortlessly as Lapras. Snorkeling, kayaking, diving, windsurfing, wakeboarding, and water polo would all cease to exist without water. Water aerobics, which we can all agree embodies the nobility of the human spirit and incredible capability of the human body, relies entirely on the presence of water. Without it, we would be left with just aerobics—a pale and paltry imitation.

Finally—our bodies are roughly 60% water. Without it, we would be dried, unrecognizable husks, which is an accurate description of anyone unfeeling enough to dismiss the beauty and wonder of soup, the sea, jet skis, Squirtle, and our existence. Long live the water. I hope these arguments have sufficiently piqued your interest and whet your appetite for knowledge about the benefits and necessity of water.

Article here.

[zot3-flopped]

Reading that article from the sunday times and just gagging:

"Upstairs, in a corner room, was where she asked for three books to be read and five songs to be played to her every night",

"According to family friends they drove a Chevrolet Suburban — an SUV fit for the secret service — sent Christmas cards showing their impressive holidays and brought their daughter’s pony to school for show and tell.",

"The family would also give teachers the keys to their holiday home as a thank-you present.",

"They had a hot tub on the patio, a jetty with a boat from which they waterskiied and two jet skis. They were also members of the sailing club.",

"“When Taylor was young, the family came over for dinner and the kids were all swimming,” Hand says. “They [Swift’s parents] asked me if I had the Disney channel and I said no. There was some country singer on that was Taylor’s idol — and so they got up and they left.”,

"Her father, Scott, now 72, grew up nearby. He was a financial adviser at the investment firm Merrill Lynch. Swift’s mother, Andrea, now 66, was a marketing executive born into a wealthy family who grew up between Singapore and Houston, Texas. Andrea’s father was the president of a construction company, her mother an opera singer.",

"A third-generation banker and former radio salesman, he updated them on which songs she had cut (I am told he spent $10,000 on building her a recording studio at their home); which singles were coming out next (by the age of 15, Taylor had a record deal with a company in which Scott had bought a 3 per cent stake); where she was touring (he had bought Cher’s former tour bus for her); and the awards for which she needed votes.",

"During the long, hot summer days Swift would walk through town, her guitar slung across her back, much to the judgment of the local girls.",

"Swift gave out wallet-sized photos of herself as Sandy to the kids in the years below her at school",

"Her notebook, he claims, was filled with pages of her own autograph.",

"Many, however, thought she was “a bit of a brat”, from the moneyed side of town and modelling clothes for Abercrombie & Fitch. At 16, Swift bought a Lexus SC430 convertible, the car driven by Regina George, the meanest girl in Mean Girls.",

"Swift made an entrance when she first arrived at Hendersonville High School, says a former classmate, telling people she was going to be a star. “We kind of rolled our eyes because, being in Nashville, we hear that a lot,” she says. “It was just such a strong statement for someone of that age.”

Underdog who??? Tbh it's not just TS being obnoxious, rich, spoiled brat flaunting her wealth left and right, it's her entire immediate family.

“There were times when, in middle school and junior high, I didn’t have a lot of friends,” she told the Great American Country network in 2008." damn, I wonder why. /s

Classic nepo baby.

[mountttmase]

Is the for the holiday one? 🤭

Yesssssssss 😋

I can do angst 🤭

—————

Mason wasn’t napping where you’d left him, in fact he was nowhere to be seen but as you made you way to the front of the boat you could see him lent up against the side with a pensive look on his face. You didn’t know if you wanted to join him as he looked so in his own head but you fought against it and carefully made your way over.

‘Mase? What you doing over here?’ You asked. Watching him jump slightly as he realised you were there before his eyes were on the floor.

‘I was feeling a bit sea sick’

‘So you thought it was best to hang over the edge and make it worse’ you smiled but he didn’t smile back. Just shrugged his shoulders gently as he twiddled with his fingers.

‘Sorry’

‘It’s alright, don’t be sorry’ you smiled. Pulling him into a hug and even though he was hugging you back you knew something was off. You chalked it down to him not feeling well and when you pulled back you could see in his eyes that something wasn’t right. ‘Shall I get you a bottle of water and we can sit somewhere quiet’

‘No it’s okay, I don’t wanna pull you away from everyone’

‘Mase? You know I’d pick you over anyone here’ you told him. Pulling back and cupping his jaw so he’d look at you and when he sent you a smile your heart settled just a tiny bit.

‘Even Freddie?’

‘Especially Freddie’ you winked. ‘Come on, I’ll look after you. They’re all still out on the jet skis so it’s just you and me anyway. Can’t get rid of me even if you want to’

[thoseboysinblue]

My Type

Part 2

Christian Pulisic x reader

You have a chance encounter with Christian, who happens to be just your type.

Word count: 2400+

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing, drinking

Part 1

"Elllls" you groan collapsing onto the bed beside her, "we have a problem."

"Are you too hungover to function? Because I'm too hungover to function right now," she says turning to face you, "can you turn off the sun please?" she whines as you let out a small laugh.

"No, well yes, I'm hungover and feel like I could die, but I also have a slightly bigger problem," you say, handing her your phone so that she can see the notification.

"Oh shit," she grins, "I told you he'd find you."

"Yeah, I have no clue how he managed that though," scrolling through pictures you were tagged in from the night before. "Damn it Ella, you fucking tagged him didn't you" you huff at her. "I might have, but I didn't actually think he'd see it, he must get a million notifications a day, he was obviously looking for you" she smirks as she gets her own phone out.

"What am I going to fucking do, I can't accept that, but it would be rude not to wouldn't it?"

"Why can't you accept a follow request, y/n, maybe he likes you, and at the very least, it would be a fun story to tell," she chuckles.

"He's got 7 million followers, Ells, that's why, a follow from him is just asking for it," you sigh.

"Maybe it's him asking for it," she winks at you, "for the love, it's just an Instagram request, not a marriage proposal, accept it, see what happens."

"I could kill you for this," you roll your eyes at her.

"Or you can thank me for it" she giggles.

Ella is busy typing away on her phone as you hit accept on his request, not bothering to follow him back.

"Damn it" she sighs, "our boat for today cancelled, I'm going to try to get us booked onto something else." You nod at her, "that sucks, want me to look for something, I hate for you to be the one dealing with this on your bachelorette party, but we can always just do another beach day if it doesn't work out."

"No, I think I've got something else lined up," she smiles.

What you didn't know is, she'd woken up to an Instagram message from Christian:

Christian: hey, thanks for the tag 😉

Ella: hey, no problem, she's already threatened to kill me so you better be worth it 🙄

Christian: I will be, promise. 😇 So, I don't want to crash your party or anything, but what are you guys plans for the day?

Ella: Well, we had a boat booked, but that seems to have fallen through, so maybe just another beach day unless I can find a last minute booking.

Christian: It could be your lucky day...I happen to have a boat, and jet skis, and a pool, and I can have a fully stocked bar if you'll tell me what you guys like to drink. But really, I don't want to crash your party, so no pressure to accept or anything ☺️

Ella: I mean, are you sure you don't mind?

Christian: not at all, really, I'll get some food ordered too, guessing you guys are as hungover as we are, what about drinks?

Ella: we've got tons of alcohol with us we can bring, so just whatever you want will work 😉 you sure you're ok with this?

Christian: Positive. Here's the address. 📍 couple of hours?

Ella: yeah, I'll get this lot moving. See you then, hope this isn't a complete disaster 😭

"Girls," Ella shouts, "we've had a change of plans, our boat cancelled so I've got another one lined up, but it's a 40 minute drive, so we need to be ready for the minibus to pick us up in an hour."

You hear everyone groan and start shuffling around to get ready. After showering, you pull on a fuschia bikini that complements your sun kissed skin perfectly, and leaves very little to the imagination as well as some shorts and a sheer top. You pack your bag for the boat, throwing in your towel, sunscreen, AirPods and a book for when you inevitably need to drown out the rest of the group.

You head to the kitchen and fix mimosas figuring the fastest way to cure your hangover is to have a little bit of a buzz again. After a couple of drinks you all head to your waiting minibus. You climb into the back, listening to everyone chatter about the guys you'd met last night and mostly dodging questions about Christian, the group still none the wiser to who he actually is.

You pop in your headphones and lay your head against the seat and doze off on the drive. When you feel the bus come to a stop you wake up and look around at the clearly residential area you are in, a couple of the girls squeal when they see a few people come out of the house you are at, and Ella turns to you "don't kill me, please" she begs.

"Ella, what the fuck?" you roll your eyes, even though she can't see them through your sunglasses. "Our boat really did cancel and he offered," she smiles devilishly at you. "If this wasn't your party, I'd fucking kill you" you grit your teeth at her as she pulls you from the van.

"It will be fun, I promise," she smiles again, trying to encourage you, "you look hot by the way," she wiggles her eyebrows as Christian walks over and she gives him a quick hug. "Thanks for saving the day," she smiles sweetly at him as he nods, his eyes completely focused on you.

"No problem, glad I could help" he grins at her as she turns to go into the house, "the pool is out back, there's breakfast and drinks waiting in the kitchen," he shouts after her, still not taking his eyes off of you. "Hey, y/n" he offers you a smile leaning in to kiss you on the cheek before you bring your hand to his chest to stop him, " hey, Christian" you mutter pushing past him to head into the house.

Once inside, you grab something to eat, a hard seltzer, and some water before heading out to the pool. You find a lounge chair away from everyone and lay your towel down before shimmying out of your shorts and shirt. You lay down on the chair, popping your headphones back in and turning on some music as you watch everyone through your sunglasses.

You see Christian wander out of the house, shirtless with his swimming trunks slung low over his hips as he talks to a few of the others, damn he looks good, too good, you think to yourself as he scans around, smirking when he sees you. You know he can't see you watching him, but your cheeks flush when you've presumably been caught staring.

A few minutes later, he comes over and sits on the chair next to you, picking your phone up to see what you are listening to before turning off your bluetooth function so that the music is now coming through the speaker of your phone. "Do you mind?" you quip at him, it coming out a little more harsh than you intended. "I like this song" he says, unbothered by your apparent indifference, as you pull your earbuds from your ears and put them back in the case.

You both sit in silence for several minutes, listening to the music, your heart hammering away in your chest as you try really hard not to completely freak out over the fact that this trip is going very differently than you thought it would. "Can I ask you a question?" he says continuing to look straight ahead, his eyes also shielded by a pair of sunglasses, his arms folded behind his head. "I'm guessing you're going to ask your question no matter what I say, so go ahead," you answer him.

"Did you already have that jersey, or did you just buy it for this trip," he smirks turning to look at you, his eyes raking up and down your body as his lips part slightly, tongue grazing along the lower one.

"Neither actually, borrowed it from my brother," you say, turning over and adjusting your chair so that you could lay on your stomach, giving him a good view of your ass that's barely covered by the bottoms you're wearing. "So your brother is a fan, that sounds like a win for me" he chuckles as you roll your eyes and shake your head. He quickly realizes the current view he has of your ass isn't going to do him any favors, so he decides to get in the pool, but before he does he leans down to say lowly in your ear, "be careful in this Florida sun, y/n, you don't want to get burned." He runs and does a cannonball into the pool splashing you in the process, to which you just raise your middle finger in his general direction and hear him let out a hearty laugh.

After a while, you sit up and decide you probably should put on some more sunscreen. You chug down about half of your water and then set about rubbing yourself down. Just as you finish with your front side, Christian comes back over and sits down, offering you another of the hard seltzers you'd been nursing. You take it from him and mumble a thanks, cracking it open and taking a long drink.

"Do me?" he says nonchalantly. "Pardon?" you sputter nearly choking on your drink. "Sunscreen, I need some, I can feel my shoulders burning," he smirks cocking an eyebrow at you. You start to hand him the tube of sunscreen but he shakes his head at you, "my hands are full" he says, holding up his beer and phone. You roll your eyes and sit down behind him, your legs draped over each side of the chair so that he's sitting between them.

You take a deep breath and squeeze some of the sunscreen out onto your fingers, slowly starting to work it onto his shoulders and back, smirking to yourself at the low moan he lets slip past his lips. "Can I ask you a question?" you say quietly as you continue trailing your hands over his exposed upper body. "Mmmhmm" he says as his head falls forward completely lost in the feel of your hands on him. "Why are you doing this?"

His head snaps back up and he turns to look at you, "Doing what?"

"This, inviting us here, giving up whatever plans you had to spend the day with a bachelorette party of people you don't know?"

"Well, I actually didn't have any plans to give up, we are doing exactly what I was going to do no matter if we had other people over or not, and my new bff Ella, was in a crisis and needed a boat, which I happen to have," he grins at you.

"Have I done something to upset you?" he says, taking the sunscreen from you and gesturing for you to switch places with him. He scoots backwards, giving you a place to sit between his legs as he starts to rub some onto your shoulders. "No, I'm not upset, just not sure what I'm doing here," you mumble, "surely you've got other prospects you could be entertaining."

Your breath hitches as he slides his hands under the strings on the back of your bikini, "maybe I do, and maybe I don't, but is it so bad to think that just maybe, I wanted to get to know you a little better, you aren't like anyone I've met, and that intrigues me."

"Why, because I'm not throwing myself at you?" you scoff.

"That is a bit refreshing actually," he chuckles. "But, no, it's not just that, I'd be willing to bet we have a lot more in common than you think, y/n."

"What could we possibly have in common, Christian? We are obviously from two very different worlds," you sigh. "Well, for starters, I think we both prefer to stay home over going to a night club, if I'm remembering what your friend said about you last night correctly." You let out a huff, knowing it's true and start to stand up to move back to your chair but he settles one hand over your waist and squeezes lightly, letting you know he doesn't want you to move just yet.

"I'd also say we have similar taste in music judging by your playlist," he grins, "and your brother is a fan so I'm wondering if you've watched me play?"

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," you quip, not giving in to his not so subtle attempts at flirting.

"We also now share our best friend Ella," he chuckles, "and she loves me, she even followed me back on Instagram, unlike some people."

"So is that what this is about? Is your pride a little hurt that I didn't already follow you, or at least follow you back?" you laugh quietly, "Ella is a hopeless romantic, of course she followed you wanting to play cupid."

"Are you not a hopeless romantic?" he says, turning you around to face him. "No, I'm far too jaded for that. I told you last night, I didn't think I was what you were looking for in that bar, and I still believe that to be true, if you're looking for a hook up, I'm probably not your girl, and god knows if you want more than that, I'm definitely not it."

"What if I said, I wasn't looking for anything? But that maybe I found something I wasn't expecting, even if that's just a friendship," he says, pulling his sunglasses off so that you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"Then I might believe you."

"Look, I noticed you before I realized what you were wearing last night, that jersey just happened to give me a reason to talk to you. I'm not asking you for anything, y/n, just give me a chance, please."

"I guess I can do that," you offer him a small smile, seeing his expression light up.

"Really?" he asks, as you nod in response. "Wanna ride?" he says with a smirk, noticing your expression change slightly. "On the boat, y/n, get your mind out of the gutter," he chuckles as you shake your head at him, clearly lost for a response. "There are several ways I'd like to render you speechless, but for now, I'm just asking if you'd like to go out on the boat with me."

@chelseagirl98 @neverinadream @masonspulisic @pulisicsgirl @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lunamelona

[emeritus-fuckers]

Okay, indulge me. A S/O who’s into fear and dangerous situations with the Papas, all except older Nihil.

S/O who’s into fear and dangerous situations...

Hope this is what you were after :D - Nyx

Primo

He's very chilled about it. He is happy to just sit back and watch you as he is getting a little too old to join in. He'll brew a pot of tea and just wave enjoy seeing you so happy/scared.

But if it's something he can join in on he will.

You told him you were going to do a skydive and he agreed to join you.

You both went with an instructur. You jumped out one after the other so you could hold hands on the freefall.

He's also more than happy to watch scary horror movies with you.

He also set up a scary halloween trail in the garden one year.

He asked you to try it out and when you came out looking terrified he knew his work was done.

He then gave you a tight cuddle.

Secondo

Very wild parties... like properly wild.

He doesn't normally take his S/O to them, he would normally just take them to the slightly less wild ones.

He is more than happy to take this into the bedroom. Fear and danger mixed with a lot of pleasure.

He can give you whatever you need or like.

He makes sure it’s always safe, that he will stop whatever he is doing if you use the safe word. But to you it will feel like he hasn’t.

He'll pay for whatever dangerous situation you want...

You wanna go and learn to ride a motorbike go for it. He'll pay for the best lessons and buy you the fastest bike.

But he also wants to make sure you are safe. Especially with say a motorbike, they are properly dangerous and he buys you the best safety gear and mainly arranges for you to ride it on a track.

Terzo

He joins in whenever he can, in a very flamboyant way.

One time he chartered a private yatch for you both to have a holiday together.

You went out on jet skis together, jumped off the highest part of the boat and went scuba diving.

Terzo is also very careful about your safety. More behind the scenes however, he makes sure his Ghouls check everything over and that they are there incase something goes wrong.

Terzo also likes to jump out on you a lot and then he bursts into a fit of giggles.

If you complain at all he'll just shrug and say "I thought you liked being scared cara?"

Then he'll pull you close to him "or is it because I am so good looking you can't contain your shock at being so lucky to have me hmm?" He'll brush his lips against yours and smile. "That's what it is I know amore, I can't quite get over it myself..."

Copia

He's constantly trying to make sure you are safe. He'll double check all the knots and ropes when you go climbing.

He'll then spend the entire climb asking if you are okay, checking on everything.

A rat is hiding in his pocket and peaks out at the long drop below, they make little sqeaking noises.

Copia himself then looks down and similiar noises start escpaing him.

You have to talk the poor man through it all.

He still comes with you on things as he wants to be able to look after you.

He worries a lot.

He did try to take his tricycle mountain biking... it went interestingly.

Young Nihil

He often gets people confronting him for stealing their partners. He will calmly point out that those people he slept with are not anyone's property... It tends to escalate pretty quickly into a fight.

Nihil is a bit useless when it comes to actually throwing fists so it looks kinda funny.

But then whole bar then nromally erupts into chaos. Which brings the biggest smile to Nihil's face. He'll have his Ghoul's deal with the person who attacked him in the first place, before pouring you both a shot of Tequilla. You then lean back against the bar and enjoy the view together.

That might not be the danger you were looking for... but still there it is!

He also has a really fun side, whatever daft thing you want to do he's up for it. He normally takes it one step further...

He'll party, drink, take whatever and do whatever. In his own way he will try and make sure you are okay. He means well, he wants to keep you safe he just isn't always the best at that.

I can guess you two would probably end up in the hospital at some point, but it would be one hell of a story that put you two there.

~

Written by Nyx

Taglist:

@ivyanddaisies @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @lunarsromantichomicide @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @dio-niisio @firefirevampire @mybotanicaldemise @emo-mess @natoncesaid @sirlsplayland @ouijaboardemo @lightbluuestars @igodownjustlikeholymary @thatoddboy @strawberriiblossoms @dark-angel-is-back

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

hi! can i ask where the pages on scott swift are from? sorry if this is something a lot of people know, i dont know a lot about her family stuff!

Taylor Swift’s old manager, Dan Dymtrow is suing Taylor and her family for "incorrectly compensating him during the early years of Taylor’s career".

This has been taken to court and Dan Dymtrow has sent in this email written to him by Taylor Swift’s dad, Scott Swift, which now makes the email a public document. And that's how we have it.  

This leaked email gives so much insight and detail into celebrity life and how almost everything is calculated behind the scenes.

This scandal is important because it exposed a few things:

Taylor Swift grew up wealthy and privileged: Sott Swift bragged about in his leaked email to Dan, "Keep in mind that I manage $270 million but more importantly, 249 relationships with families at Merrill in a terrible market… I am in the top 1% of all brokers at the most prestigious investment firm in the world. I manage staff, I manage my client’s lives, their money, I have moved my family to Nashville, cleaned out two houses, sold one.” Another example is how the move to Nashville cost the family a lot of money, “Who made enough money that if we have to take off across the country we will be okay? Who hired staff ahead of time so that we could move to Nashville? The idiot that lives with Andrea!!!!!”

Scott Swift used his insane amount of connections to get Taylor's career started: For example, he goes into detail about inviting Scott Sanford out to their Nashville lake (he also talks about all the things he owns like jet skies and boats). He says that while hanging out with Scott Sanford he promised him to join the Nashville Duck Drop ONLY if he allowed Taylor to sing at the event, "I agree to corral ducks if he lets Taylor be the talent at Riverfront Park for the Duck Drop". He also made his clients listen to her music, "Who has made every single client listen to Taylor’s latest song before we went over their financial plan?"

Here is a Mirror article about the law suit and leaked email -> Taylor Swift's dad 'vents' about family in new email released as part of manager lawsuit

Anyway, it’s a very long and unhinged email, but it does a good job at showing you how Taylor’s career was orchestrated behind the scenes (the asylum where they raised her) and also does a good job at showing how Taylor is the way she is when this is her dad (he's such a weirdo).

[rosyjuly]

I. After Esteban has sent the pictures to the groupchat Gina made months ago, they have to wait hours until she finally wakes up. Finally, Gina texts back a string of crying laughing emojis and then, Did you steal Mom’s hat?????, which is just plain rude. It makes Este laugh like a hyena, though, and he bullies Mick into FaceTiming her. Gina, soft faced in the early hours in Texas, laughs until she cries. 

II. “Did you bring anything that doesn’t match?” Lance asks in his usual drawl when he FaceTimes them. He’s half propped up. The scowl is visible even behind his sunglasses. 

“Man, it’s warm here, of course we’re wearing white–”

“Save it, Mick,” Lance says, probably rolling his eyes as he pops a grape into his mouth. “You look like you’re on a bloody honeymoon.” 

Este takes the phone from him, says, “Well, next time come with us, then, instead of bailing last minute–” 

“I wanted to spend time with my sister–”

“Who’s actually on her honeymoon–”

III. Este’s mother calls when they’re having lunch. Mick eats his grilled octopus, only half listening to the rapid French conversation. The table next to them is sharing a huge plate of calamari and fries. As he pushes away a piece of lettuce with his fork, Este is putting the phone down in the middle of the table, stuffing a huge bite of fish into his mouth. 

“Um, hi,” Mick says, swallowing his salad. 

“Mick, sweetie,” Esteban’s mom says, kind as always, “you really should get lunch with us in Austria.” 

Sorry, Este mouthes at him, still chewing his food. Mick only shakes his head with a smile; it’s not like spending time with them is a hardship. 

IV. They’re out on the sea when Pierre texts. Mick’s sitting on the edge of the boat, taking pictures when Esteban folds himself down next to him, phone clutched in his hand. It’s a voice message, because of course it is. 

“A joint Instagram post,” Pierre is saying, grin evident in his voice. “Este, man, I can’t believe you’d do this to me. Yuki is going to kill me, are you kidding me?” 

They call him once they’ve stopped laughing. Pierre picks it up after the first ring; he’s in the gym, doing his warm up. 

“Well, it’s not my fault that you’re too lazy,” Este says in lieu of a greeting. Pierre laughs and tells him to fuck off. “Plan a little trip, Pierre, it’s not that difficult–”

“Sure, sure. Mick, can we use your boat?” 

“What part of don’t be lazy did you not get?” Mick asks mildly, lifting his camera to take a picture of their feet, the blue of the sea glimmering beneath it. 

“I hate both of you,” Pierre says, and then hangs up. A minute later he sends a selfie where he's flipping them off. 

V. He rings Seb from the balcony once he and Este retreat to their own rooms. It feels a little ridiculous, given that Este clapped him on the shoulder and said he will go call his girlfriend, but– it’s fine. It’s just a call. Sebastian might be busy anyway. 

He’s not. Mick makes him tell all about his new sailing team, the lessons he’s started to take. Some of Sebastian’s stories sound like straight out of a show he’d normally scoff at in disbelief, and yet he can’t be surprised that Seb got invited to attend at a brain surgery. There’s just something magnetic about him. 

When Sebastian asks how he’s doing, he tells Seb about the little getaway they’re on, about the vintage drive, the jet skiing. 

“Send me some pics,” Seb says. 

Of course he hasn’t seen the ones Este posted already. Mick puts him on speaker – they don’t really do video, he’s not sure why – and sends a few in their Whatsapp thread. He hasn’t imported the photos from his camera yet, so these will have to do. Seb likes them just fine, anyhow, asking follow up questions that make Mick feel all warm in the stomach, until he gets to the last pic. 

“Oh,” Seb says, clearing his throat. “I–. You two look very, ah, cute.” 

Mick frowns. The photo is– well, it’s cute, probably? It’s just a selfie of Este and him out on the balcony after dinner, the sea stretching out endlessly behind them. But Sebastian sounds– weird. 

“Thanks,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s nice here. We both needed to get away from everything, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Seb says. “I bet.” There’s a small pause. It’s definitely weird now, like Sebastian is fighting hard not to say something. But this isn’t a drivers’ meeting where he needs to stay quiet; it’s just the two of them. Then Seb finally says, very quickly, “Well, I’m happy you’re happy.”

“I, um– Thank you?” Mick blinks at the sudden change of topic. “I guess it’s coming along, you know, with the talks Sabine and I have been having–” 

“No, yeah, that– that too, of course, but–” Sebastian clears his throat again. “I meant, just, you know– with Esteban.” 

“With Este– you mean–?”

“Well, he’s a nice young man, and– well, I guess I knew you were close but– anyway. So. Any plans for the rest of your– trip?” 

“We’re still trying to convince Lance to come down tomorrow,” Mick says, finally catching up with the implications, “since this was supposed to be a boy’s trip, you know, with him and Jack, actually…”

“Oh! Ohh,” Sebastian says. There’s something different in his voice. It sounds lighter, maybe. “So it’s not– you’re not–?” 

“I– no. No, God. It’s like I’m on holiday with Gina, except we don’t have to fight over who sits where in the car,” Mick says, and then Seb’s finally laughing, and something sags in his chest in something akin to hope. He’ll ask Seb to come to Austria, maybe, or go see him after Silverstone, and maybe he could ask, this time, for real.

[exposedfm]

YOU'RE INVITED TO EXPOSEDFM'S CABO CRUISE EXTRAVAGANZA!

Prepare your sea legs wanna-be’s and has-beens. You’ve been invited by the gracious Exposed FM to a four night, five day cruise into sunny pacific paradise. There’s no better time to pack up your bags, leave your day jobs behind, and settle out onto the great sea where you’ll be provided an all exclusive trip aboard the Jewel of the Seas. Kicking off on Friday, June 21st from the Port of San Diego and ending June 25th. Now don’t think this trip won’t come without it’s cost, while most of the trip you’ll have free reign of the ship and where we dock there’ll be plenty of excursions for one and all to enjoy, all will be expected to attend the charity casino night where the liquor will be flowing and we expect the wallets to be open. We won’t hold back on calling out those stingy on giving back to charity. 

June 21st at 4PM promptly the horn will blow signaling the departure of the port for sea.  

June 22nd all celebrities will have a full day aboard the ship to explore all the amenities the beautiful ship has to offer. 

June 23rd the cruise ship will dock in Cabo San Lucas at 7AM in the morning leaving all celebrities to disembark the ship and explore the things to do in Cabo. At promptly 5pm the ship will leave the port and head back out to sea. 

June 24th all celebrities will have the first half of the day to themselves aboard the ship. At 6PM all will gather in the casino to begin the charity event where everyone in attendance will be expected to be dressed to the theme of vintage Las Vegas from the 1940’s, 50’s, and 60’s. So think fancy cocktail dresses, cocktail gloves, fancy jewels for the women and pin stripe suits, overly polished shoes, slicked back hair, and fedoras for men. Get creative and post your outfits to show off your celebrities look. Feel free to use the tag #exposedfmwardrobe

June 25th at exactly 7AM the ship will dock back in the port of San Diego and all celebrities will be expected to return to their daily lives. 

While staying with us on this cruise, we plan on giving you the finer things in life, but to accommodate we will be providing roommates for this stay in our suites. After all, do you really think you’re all special enough to deserve your own rooms? And no, you can’t pay me off, so don’t bother. Roommates will be assigned at random, so let’s hope your luck is better than most of you at your day jobs. If there is someone that you are dating or married, please send a message to our inbox so we can assign accordingly. These suites will be made up of two or three roommates depending. Let’s not start whining ahead of time, it’s a free trip after all. 

Aboard the ship you will find yourself graced with three pools, one with a full water slide, another an infinity pool over looking the water while we travel, and the last in the center of the ship where at night it will show nightly movies while you swim. Also things you can find on this cruise ship for your entertainment: a surf simulator, zipline, mini golf course, arcade equipped with laser tag, karaoke club, full sized spa with head to toe treatments, indoor movie theater, bowling, escape room, brewery, and casino. Which means there’s plenty of things to do while aboard the ship, so there’s no time to complain when it’s time to play. 

When we dock in Cabo there will be certain paid for excursions that will be up for grabs, such as boat tours, snorkeling and scuba diving lessons, jet ski rentals, kayaking and paddle boarding, parasailing, hiking, horseback riding, zip lining adventure parks, among the regular time you can spend in the sandy beaches, shopping the unique independently owned businesses to fully immersing yourself into the culture by eating and drinking at the local restaurants and bars. 

Click here to find more things to do around Cabo

All I can say is we look so forward to having you, 

Xo Exposed

[georgiapeach30513]

Headcanon for your top 5 chris characters:

1 honeymoon per character - what country do you travel to and where do your naughty activities take place?

Oh!! I love this...my top 5, and in order

here's the thing with Andy, I believe you're going to be pregnant before you get married. So you're not going out of the country. He's a Newton, MA man, so he's going to take you out, but it'll be in driving distance, because you are pregnant. He'd drive the two of you to a remote Air BNB. Talk about the snuggles, and sweet love. Andy is going to PAMPER you. You're pregnant after all. Not to say that Andy is vanilla, but you are limited. But I just think his favorite thing is spoiling you, and talking to the belly.

My sweet pretty baby boy!! Ransom worships you! He has looked for love, and you were the first one to give it to him, and he is so thankful. He is going to spoil you. Where do you want to go? He's taking you. I also think he would be in love with a destination wedding, and forget to tell his family, minus Harlan. He's allowed to go. Ransom does not strike me as a tropical kind of guy. I can see a little tromp through Europe. Paris? England? Ireland? You name it. He'll take you.

Uhh...Ransom has some special needs when it comes to the bedroom. I think he can be dominate, yes, but I also feel he has this tendency to need his own pampering. I think that he may need to be babied. Reminded how special and amazing he is. Hold him and rock him. Baby that man. And because you do that for him, he is going to treat you like his little slut. He's rough and demanding.

Are you the bread winner? Frank seems to struggle with cash flow. So...you're staying local. He lives in St. Petersburg, so that's fine. Most the money is going for a bigger house. Mary needs an actual room instead of a cubby hole.

I think Frank would actually talk to one of his customers for the use of a boat. He has this potential to be the sweetest and most romantic, but he's simple. I also think that he is eventually going to go back to teaching. Especially with some support from you. But just floating the ocean with Frank is enough. Gazing at the stars late at night. Now Frank...I do think he's a bit vanilla. But I think after marriage that breeding kink goes WAY up. Wouldn't be surprised if you get a wittle Frankie.

LAVISH AND EXTRAVAGANT! You think Ransom is going to spoil you? Nay, Lloyd is going to have you dripping in diamonds. He is going to take you around the world. Flying private jets. You may have to take a break for him to work, but don't worry. He'll come back to destroy you later.

Lloyd likes pretty things, and he likes his pet. You will be used. It doesn't matter what you want. It's what Lloyd wants. He is going to have your face mashed into the mattress, and have you begging and sobbing that you can't take anymore. He's going to prove that you can. And he's going to make sure that his bodyguards hear just how weak he makes you.

Look at this complete ANGEL! Okay this one is taking you somewhere with lots of snow, and cold, and no sweat, heat, or humidity. He's done the tropical thing for too long. He won't be doing it with you. He also likes to have fun. Except a dog sledding excursion, sledding, skiing, snowboarding, whatever. Cute little nose kisses in the snow, building a snowman...ugh, he's cute!!

Jake is a switch. So don't expect everything to be one sided. He's going to need you to overpower him. And he is going to BEG for it. He'll be your sweet little puppy.

[racinginchid3nt]

Happier Than Ever | Part Three

Y/N x Pierre Gasly, Y/N Best Friend x Lance Stroll

Whirlwind romances with professional athletes certainly have their perks, or do they?

Inspired by Happier Than Ever - Billie Eilish

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, etc

Previous | Next

The summer break had passed by in relative ease. The two of you had spent another day in Belgium before making your way to Portugal.

Your days had been filled with time on the yacht and exploring the area. His friends had come to join you after the third day, the group of you going to the club and restaurants throughout the city.

You felt like you had already put on 10 pounds from the amazing seafood that all of the beachside restaurants served. And your skin had taken on a perfect golden tan, the result of laying out every day on the beach or the yacht.

It was a great break from the travel that came with following Pierre to races. And Portugal was absolutely beautiful. Your family used to go when you were younger, a perk of the beautiful country boarding your own so closely. It held good memories with your father, of you all riding around on bikes between the hotel and the Sunday morning market, of your brother learning to swim in the hotel pool, and the sandcastles you made with your mother.

It was the start of the third week of the break, and you were digging through your bag to look for your sportier swimsuit. The halter top better supported your chest, and with the jet ski trip Pierre had planned, you were going to need it. As you moved aside your pink toiletry bag, you paused.

You had never taken the bag out. What was todays date? The 15th? Abandoning your swimsuit search you ran to grab your phone. Pulling up your calendar you started to count through the dates. It was already the 15th? It couldn’t be. Fuck.

Sinking to the floor, you pulled your knees to your chest, hoping if you stared at the calendar long enough the dates would change.

You were three days late. You were never late.

That was how Pierre found you twenty minutes later. Staring off at the yellow bedroom walls, clutching your phone in silence.

“Y/N, what aren’t you changed yet?” He asked.

You continued to stare at the wall, minds racing.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N? What’s going on?” He asked.

He bent down in front of you but outside of a quick glance at him you remained silent. He pulled your phone from your hand, typing in your passcode and looking at the open app.

The words “3 days late” stared at him from the period tracking app.

“No.” He said.

You looked at him, unsure of how to respond. Tears welled up in your eyes, silent sobs racking your body.

“No!” He yelled.

“No. Fuck that. Absolutely not!” He continued.

“Pierre…” You whispered.

“No!”

“I don’t even know for sure. I feel fine, it may not,”

He cut you off.

“No, it is not. I’m not having a kid anytime soon. It’s not up for discussion. You’re not keeping it. Figure it out.” He said, before standing and leaving the room.

As the door slammed behind him, tears continued to fall from your eyes. You heard the sound of the car starting, the group heading out to the boat day without you.

It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you managed to pull yourself off the floor. Throwing your clothes into your suitcase and packing up your toiletries, you made your way to the front of the villa. Calling a cab you directed him to the airport. Stopping at a drugstore along the way, you covered your face with your hand, hoping no one would see who you were or what you were buying.

————

The earliest flight back to Barcelona wasn’t until late that night. Which is how you found yourself in a cramped airport bathroom stall, a timer counting down on your phone.

You paced back and forth through the small space, trying to look anywhere but at the small plastic stick that had the power to do so much damage to your life. Fuck, what if it was positive? When we’re you going to do then? Pierre had made his viewpoint clear.

You had just turned 24 though. Yeah you were young, but you certainly wouldn’t be a teen mother. Maybe you could keep it? You still had a well padded savings account from your old job. How far would that go in raising a kid?

Where would you even raise it? Barcelona? Or would Pierre want it to grow up near his family in France? Fuck what would Pierre do if you kept it?

He would come around. Right? Maybe? Fuck you truly didn’t know what he would do. He was 27. Isn’t that around when people started having kids? You racked your brain, thinking about your friends from home and their older sibling.

Ella’s brother had a kid. He had to be 28? now. His fiancé and him and planned the baby. They were happy about it.

The alarm beeped, startling you, before you flipped the test over.

‘Not Pregnant’ it read.

As tears streamed down your face, you wrapped the test in toilet paper, before tossing it in the bin. But despite the relief coursing through you, you couldn’t help but be upset.

How had you ended up with someone who left when he thought you might be pregnant, leaving you to take a test alone in an airport bathroom. Kids wasn’t something the two of you had really discussed much, and there he was, not asking but telling you, that if you were pregnant you needed to get rid of it. And he hadn’t even offered to accompany you, simply telling you to deal with it. What kind of guys does that.

Your mind replayed the moment over and over in your head throughout the short flight and taxi ride to your best friends apartment.

One thought flickering over and over, what kind of guy does that?

————

She had done her best to distract you for the past week and a half. She had always been good at that, never once asking what was wrong or what you and Pierre had argued about. Y/N Best Friend was good at that, always knowing what you needed from her at any given time.

Pierre had gone MIA, never once texting you to see how you were or where you had gone. It was as you and Y/N Best Friend wandered around the small outdoor market that your phone beeped with a text notification.

As he continued on, you started to feel bad. You knew what it was like for the drivers. The ever present fear that some women might baby trap them. You knew it was a concern for Pierre, you should’ve realized he might react that way.

And as he continued on, arranging for your to come meet him at the race next weekend, your anger slipped away entirely. And when he offered to invite Y/N Best Friend to come, you agreed before even asking her.

So when she later agreed after some minor pleading and puppy dog eyes on your end, you threw your thoughts entirely into the sponsorship gala before the race.

Dragging her between stores and throwing gowns at her, you felt yourself truly smile for the first time in weeks. You and Pierre were good, you were spending time with your best friend, and everything was going to be okay.

————

Days later when she dropped you off at the airport, you smiled as you boarded the plane. This would be a good weekend you told yourself, it had to be.

————————————————————————

A/N: I’ve had these ideas about what would go in Pierre and his gfs lives while I was working on Lance’s story. It’s kind of nice being able to tie everything back in to the original storyline, building up that world.

The poll results so far have been heavily in favor of sticking the the Lance story for now, but the support I’ve received on this one has been high. So for now im going to kind of bounce around between the two, depending on where my brain leads in regards to their respective plots.

[silyabeeodess]

Fusionfall Headcanons: Boardwalk Bullies

The last thing you'll have to worry about is destroyed sandcastles and salt water splashed in your eyes with this beach bully: You'll be too busy simply running for your life. These fusion monsters appear along in both Orchid Bay and Bravo Beach, waiting for the next victim to crush against the shoals.

As explained in their description, Boardwalk Bullies are primarily made of boat parts and beach gear. These parts include tires, speakers, pieces and engines, and water sports equipment like jet skis. At first glance, it can look like a giant scrap pile, disarming their targets. However, despite the mess of equipment they're fashioned from, their design can actually be pretty sophisticated when compared to other fusion monsters. One example of this is their hands, which are most similar to a human's.

They use their powerful bodies to slam straight into their opponents, crushing them. Besides their armor, their heavy torso and overall large size also makes any attempt to damage them difficult. They have incredibly few weaknesses. From concept art, we see only a few exposed areas on their bodies. Thankfully, these includes certain key points, like the knee, and their smaller, skinnier right hand, but while targeting these areas may handicap the Boardwalk Bullies, it won't take them down.

A soldier's best chance at destroying one of them is to use explosives and/or heavy weaponry. Swords and typical guns aren't really going to do the trick. Ideally, you'll want to target any engine pieces or similar machinery attached to their body. If there is any fuel or gas residue left on these pieces, you can potentially cause them to erupt by firing at them. This can sometimes lead to massive amounts of damage against the Bullies--just be sure you're standing far enough away not to get caught in the blast.

The Bullies have one more disadvantage: They have extremely poor visibility. They have no neck to easily turn their heads and, even if they did, the massive armor guarding their shoulders and the backs of their heads limits their vision still. As such, with careful planning, you can get the jump on them.

To the frustration of everyone at the docks in Orchid Bay, these monsters like to stay closeby, often lurking around the shipping crates. Their main goal seems to be disrupting the large amounts of imports and exports conducted there. Secondly, it's the easiest location for them to secure parts to create more of themselves. Defending shipments against these tanks is a regular duty there.

There is one other variant of this species, the Beach Bully. Despite what they're name implies, they aren't actually found all too close to the water, but rather up near the beach houses overlooking the shore. This is possibly due to wealthy residents who owned boats that were then abandoned during the invasion. The fusion fighters don't have a strong presence in this area aside from some a Monkey Skyway Agent checkpoint, which is what allowed this population to linger. Not having access to the same materials, they tend to be less durable and take a longer time to repair themselves.

These fusion monsters are one of the rarer types that copy the habits of the creatures that inspired their design without any connection to their original purpose. Like actual bullies, it seems that they will steal things like money from others in order to indulge themselves. One key example of this is from the mission "Those are a Few of His Favorite Things," in which the Beach Bullies are caught enjoying ice cream and soda pop after getting Johnny's wallet. The full concept of trade might be hard for them to grasp and it's more than likely that they endangered the vendors they got the food from, but this shows that they have the basic idea down. (If it was Fusion Bubbles that bought it for them after knocking out Johnny, she likely would've kept the wallet on her. Either way, they were caught trying to enjoy the treats despite not even having a visible mouth.)

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: the concorde(ance)

A goodbye, a hello.

⁂

Everyone’s been very quiet.

The gloom of the rare, rainy California day—so like and yet unlike the day Roman and Remus discovered they were truly brothers—seems to have settled in a grave, suppressive pall of silence over the Jameses. 

Dad reaches over to hold Uncle Logan’s hand in both of his during takeoff; Uncle Logan clings back just as tightly. Roman clutches at his Dad’s arm, trying to help where he can, hoping that—

But no. There’s no sudden stop, no reason for them to go off the runway, barely even a delay for the weather. They lift off.

They leave.

And the shock of leaving them seems to settle in fullness over Roman, leaving him trapped in a dull stupor. He sets his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on the armrest, and stares sightlessly out of the plane window.

It didn’t work. Operation Augustus. It didn’t work.

It’s all he can think about.

Was there something he could have done to make it work? 

Do something like lock them in a closet at the hotel? But no—they had both been so shocked at seeing one another again, that could have backfired so easily.

Insist on them going on some kind of moonlit horse ride through the vineyard? Dad would have seen through him immediately—and Pa had wanted to go to bed early, citing a very long day—

Pretend to lose his passport? No, that certainly wouldn’t have worked—Dad and Uncle Logan would have been so distracted by the notion that any semblance of romance would have been set aside for the importance of international identification.

Had he been too harsh on Maddox? Too over-the-top with the boat date? 

It didn’t work. Roman had to have done something wrong, but what?!

Not staying at Pa’s—no breakfast by Virgil in the mornings, who ruffles his hair and tells him to eat up, no Sprout or Sammy, no vast green vineyard to greet him at the bedroom window, no warm bright sun and lush fields and blue skies.

No Virgil, who scolds him fondly, stands leaning in doorways dressed in his flannels with his arms crossed, smiling and yet still a bit grumpy, with his special treats at almost every turn.

And Papa—who Roman’s wanted to know all his life, who he’s just started to bond with as him and not as Remus, the sort of man who’d written Roman letters just because he missed him, who had cried from happiness at realizing he was Roman and cuddled him on the couch and taught him about California wildlife and snuck them s’mores even when he was upset and—and his Pa.

And Remus, gone—no more sitting together at meals, or pushing their beds together late at night, or intimidating everyone away from the task they want to do—two weeks spent terrorizing each other and six spending practically every sleeping and waking moment together, the way they might have done all their lives.

What did Roman do?

Roman, staring out the window still—his vision obscured by blindingly white clouds—is suddenly aware of his eyes spilling over.

He clears his throat as softly as he can and, as subtly as he can, he reaches up with his finger and wipes away a tear.

Thanksgiving, he promised, Roman thinks, attempting to will himself into getting a stiff upper lip. He promised. I’ll see him and Remus again, in hardly any time at all. 

There’s an odd sound happening. A sort of muffled shh-shh-shh, but not the sort of sound made by a person.

He turns his head.

Uncle Logan has his hand on Dad’s back, rubbing his thumb back and forth every so often; the source of the shh-shh-shh susurrus. 

His Dad is fiddling with his necklace, biting the inside of his cheek, staring down at the airplane serving tray.

“Oh, Dad,” Roman says softly, and he leans against his father as Uncle Logan wraps an arm about Dad’s shoulders, also staring down at his feet.

And so father, cousin, and son sit, hushed in their own miserable little worlds, as the globe keeps turning and the earth flies by.

⁂

What with the emotional turmoil and the awfulness of planes and the incoming jet lag, it’s safe to say that Seven Pembroke Lane is a very comforting sight indeed.

At least, it is to Janus, who will hug his Father hello, go upstairs, slip into his silkiest, comfiest pajamas, smoke the last of his Parliaments, and soundly sleep until morning.

Or at least he will try to sleep. If he isn’t kept up by thoughts of five o’clock shadow rough against his cheek, big, calloused hands in his, the latest laugh lines around his eyes…

Stop, Janus tells himself. But it’s no use.

He can never quite bring himself to stop thinking of Patton completely.

The car rolls to a stop; Roman practically flings himself in the street in his haste to get inside, only for Logan to hastily hurry after him, put a hand on his shoulder, and steer him round to collect his luggage from the boot.

They all shuffle inside, Logan hastily gathering coats to hang to avoid any spare droplets hitting the hardwood.

“Hello?” Janus calls out. “Father? We’re home.”

“Grandfather?” Roman’s voice echoes throughout the house, and Janus absently pats his shoulder.

“I’ll check the study, darling.”

He ambles forward as Roman slouches on the nearest couch, looking deeply dissatisfied at the world in general.

He’ll buck up soon. Janus hopes.

He smiles at a familiar sight; a newspaper obscuring any semblance of a face.

“Hey there. I hope you haven’t gotten the house all smoky while we were away.”

The newspaper is laid down. Janus gapes at the sight.

It’s the face of his son, beaming, a gray streak in his hair, silver-and-green studs in his ears—but Roman’s just behind him—so that means—

Janus clutches at the door frame, suddenly doubting his ability to stand.

“Hey, Dad,” Remus it’s Remus he’s here, “Did you know that the Concorde gets you here in half the time?”

“I’d heard that,” Janus says faintly.

And then there’s the sound of rapid feet behind him, and he sees enough of the blur to see Roman, open-mouthed and laughing in disbelief.

“Remus!”

“Roman!” 

And the boys collide into each other with such force that they both collapse on the Persian rug, clutching each other tightly and babbling over each other.

“What are you doing here—?!”

“—should’ve seen the looks on your faces—”

“—but we left before you—!”

“—well, it took us around 30 seconds after you all left for us to realize we didn’t want to lose you two again—”

“Sorry,” Janus says. “We?”

And then through the door to the parlor, out steps the man whose face has taken up permanent residency in Janus’s mind over the past eleven years. Brown jacket, hair mussed, five-o’clock shadow, laugh lines and all.

“We,” Patton says softly.

As if on cue, there’s a shout of shock and then a cry of joy from the kitchen—surely the third James has found his match.

“See,” Patton says. “I made the mistake of not coming after you once, Janus. I’m not going to do that again.”

Janus swallows, licks his lips, and flails desperately for some kind of decorum.

“And I suppose you just expect me to go weak at the knees and fall into your arms and cry hysterically and say, ‘We'll just figure this whole thing out.’ A bicontinental relationship with our sons being raised here and... and there and…”

Janus gulps. All the while, Patton is walking toward him, slowly. Oh so slowly.

“And you and I just picking up where we left off and... and growing old together and…” Janus falters.

Patton is close enough to touch now. Decorum has fled his mind completely.

“And…”

Janus swallows. Patton’s big, calloused hands cup his face, just as warm and rough as he remembers. 

“Come on, Patton, what do you expect? To live happily ever after?” He tries to say it derisively.

It comes out desperately.

“Yes,” Patton says, his voice soft. “To all of it. Yes. Except no crying. No more tears.”

“Not even happy ones?” Janus says, and Patton smiles.

“I’ll make an exception for the happy ones.”

And Patton’s lips are against his.

And the rest of the world falls away.

The familiar feeling of those lips—soft, ever so slightly chapped—and their lips move together like they had once all those years ago, like picking up a waltz whose steps you thought you’d half-forgotten but it was never gone, not truly gone, the memory simply needed to be paired with the right partner…

His hands are on Patton’s broad, warm shoulders, those big calloused hands on his face feel just as he remembers, and Janus moves closer, closer, twining his fingers in Patton’s hair, soft and fluffy under his fingers, their chests pressed together, and there is only yes and finally and love you.

They part; Patton beaming, Janus smiling back at him, when they hear a little squeak.

They turn to see Roman, swooning with all the fervor of a hopeless romantic; Remus, looking about five milliseconds away from yelling “EW GROSS” at them both and heckling them mercilessly.

But Roman flings his arms tight around Remus’s neck, beaming.

“We actually did it!” Roman says, with a great squeal.

Patton chuckles, wrapping an arm around Janus’s shoulders. 

Janus decides fuck decorum and goes in for another kiss.

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