#he could make his scrub the deck

[betterto-die-thanto-crawl]

Enjolras flinched at the gesture, but nodded, following the finger to the changing screen on the other side of the room. He didn't speak, not seeing a reason to, so he listened, instead, taking his time changing out of his fine cotton shirt and wool breaches to put on the rougher linen that sailors wore.

Aaand then he gave a low, quiet snort of laughter. "Then I shall not have it, then. I've already said I'm no sailor, though I will not shirk even work that is forced on me." It did feel nice to be in dry clothes, but they itched. He stepped out from around the screen, barefoot and holding his clothes and boots. "Do you have some string I could tie my hair back with?"

@betterto-die-thanto-crawl

Grantaire stood looking out at the sea, at the ship that was sinking before his eyes. It was a sight he had grown to love, as he leaned on the railing, then turned to inspect what they had plundered from it.

Cargo. Unsurprising, but would fetch some coin when sold. What surprised Grantaire, was the man they had captured, or, rescued. At least rescued from the sea.

"What do we have here?" Grantaire asked, placed a finger under the man's chin to make him look up at him. "Let me guess, first time on the sea? Did you know, these waters have pirates?" He smirked, one hand on his own hip, resting over a pistol, one he didn't intend to use.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘��oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[pinejayy]

╰➤ Petite Lover uwu

featuring: trafalgar law x petite f!reader

a/n: this was a request by!! @periwinklepuff !! sorry for the wait girl!! I hope you enjoy this!! hugs and kisses to you uwu uwu!!

summary: law loves how tiny you are compared to him, he loves the size difference between you two, especially in the bedroom.

warnings: nsfw content, size differences, law being a tease,

✦•·················• 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃!! •·················•✦

Law always enjoyed how tiny you were compared to him, honestly he loved comparing the both of you. You were barely 5 feet tall while he was 6’3. Yes he wasn’t tall as other pirates or enemies in the pirate world but you were still very tiny and petite compared to him. And it made him feel very protective over you. Law loves how you have to look up to speak to him or to anyone.

Law loves when you wear his clothes, especially that black and yellow hoodie of his. And if you’re wearing nothing but his hoodie he’s definitely going to pounce you like some kind of animal.

Law loves holding his hand up against yours, comparing the size difference between them. “Look at how tiny you are, so tiny compared to me.”

Your hands are so tiny compared to his, this dirty boy especially loves when you have to wrap both hands around his dick to stroke him off. It’s a huge ego boost for him.

I can him resting an arm on your head. While he teases you. “Aww how’s my little princess doing?”

And also!! Whenever you’re mad at him, Law will grab your personal items and put them on high places. “Aw do you need help grabbing that princess? All you have to do is ask nicely.”

And also with you being tiny, he feels more protective around you. And honestly it’s kinda overwhelming, because he’s literally breathing down your neck. “I have to protect you…at all cost.”

Law loves how he can hold you close against his body, it could be either in just cuddles or during sex. He loves how easily he can wrap his arms around your body. How close to can against you, and how easily he can carry you.

Oh boy…sex with Law is very interesting. Before getting intimate with him, he was all talk. He was talking about how good he is, how skilled his fingers and tongue are. But when it came to the day you two first had sex he was a shy boy. Probably a virgin…nevermind IS A VIRGIN.

But of course you two have gotten closer so which means sex has gotten a lot more intense between the two of you. And Law loves exploring your body, with his hands and tongue.

And with your small body he can hold you against the wall and fuck you like a wild animal in heat. “So good, so tight..”

He loves whenever you ride his dick, the way your prefect chest bounces against the movements. And how big he looks compared against your pussy. And it especially makes him hard when he can see the outline of dick against your stomach.

Since you are tiny you can fit into cramped spaces right? So his favorite thing to do is get you on your knees and into the small space of his desk where his legs go. And you better get to sucking his pretty cock up.

He loves carrying you as he’s balls deep in you. “Mm light as a feather.”

Whenever you’re sucking him off, he can’t help but bite his lip. How your lips wrap around him. God everything about is prefect.

And Law loves returning the favor. Wrap your legs around his head and let him eat away. He can spend hours between your legs and eat your pussy all day.

So!! Since you are short the crew does tend to tease you slightly. And sometimes it doesn’t bother Law but sometimes they do tend to push your boundaries and that’s what gets him. No one is allowed to mock you for being short.

One time Penguin and Shachi were being their usual selfs and they wanted to mess around with you and it lead them to grabbing your favorite book and holding it high so you wouldn’t be able to reach it. And of course Law saw this and of course he was pissed off. Let’s just say that those two were scrubbing the deck with toothbrushes.

Law does not tolerate anyone picking on you for your height. One time Kid called you a ‘Shrimp’ and Law saw red. That day Eustass Kid was threaten that he was gonna be dickless.

Law doesn’t like anyone teasing you, but he’s fair game. He’s allowed to tease you. Well in his eyes. Whenever you don’t wanna give him a kiss he’ll grab whatever you have and hold it up high. And of course you’re on your tippy toes trying to grab on whatever he has and once close enough, he grab your hands and pin them above your head and lean in for a kiss.

Law loves mocking you when you have to tippy toe to kiss him on the lips. And if he’s being a little shit just grab him by the goatee.

Law behind close doors with you is very lovable towards you. He treats you like a princess. And of course he’s not that rough with you because of course he’s afraid of hurting you in any form.

Once you guys are alone he’s a huge lovable guy. He loves to hold you against his body. He must protect you. No matter what.

Loves being the big spoon. Because you’re so tiny and ahh he just wants to hold you. And occasionally he loves being the small spoon. He loves seeing you hold him.

He loves calling you sweet names. Such as… Princess, Peanut, Small Fry and if he’s being a little head he’s call call you shorty.

He also loves to pat your head. And he also loves to bend down and kiss your forehead.

[strang3lov3]

strang3lov3’s masterlist

I do not give consent for anyone to copy, plagiarize, translate, post my work elsewhere, or put my work into AI chat bots.

all fics are f!reader and I’m a sucker for cream pies. Just pretend Joel/Roman are shooting blanks.

Updated 1/26/2025

Joel Miller

One shots

Lookalike - Joel finds your dirty mag and makes you get off in front of him.

Everyday I’m Shufflin’ - Joel is horrified to find out that you cannot shuffle a deck of cards, so he teaches you in a rather unorthodox way.

Cream (horny husband!joel x reader) Joel is insatiable. He convinces you to get it on at his aunt's house on Thanksgiving. He's also got a lot of dirty Thanksgiving jokes he thought of last year that he's been saving to annoy you.

Fighting Fair - Joel doesn’t know what or who started this fucking thing, but he’s finishing it. Tonight.

Love Spell - (Sex pollen) After eating some mysterious berries, you and Joel spend a very memorable and unexpected Valentine’s Day together

Enjoy the Silence - You trespass into Joel’s house in search of some peace and quiet so you can get yourself off. Joel catches you in his bed in a compromising position.

Chevelle - (virginity loss) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money.

Play Stupid Games - who woulda thought you could make Joel come by playing with his nipples?

Dirty Laundry - Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

Click Here - You and Joel both know how he got that virus on his computer, and you can’t help but to relentlessly tease him in more ways than one…until Joel’s had enough.

Bite Me - You learn two things on a particularly boring patrol shift - Joel loves to bite and you love to be bitten.

Seeing Red - Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude.

On Display - You crave more than just Joel’s eyes on you, so he gives you an audience.

Safety First - While camping, Joel insists on thoroughly checking you for ticks. Safety first, after all.

Catnap - Joel interrupts your nap on his thighs.

Dinner and a Show - A corrupt FEDRA soldier catches you and Joel sneaking back into the QZ. He’ll look the other way, but you’re gonna make it worth his while.

Bad Habit - Joel helps you to quit smoking.

Bedridden - you knock Joel out with a blowjob to put him to sleep when he’s sick.

Scrub Daddy - QZ Joel visits you for a bath and a little extra.

Jingled Balls - What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?

Series

Dark Daddy!Joel - one shots and a series involving Joel as your father figure who also fucks.

Comfort Zone - sleazy adult store owner!joel au/series Upcoming at some point. I had momentum and then got distracted so it’s on pause.

Lather (abandoned) When Joel injures his shoulder, he needs your help washing his hair and getting off 🚿🧼💦 part one, part two

Mall Rats(complete) Joel keeps track of you as you search your way through an abandoned mall. You don’t make his job easy. First stop is Victoria’s Secret. Masterlist

Can’t find something? Check my old fics.

Roman Roy

Because my Roman audience is so small, I have a taglist for him. If you leave me a kind/excited comment/rb/ask about my Roman writing I tag you on the next fic 🩷 you’re also welcome to send me a message/ask to join or leave it.

One shots

Invisible Line- boundary after boundary is crossed when your boss is left with no choice but to share his bed with you.

Raise - Roman will increase your raise substantially, so long as you don't lose his game.

Indecent - Roman manspreads in the hot tub.

Dinner and a Show - Roman, a corrupt FEDRA soldier catches you and Joel sneaking back into the QZ. He’ll look the other way, but you’re gonna make it worth his while.

Dark But Just A Game - you and Roman play tag.

Tear You Apart - Roman hatefucks you.

My Treat - Roman gives you a special present for your birthday whether you want it or not.

Underfoot - you get off on Roman’s shoe.

The First Taste - Roman puts just the tip in (it’s more than just the tip)

Series

Stepdaddy!Roman -(incomplete) You have a weird thing with your stepfather.

Gyno!Roman - mini series coming soon Stalker!Roman coming at some point

-

Jack Delroy

One Shots

Downpour - Jack gives you a ride home, pulls over during a storm, and fucks you in his car.

Crimson - You’re bleeding, and Jack just can’t help himself.

-

Ezra (Prospect)

One Shots

Lavender - Ezra gives you a pleasurable massage.

Rescue Mission - Cock pronouns. Uncle Ezra. Old man dick.

-

Frankie Morales

One shots

The Real Deal - Frankie demonstrates why exactly he’s less than impressed by your rose toy.

[antinousletmehit]

oooh can i have an odysseus one shot? with a reader who kinda really fawns over him (i’m obsessed with him rn)

୨୧┇Paring: Odysseus x reader

୨୧┇note: finding the banners for this actually humbled me

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

You had been scrubbing the deck for what felt like hours, trying desperately to keep your mind occupied. It was hard to focus when Odysseus, the clever and infuriatingly handsome captain, was right there leaning against the mast, carefully barking out orders to the crew. The sun glinted off of his bronze skin and his dark chestnut curls. Every time he moved his commanding presence drew your attention, even though you were trying very hard not to stare.

Unfortunately for you, Odysseus was no fool.

“Are you planning to scrub a hole through the deck or are you just hiding from me?” His sudden teasing voice startled you, making you nearly drop the bucket of water you’d been holding. You turned to find him standing just behind you, arms crossed with that trademark smirk on his face. Your heart immediately started racing, and you fumbled for words.

“C-Captain! I—uh—wasn’t hiding,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the bucket.

“Oh?” he said, stepping closer. “Because it sure looks like you’re trying to keep your distance from me.”

“I’m not!” you protested, your voice a little too loud. You winced at how obvious you sounded. Odysseus chuckled, crouching down to your level. “Relax, I’m not angry. But you do seem to get… nervous around me.” You felt your cheeks burning. “I-I don’t… I mean, I just…” He leaned in slightly, his grin growing. “You’re awfully ruby for someone who claims they’re not nervous.” You groaned softly, covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Do what?” he asked innocently, though the amusement in his voice was clear.

“Mess with me,” you muttered, peeking at him through your fingers. He laughed, sitting back on his heels. “Because you’re fun to mess with. You’re so earnest, so easy to fluster. It’s… endearing.” You blinked, lowering your hands. “Endearing?”

Odysseus nodded, his tone softer now. “Yes. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re always watching me when you think I’m not looking.” Your jaw dropped. “I-I don’t—!”

“Don’t deny it,” he interrupted, his smirk returning. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like I’m some kind of hero out of a poet’s tale.” You buried your face in your hands again, wishing the ocean would swallow you whole it did a few songs later. “I wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m flattered, really. And… I wouldn’t say I mind the attention.” You peeked at him again, your heart hammering in your chest. “You wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he replied, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was light, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “In fact, I think it’s… charming.” You stared at him, your mind racing. Was he teasing you again, or was he being serious? It was impossible to tell with him. Before you could say anything, he stood up, offering you his hand. “Come on, take a break. The deck’s clean enough.”

You hesitated, staring at his outstretched hand. “I-I don’t need a break.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. Reluctantly, you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip was warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but notice how close he was. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teased, still holding your hand.

You looked away, trying to hide your blush. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still can’t keep your eyes off me,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze intense. You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. He chuckled, giving your hand a small squeeze before letting go. “Don’t work too hard,” he said, turning to walk away. “And don’t worry I’ll try not to make teasing you a daily habit.”

You watched him go, your heart still racing. Somehow, you doubted he’d keep that promise.

[4rticbolt]

The Menacing Bra |Master-list|

Fluff, swearing, kissy-kissy, crack, cringe and cliche?? Longish-drabble

You and the cook have a moment, and he actually grew a pair to make a move

!finally revised—lemme know if there’s errors pls and ty!

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

Laundry day.

Oh boy, what joy, the repetitive chore that tested your limits. Chipping away your mental capacity and your motivation to do absolutely anything.

You’d spent hours on end scrubbing and rinsing the clothes, only to wear them again, ferevently repeating the cycle.

You cursed, pinching a clip to your nose. You had always wished there was some cheat sheet, some easy way out, other than free labor from the boys. Especially when you’d gotten stuck with Nami and Robin’s clothes. You’d kindly asked, seeing their closets were getting low and they’d never decline an offer like that.

Because, honestly, who would? Washing clothes by hand was time consuming, and neither you nor the women had the patience for it. Sure you might be throwing yourself under the bus here, but you cannot for the life of you fucking throw soap and bubbles for an hour.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you scrubbed and submerged the materials hoping you could get done with this before lunch.

Luckily, the odds seemed to be in your favor as you hadn’t procrastinated as much as you normally would. Though it didn’t last as a distant crash emitted from downstairs.

“Spoke too soon,” you mumbled, hearing a distant laugh and girlish scream follow after one another. A familiar angry shout rang from the kitchen and a chaotic catchy cackle echoed.

You didn’t even want to think about what the cook was dealing with now.

However, speaking of the boys, if you even had to touch their laundry you’d pass away. That was an actual health hazard, and even thinking about it made your skin crawl.

You shuddered, shaking your head as a shiver ran through your spine, causing some bubbles to fly.

Ew. Just imagining the men’s laundry was a shit show. Maybe not Sanji’s, as he actually cared about his hygiene—but regardless, it was still gross.

Without even realizing, your thoughts continued to center back to the cook who’d still been hollering in the kitchen. Consequently reprimanding the idiots for whatever crime they outdrew.

Though the glimpse of his agitated face made you smile.

The way his brows creased into a frown, and the way his jaw would have clenched—sharpening his chin. You silently cursed as your mind filtered elsewhere, leaving the rest of you to the mercy of your imagination.

Ok, sure, maybe you had fallen for the hopeless romantic but how could you not?!

He’d always showered you in devoted affection—heartfelt compliments, and any craving you could think of. You saw him as the perfect package.

At-least from your the side of your things.

Maybe he could be a little perverted in the terms of others, but that was just his charm, or so you’d convinced yourself. You had never had an issue with him, he’d never really lust after you—or anyone else for that matter.

Not that you knew of, which made it easy to brush off. Yeah sure maybe an unhinged comment every now and then, but it could be a lot worse.

Deep down, his selfless acts and perverted thoughts felt more like a puppy love than anything. Appreciation, admiration, and his firm morals…were always so oddly refreshing.

…

However, speaking of that said appreciation, you were almost done with this stupid laundry. You just had to hang up one of your bra’s. The task seemed easy as the deck finally quieted, meaning lunch was ready.

So as quickly as you could, you stepped onto the railing, reaching to a height where you could hang your frilly garment. Ignoring the warm breeze that rushed past, you hopped down to deal with the soapy water—dumping it overboard.

“____, my love! Lunch is done,” Sanji called, his voice glowing with an excited smile as he steadily rounded the corner to take you inside.

“Yeah, just a sec!” You replied, shaking the soapy suds from the container and watching them fall to the ocean below.

“No worries, I can wait darling.”

Turning back with a sigh, you weren’t met with the handsome face of the cook, but a sharp gust of wind with wet towel speedily flying towards you—smacking you straight in the face.

“Shit-“ Thwack

“Damn wind—you alright?” His voice reached, muffled over the violent winds. The pressure being immeasurable as it howled over the ship, shoving you against the railing with blunt force.

You managed to holler back a muffled response, but the towel had still blocked your vision, making it impossible to see. The smell of a wet towel wasn’t pleasant, though it disappeared and fell to the floor as the wind had finally died down, a soppy thud crashing after. An annoying imprint was left on your shirt, peskily being a darker hue from what it originally was.

“Ugh, what the hell—you okay?” You asked, looking up to the cook as you wiped a dry sleeve across your face. You immediately froze at the sight in-front of you.

No.

Actually die.

He’s dead. You killed the man—or well, the bra that covered his face did. He was as red as a tomato, frozen in place. And you would’ve laughed at the sight if your weren’t embarrassed out of your mind.

Your hands slowly came out infront of you, hesitating at what to do with yourself and the situation.

“Sanji?”

. . .

“S-so soft..” he whispered, dramatically plummeting to the floor.

There he goes…

You let out a long huff, watching as a pathetic trail of blood streamed from his nose. You slowly knelt beside him calling his name again, watching as he twitched like some possessed, squashed cockroach—far too gone for some unknown reason. He was clearly down as bad as you were—if not far worse.

Peeling off and tossing aside the bra, your hands hovered yet again hesitating. You finally reached to gently pat his cheeks, hoping to snap him out of his spell. However, he was painfully out like a light.

“Hellooo? Earth to sanji?” You called, growing increasingly worried as the seconds stretched on.

Sure he had nose bleeds, but never this bad. Maybe back-up was needed.

“Hey!” You finally snapped, gently swatting his face—unable to wait any longer as the leading minutes painstakingly dragged on. You silently regretted your decision as his eyes fluttered open as hearts—but you could never stay irritated with a face like that.

“Yes darling?” he stuttered, quickly reaching into his pocket as he grabbed a light blue handkerchief you’d gifted him to his face.

He secretly felt as if he’d been to heaven itself, knocked out by the cusp of a bra, and awoken by an angel.

“Are you okay?”

“Haha, yes—lovely,” He slurred, obviously locked in the cages of your bra’s aftermath.

You could only grumble at his words. But your heart hammered as his eyes shined to your own, leaving his gentle smile to linger. Your heart was taking too many hits, and blow by blow your gaze finally softened, finally meeting his gaze.

Without the hearts.

The air eventually grew tense as your gazes heatedly lingered. And Sanji was up in the blink of an eye offering you his hand, sending you a charming smile as he looked you over.

“Are you sure?” You asked, taking his hand.

“You’re offly pink.”

“Positive, and it could only be for you my Angel.”He spoke, zero hesitation resonating in his voice, and he loved the reaction it emitted. He watched the way your cheeks flushed, and the way your eyes rolled, a little laugh leaving your lips as he knew your attempt to play it off.

God he wanted you closer.

So he did, his hand came to your waist and he slowly, but shamelessly pulled you closer. He gave you the option to step off if you wanted to, but you didn’t. So he continued.

He could tell you were nervous, and once again he loved it. He loved everything about you. And he could help but chuckle when your arms wrapped around your front, coyly holding yourself.

If you’d given Sanji a chance, he could go hours on end naming ever reason he adored you, and he was tempted to just do it—but he held back. He always had with you, because he wanted to make sure you were comfortable and okay. Nothing had ever been easy to get out of you, but when he could get a piece, he sucked it in.

His arms wrapped closer, making you lean against him. Sanji’s eyes shamelessly looked you over, laced with a lust and passion he couldn’t name.

“Is it too much?”

Absolutely.

No. Not at all. Not even in the slightest.

You repeated to yourself, unable to properly think so you could speak. He affected you like no other, making you so god damned flustered. Your heart continued to thud against your chest, and it only increased seeing a soft smirk tug at his lips.

“I’m joking, easy,” he mused, reaching a hand to very gently push some hair out of your face—which the wind had left in an adorable state of shambles.

“No you’re not.” You muttered, cursing as your voice was so small.

“You’re right, I’m not.”

His gaze sharpened back to your’s, and it felt as if your lungs had been in Sanji’s hold. Squeezed softly, making you breathless in his hold, and he’d finally leaned in.

His hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, pulling you in, as he watched your lips like honey to a bee.

Sanji felt as if you looked far too sweet not to be held, not to be touched—not to be loved…and he couldn’t even comprehend how’d you taste. And he knew he was far too eager to wait.

His lips longingly met yours, and you melted, sliding your hands from his chest to his neck—bringing your hips to his.

Sanji quietly groaned, his legs almost buckling at the feeling, and he needily slipped his tongue, swiping across your’s. You couldn’t name a time when someone kissed you like this, so feverish and deep, yearningly-fully.

You parted away to take a breath, but Sanji was too eager. His hands pulled you back and his head further tilted into your’s.

SLAM

A door beside opened, and an impatient captain seemed to ruin your moment.

“Sanji! Can we eat now?!” A hangry Luffy huffed, far outstretching the scene.

“Hey what are you—“

You and Sanji frantically pulled away, letting out a stifled cough as you walked past the boy.

“We’re done! He just came to tell me lunch was done! All is well, all is just fine!” You chirped, wiping a hand over your mouth to rid any dampness—quickly fleeing the scene. Your face was bright red, and you couldn’t believe you’d been caught.

After your quick exit, you failed to notice the awkward scene you’d left behind, leaving a very hungry luffy and a now seething Sanji.

“Huh? What’s her deal—“

“Did you have to ruin that?!” He snapped, grabbing the gummy idiot by his shirt, rapidly shaking him. He didn’t even bother to hide the blush on his face.

“You idiot! Could you not see I was having a moment! I’ve waited forever for this—and you just had to plow through and ruin it!”

“Wh-at moment! And what d-o you me-an ruin it! I just sa-id I was hun-gry!” his rubber head helplessly flopped back n’ forth, as he tried to avoid the cooks wrath, but he’d ultimately failed.

Yes, Luffy might have been hungry, but at this point—Sanji had been starving.

[paperultra]

space cadet.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader Word Count: 831 words Warnings: None

reverie (noun): a state of being pleasantly lost in one's thoughts; a daydream

You imagine the thoughts in your head as a forest of kelp at the bottom of the sea: dense, beautiful, brimming with life and all too easy to get lost in.

They’ve caused you trouble in the past. Countless rapped knuckles, letters sent home to your parents, walking into trees on the way home from school. But how could you resist? Empires rose and fell over the course of an hour inside your mind, mighty beasts swore their allegiance to you and the four seas were yours to explore. The childhood you had in the real world was so dull and lonely in comparison.

When you ran off and joined the Straw Hats, you finally had the excitement you had so craved. And yet, even now, your mind still wanders.

“If you swab the deck any more, we won’t have any left, sweetheart.”

Only a select few can bring you back.

You blink rapidly, the clouds dissipating as you stop scrubbing and look up. Sanji’s already smiling when you meet his gaze.

He lifts his hands; one offers a plate of shortbread cookies, the other a glass of milk.

“I’m going to guess that you haven’t had a break in a while,” he says. “Am I right?”

A break? Sending him a perplexed frown, you lean on the handle of your scrub brush and glance over your shoulder.

The side on which you had started winks back at you from afar, wood gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Oh.

“I … I guess so,” you reply slowly, turning back to him. It’s only then that you register the saltwater washing over your feet and the ache in your muscles. “I didn’t even realize …”

He shakes his head and chuckles, leading you to some nearby crates to sit down. “Too caught up in your stories again? I’m almost jealous that they get to spend so much time with you.”

“I don’t mean to make you worry.”

“Loving someone means worrying about them from time to time.”

He winks, and you smile, flustered.

“I see,” you say quietly. “Then thank you for worrying, Sanji.”

“Of course.” He hands you the glass of milk, then picks up a cookie and taps it against your lips. “Now, this is my best batch of sablés. You have no idea how hard it was to keep Luffy from eating them all in the kitchen.”

“I have some idea,” you drawl amusedly, taking a bite.

The cookie breaks with a gentle snap. It crumbles delightfully in your mouth, sugar and butter dancing on your tongue. A pleased hum rumbles in your throat before you wash it down with a gulp of cold milk.

“What do you think?”

“I think I might eat the whole plate right now,” you say, taking the other half of the cookie.

He grins. “So you like them.”

“They’re delicious.” Picking up another one, you hold it in front of his face. “Here.”

Sanji’s gaze remains locked with yours as he leans forward to take a bite of the cookie, his lips brushing your fingertips in an impromptu kiss before he pulls away. He chews thoughtfully. The action should not look as good as it does.

“My best batch, as I’ve said,” he tells you once he swallows. “But I’ve tasted sweeter.”

You tilt your head. “Where?”

His mouth curls into a smirk, and he places his fingers under your chin to bring your face closer to his. Your noses touch and you can feel his answer against your lips as he murmurs, “Right here.”

The rest of the crew may also have the pleasure of eating Sanji’s food, but they do not share your privilege of knowing just how talented he is at kissing.

He sets down the plate and lifts his hand to cup your jaw, meeting your lips and letting out a soft sigh before pressing his lips more fervently against yours. You can taste the smoke on his tongue, a constant underneath the warm sweetness of sugar and the saltiness of butter. Your eyes flutter closed, and you reach up to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly. The groan he lets out sends tingles down to the tips of your toes.

“Sweetheart,” he pants, and the longing in his voice would’ve made your knees buckle if you were standing, “I won’t be able to stop if you keep doing that.”

You put your glass of milk down so you can bury both hands in his golden hair. Your forehead touches his. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Maybe it is,” he mutters.

You bring him back in for another searing kiss that Sanji returns just as eagerly.

Yes, you value your time alone with your thoughts. They are a forest of kelp at the bottom of the sea, beautiful, countless, and wild.

But as easy as it is to get lost in your thoughts, it is infinitely easier to get lost in him.

[the-newlymadeweeb]

I Gotcha.

Luke Castellan x daughter of Apollo!reader

Description: three times you promised Luke that you got him. The two times he struggled to believe and finally when he did.

A/N: the gif is not mine, credits to the owner.

************************************************************

The days spent at camp immediately after his failed quest were arguably the worst of Luke's entire life.

He had to drag himself back home with a burnt chunk of an apple, a dragon tooth and half his face destroyed.

You had nursed him back to health. Spending three days straight in the infirmary. The solo quest was a bad idea and you had known it. Luke had gone alone in some sort of attempt to prove himself, seeking glory but now this entire thing had backfired and you couldn't help but worry.

When he awoke he had stared in mute horror at the mirror you held up to his face.

"I tried to minimise the scarring as much as I could, Luke. I couldn't remove it entirely but with the correct balm and scar creams it'll fade," you had explained.

Luke knew you were the best the camp infirmary had but he couldn't explain the rage that boiled within him. This fruitless quest, with its dumb replication to Heracles' and his quest all for the sake of earning his father's attention had permanently marred him.

Physical proof of his father's neglect right there for everyone to witness.

And he would have to carry this stupid scar for the rest of his life.

"Luke?"

His gaze snapped to meet yours, softening slightly, as you placed the mirror facedown on his bedside table.

"Yeah?"

He didn't want to see sympathy in your eyes, no doubt too many campers will be looking upon him like he was a pitiful kicked dog, nor did he want to see disappointment; he wasn't quite sure how he'd stomach that.

But your face held neither of those emotions, instead a strong conviction resided in the lines of your face, lines that you were too young to have, that marked the effects of stress no adolescent should feel.

"I'm gonna take care of you Luke, okay?" You reached out and cupped his uninjured cheek, "I gotcha. I always gotcha."

And wasn't that something.

He reached out cupping your face in his hands, this was his whole world.

"Okay baby; yeah, please."

****************************

Luke had miscalculated. He'd failed to retain the master bolt and the helm of darkness.

Now, he was being punished. Severely. And he hated it but he deserved it. He'd let Kronos down, he needed to learn his lesson so he never makes the same mistake.

The nightmares cut too much into reality though sometimes. His entire body lit aflame but it always got so much worse when he was forced to face a scenario where he had to cut you up so that your pieces would replace the Titan.

He never failed this test, but it always took the most out of him. Even if you always understood his anger, he wasn't sure you'd understand his methods; and at the crack of every dawn, he'd escape his cabin and run to the lake where he knew you'd always be. Like clockwork, watching the sun rise.

This time his skin buzzed with the phantom recollection of his nightmares, he had to scrub at his eyes to clear his vision a few times, mistaking the blood on his hands to be real in his fatigued state.

You sat on the deck, eyes fixed on the changing colours of the sky. He could hear your voice humming a soft nameless tune. This was your ritual, your futile attempts at interactions with your father as he burst across the heavenly dome on his sun chariot.

Nonetheless, Luke always enjoyed the sound of your voice. He'd appreciate it if Apollo never would.

You'd sense his presence as you always did in the early hours and you'd beckon him towards you.

Sitting by your side felt right, amidst all the tension he'd been under. The weight of all his plans. Your song was familiar, the heat and strength of your figure a comfort.

"Nightmares again?" You asked, knowing the answer regardless.

He'd nod.

There were a few truths he was allowed to tell you. Sometimes if he said it with enough of himself, he could fool himself to believe that all you knew weren't mainly lies.

"Come here."

And you'd guide his head to you lap, gentle– loving, like the first rays of the sun. You would card your fingers through his curls, and every now and then lightly ghost your fingertips over the scar on his face.

On occasion, Luke would dream that you were healing him, erasing his scars, erasing his pains.

"I gotcha Luke," you'd murmur, "I always gotcha."

Some mornings he'd fall into a dreamless sleep.

************************

"I gotcha baby," oh he's missed that voice, "I always gotcha, Luke." It's been too long. Days, weeks, months. Years.

You were crying.

Percy and Annabeth were crying too but–

You're crying.

Don't cry.

He's really tired, and it's getting difficult to take a breath. He figures this is the feeling of death and he's trying to not be afraid.

You reach for him, and he forces himself to open his eyes and look at you.

It's not so bad. Your face has always been what he'd like to see last. It's just–

There's so much to say. So many things he has to tell you, to apologise for, to confess, to love and there's no time.

You're so beautiful.

Even covered in soot and monster dust and blood.

Your hands cup his face, fingers instinctively brushing his brows and scar. You keep mumbling small comforts, little assurances. But you don't promise life, because that wouldn't be true and while Luke has been a deceitful liar, you have never been one yourself and you won't lie to him even now.

But you promise that you got him. And he believes you.

"I know baby," He huffs and tries to say, "but now...it's time– time to let me go."

It's a struggle. His vision is blurry, he's really tired.

So he focuses on the feel of you instead, letting his eyes close. This is just like falling asleep.

*****************************************************************************

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[loulou-land]

Well here it is. I’m letting it out into the world before I change my mind lol. This not as lil as I was expecting story loosely based on this silly post edit I made earlier today.

Rockon | SWAT | 1.2k words

After an incredibly long day running after suspects and filling out mind-numbing reports, Rocker was finally home and ready to relax. If only he could. Instead, he felt keyed up and pissed off. Anytime Rocker picked up his phone and opened up his message thread with Deac he just felt worse and immediately set his phone aside. Only to do it all over again a couple of minutes later. He finally gave in and sent a text before turning off his phone and throwing it onto his nightstand. It was petty and childish, but he couldn't help himself.

He laid back on his pillow and sighed forlornly at his ceiling, wondering how the hell he ended up like this, acting like a teenage boy with his first crush. He scoffed out loud, “Get a grip on yourself, man.” The thing was, it had been more than two weeks since he'd spent any alone time with Deacon, and he admitted it was starting to get to him. Especially because tonight had not gone the way he expected it to.

Deacon had given Rocker his calendar a while ago so they could plan around his nights with his family and his security gigs. Today had been the one night this week Deacon was available, so Rocker had happily made plans for them. He would order dinner, which he would pick up on his way home, hoping to feed Deacon and get their energies up so he could keep him in the bedroom for the rest of the night. Rocker felt needy and wanted to show Deacon how much he’d missed him. However, when Rocker told Deacon, the man grimaced apologetically and told him Annie had signed them up for a wine and art class. Instead of the night of wild sex and passion he’d envisioned, he was left lying alone in bed and feeling sorry for himself.

“Fuck him,” he grumbles. “I can make myself feel good. I don't need him.”

Rocker slowly moved his hand up and down his chest. Stopping a few times over his sensitive nipples, running his fingertips over them. Usually, this was a sure way to get him going, but it wasn't working. Not a single twitch of his cock. He stopped touching himself and scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. Rocker wanted different hands touching him right now, rougher surer hands. He wanted Deacon over him, talking dirty and pushing him over the edge.

He felt pathetic. Rocker doesn't know how he'd let it come to this. He doesn't know when he gave so much of himself to someone he couldn't ever have in return. Not in the way he truly wanted. And lately, he'd felt like Deacon was slipping through his fingers.

He’d chalked it up to their jobs at first. Work had been intense and grueling as of late. They were cracking down on another white nationalist group, trying to nip it in the bud before they had the chance to hurt someone. Between that and their other cases, it had been all hands on deck for the past few weeks. So Deacon had been short on him sometimes or too tired to start anything more than a quick handjob in the locker rooms. Rocker also knew Deacon loved being a father and spending as much time as possible with his kids. He knew that long before they ever started whatever the hell this was. And Rocker would never begrudge him his time with them.

So, for the past couple of weeks, he tried to be content with passing glances, sometimes heated with want, and other times with unnamed emotions. Rocker told himself those soft touches whenever Deacon passed by him or that reassuring grip on his shoulders after they’d returned from a mission, alive and well were enough. It usually got him by until he could corner Deacon in the showers. Rocker always let his desperation and need free in those moments knowing Deacon would care for him. And he always did, holding him through his release, keeping him upright, and gently cleaning him up afterward.

But Rocker was only human and sometimes needed more, so he pushed. He knew the more he acted like a brat, the more Deacon’s eyes darkened with lust and want. There was something about how much he got under Deacon’s skin that really got him hot and made him feel powerful. Knowing he drove Deacon into such a wild frenzy that the man forgot himself and would push Rocker to his knees right there in the locker rooms, uncaring of being caught, always left Rocker buzzing long after their encounter.

And oh, how Rocker had wanted to push Deacon today after learning he would spend the night with Annie instead of him. He had quickly planned to make Deacon lose all his carefully kept control. Deacon would've taken him into the showers and pushed Rocker against the walls while he begged him to eat him out. Rocker had always loved the feel of the other man’s beard against his hole and cheeks, knowing he'd have a beard burn afterward. He knew Deacon would open him up and make him come on his fingers and then push inside him all at once while Rocker went through his orgasm. He would've moaned and begged Deacon to fuck him hard and fast until the man filled him up with his cum.

Rocker had hoped to be the one thing running through Deacon’s mind while he was with Annie. But once again, his plans fell through. The man knew Rocker well and avoided him all throughout work, even leaving before their shift ended. That had gutted him and made him wonder if it really was the job getting between them or if Deacon had finally wised up and decided to end what they had.

“Asshole,” he muttered. His eyes shifted to his phone on the nightstand. Sighing in defeat, he grabbed it and turned it back on. He told himself he wasn't going to check his message thread. He was just going to scroll through some funny reels to feel better. However, a message from Deac immediately popped out on his notifications and caught his attention. He tapped it.

“What the hell? That's all you have to say?” Rocker groaned. He didn't know what he wanted the other man to say, but he was expecting an apology at the very least, some groveling or maybe the ending he was dreading. Anything but the message he got.

Rocker was typing a whole paragraph in his text box when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the time, 7:47 p.m., and wondered who was at the door. He hadn't been expecting anyone tonight. He went down the hall to the door and opened it, only to be completely surprised. Standing there and smirking at him was Deacon.

“Hey”

“What are you doing here? What about Annie and the class thing?” Rocker asked.

“I told her I had a last-minute security job I needed to do, good money, and I couldn't possibly pass it up.” Deacon stepped closer to him, grabbed one of Rocker's hands, and squeezed. “I've really missed you. I couldn't think of spending one more night away from you. And…I think someone needs to be punished tonight for that message. Don't you think so, Princess?"

Rocker felt heat pool deep in his stomach, and all the blood rushed to his cock. This is what he needed. This is what he wanted tonight. “Fuck yes, Daddy,” He said as he pulled Deacon into rough kiss and into his house, letting the door close behind them.

He knew that eventually, they'd have to talk about what they were doing, about where this was going. Especially now that Rocker was sure he had feelings for Deacon. But for tonight, this was fine. He had Deacon with him and would make this a night neither would forget.

[sunny-mercya]

Love Compass

Shanks x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

It was after Gold D. Roger's execution—and the few days of mourning, for those who valued such a great pirate and his legacy—when Shanks decided to get himself a boat and sailing his way, through the rough sea, towards Kanu Island—where you're would, hopefully, still be there and waiting as promised.

Two years ago they have dropped you off on Kanu Island—Jingling Town, a popular port for travellers, pirates and marines, to be exact—after it was clear that you weren't cut out for the pirate life, which you had admitted—under tears of begging to Roger and Rayleigh to let you get off for once and final from the ship—yourself.

Shanks didn't knew why he thought about you now, truthfully almost forgetting about the promise the two of you had made back then—it just, with everything happening in these past two years, slipped his mind and he didn't deemed it important enough—even when Rayleigh, who missed you lots after the drop off, drunkly sobs about you like a sad dad—to have it on his priority list or something.

But then Mihawk—after the day of execution, when Buggy and he had gotten into a nasty petty fight, which had turned from a verbal argument into a bawl of throwing fists real quick—had made this comment, something along the lines of handsome cute, about you and wanting to ask you out—and a fuse, of lowkey jealousy and rivalry, sparked inside Shanks.

Because Jingling Village was the location where Shanks (Buggy and you as well) had met Mihawk for the first time—who had voiced his interest about you pretty openly and Buggy had to hold Shanks back that one time, from strangling Mihawk for having his arm around you once—and declaring a sort of rivalry friendship.

Sure, Mihawk was able to spend two years with you—probably wooing you off into cloud nine of love—but it was Shanks, who taught you some defence with a knife and protected you from harm and he's the one who made a promise under the sky of starry stars with you and not Mihawk, who's just a boring sword guy—and yeah, maybe Shanks was a bit jealous.

A seashell, it's the only thing Shanks could find in the short moment of time he had, as a courting gift for you sounds splendid enough, Shanks thinks—scratching the back of his head, when getting into his small boat and setting sail—having no idea what he actually is about to do anyway.

~~~•~~~

Back then—mind drifting, while the warm sun keeps blazing down and allures into a dozing off, to the memories of the last few years—when Shanks had been an apprentice on Gold D. Roger's Ship, a few of the much older Crew-members—who are married or had a significant other—always liked to quote especially when they're teasing the Captain, an old saying about love.

“Love, is like a sailing ship, like a cardinal point and the heart is the compass to find its rightful destined place to anchor.”

Shanks, whenever he had the unlucky opportunity to get to hear it once again—because sometimes the older guys likes to spout their nonsensical at Buggy and him as well, with the addition of youth and young love and whatever—would roll his eyes in annoyance, finding it so cheesy and ridiculously.

Love, Shanks had scoffed—with petty sarcasm in his voice and tad of minimal, actually more aggressive annoyance, anger in it—to Buggy, when they scrubbed the decks as a lesson learning detention—after they have head butted straight into mischievousness—is a useless emotion to feel and makes a Pirate nothing but weak.

Buggy asked Shanks then, stopping with the scrubbing—raising a eyebrow and red lips turning into a scowl—what he would do if he ever does meet a person he would feel love for.

That's actually a pretty good question, Shanks had admitted—stopping as well with the scrubbing and looking at his friend—he really hadn't thought so far ahead about the possibility of what if and if there is, should be, a slight chance of him falling in love—Shanks wished to be swallowed by the ground or getting drowned into the ocean, because falling in love—to feel these ridiculously emotion—was just embarrassing.

»I won't.« said Shanks with voice firm and iron determination.

»Tell me a more believable lie,« scoffed Buggy at his friend, rolling his eyes.

It was Rayleigh—when he had gone with Roger on a short trip through the city they have docked on—who brought you onto the Ship, after spotting you in the Entertainment District—where you had being forced to serve women in a inappropriate manner, which no child should be exposed to—and declaring, without any regards of what Roger might have to say about this, you're staying with them from now on.

Shyly you hid behind Rayleigh, bandaged hands—which looked, even from where Shanks is standing, rather small for your age and Shanks is sure, from the first glimpse of glance he could get at you, you're just about two years younger than him—gripping his coat tightly and trying your best to not get looked on too much.

Besides feeling too exposed for your own comfort, as if you were a dressed up mannequin—which you only have seen once, a small glimpse of outside life from the Bathhouse establishment you've worked for—on high bidding sale, these pirates—which all looked so towering tall—scared you, with their harsh featuring faces and grim expressions, except for Rayleigh and Roger—because these two has greeted you kindly and giving you candy.

»No need to be so shy, [Name]. Look, these two young boys are Shanks and Buggy and they gonna show you around.« Rayleigh pushes you forward, making you—from your own clumsiness—stumbling a bit.

Looking back to Rayleigh—the man feels like a warm spot of comfort and you really didn't want to leave his side, not for while now at least, not till you sure you're really safe on this ship—who gives you an encouraging smile, you stuttered out a quiet hello.

~~~•~~~

It didn't take long for you, only like two whole months, to warm up to Shanks pretty quickly—following around him, although you also do that with Rayleigh and Roger—these two are still your favourite people to be around—like a duckling.

Shanks doesn't mind it at all, feeling a burst of pride in his chest, whenever he could be your guide (or personal bodyguard, which only occurred twice, but still a number to be count) giving Buggy a smug little smile, making the blue haired boy all huffy—not that Buggy wanted to be your friend or something stupid like that, but being a guide is cool.

»And then there was a section in the middle of the sea, looking like the literal night sky and filled with actual stars! And during the night they glowed! It was a real sight to–« Shanks often tells you about their little adventures and memorable days they have encountered during their journey.

Just like now, during the end of afternoon, after you have finished up the last few meal preparations for tonight's dinner—because that's something, the cooking, you're really interested in and decided to do while being with the Roger Pirates.

You like Shanks stories, sometimes Buggy would join in as well with a few add ons or cracking up some jokes—making you laugh the most, because Buggy is being Buggy, silly and joyful—and whenever you listen to them, you wished you had been able to discover these wonderful wonders just like them—making you feel a bit sad, about these lost opportunities.

»I wanna see the stars too...« you babbled in, looking a bit sad, interrupting Shanks—who looked at you with confusion, because what do you mean? You haven't seen the Stars?

»You never have seen them?« Buggy asked, wanting to be sure they heard right and you only shook your head in response.

»But...but how? You're on a Ship! You should be able to see them!«

»I have stayed most of the time indoors before and even now I do so, during the night especially...« you shrugged your shoulders, it wasn't a real big deal—sure, you wanted to see the Stars, heard some pretty tales of them from the Ladies you served, but it's not a must have.

»No way! We will show you some Stars! Tonight! And if not tonight then tomorrow!«

You didn't know why Shanks was shouting so much, but you find it a bit—just bit—loud and Buggy, whose vocal cords are always loud, thinks the same.

»Oi! Dumbass! Stop shouting!« Buggy—starting to shout himself now—whacked Shanks upside the head and Shanks apologised, rubbing his neck and smiling sheepishly at the both of you.

Within two years—time sure fly fast by, when life got to be enjoyable—you had become great friends with Shanks and Buggy—being a trio for every island or Town exploring, doing chores together, making sure you gave the two boys always an extra big portion at dinner and overall you three had a great friendship.

But there's always an end to the good times—like a final drop to a overfilled Glas of rum and once the drop hit the liquid, it spills like a flood—and such end had happened in the very beginning of your third year in Rogers crew.

It was a rough night, when another Pirate Crew—much brutal and violent than any other one you've encountered—entered the Oro Jackson, wanting to make it their own and plundering the treasures.

You had stayed down—hiding—in the kitchen, you always do whenever there's a fight with either other pirates or marines—it had been Rogers and Rayleigh's order, since you aren't doing so well with fighting at all and because Rayleigh doesn't want you to get hurt—so here you are, with nothing but a knife to defend yourself and hoping no enemy decides to comes down here.

On this day though, once you heard thundering heavy footsteps and unknown voices coming near you, you knew luck wasn't on your side and if it weren't for your knife—and what Shanks had taught you about defensive—you would have died that night as well, but to your unlucky luck you only had suffered a small wound.

After what happened, you knew the pirate life wasn't something for you—not right now at least—and so you asked, begged more, Roger to let you off from the ship and while Roger agreed, finding it sad though to not have you anymore on board—but he could understand your point of view about it—Rayleigh got so emotional upset about, after all you're his adopted son, that he actually sobbed the whole night long as if he's about to lose something very precious.

~~~•~~~

When Shanks had gone to your house—after strolling through the streets of the town and asking about your whereabouts—a small cosy looking hut, the first thing he was being greeted with, was a barrel of a gun directly pointed into his face.

»You are not welcomed.«

A black haired teen, not older than Shanks himself, with a cigarette loosely hanging from his mouth—and scowl of glare, so deep that he could be mistaken for a adult—was holding the gun, firm as if he had already years of experience.

For a moment Shanks wondered if the old lady from the shop had given him the right address, but when your voice rings out—it's easily to recognise, like a pleasant melody, even after these two years—Shanks wondered in amusement, what's the story behind of you have gotten a personal bodyguard now.

»Benny, don't intimidate anyone again.« you sighted out loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose, before joining your friend at the door—wanting to see who it is, before Ben would have his way of scaring whoever it is away, like he always does.

Ever since befriending Ben—when letting him stay in your house for a days, because all the other Inns had been full and the kind old lady from the shop near the harbour has directed him to you, after Mihawk had set sail again—and that one time a bulgar tried to rob you, while you had still been in the house, Ben isn't giving any kindness to anyone of strangers who visits unexpected anymore.

»Shanks? It's been a long time, hasn't it? Benny, move and put your gun away! Shanks a friend of mine. Come in! I will make us some tea«

Well, in all honesty, it's a real surprise—in a good way—to see Shanks at your front door, having expected such visit the very last.

»Hello, [Name], you're ready to see the Stars?«

And while Ben raised an eyebrow in confusion to what Shanks just had said, you understood perfectly what he meant.

»Sure, Captain,«

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hi!!! I love your Amelia and Emily fics so much, I’ve basically binged them 😂 I was wondering if I could request an Amelia x reader fic where maybe reader is like 6 months pregnant with her and Amelia’s first child and has a bad history with her dad and her dad comes into the hospital with his new wife and her kid and it just stirs bad feelings for reader and Amelia comforts her? Maybe autistic reader? Thank you so much!

Thank you so much! 💕 I'm so, so glad you enjoy them! Also, thanks especially for an autistic!reader request, they're some of my favorites to write! Hope you enjoy! – illdowhatiwantthanks

The R Word

Amelia Shepherd x fem!autistic!reader Warnings: autism struggles, ableism, use of ableist slurs, overstimulation (the autism kind, not the sex kind), explicit language, pregnancy times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: It's a typical day working with a child in the ER when your estranged father shows up and makes you feel just as small and stupid and alien as he did when you were growing up. Amelia is there to comfort you and remind you of who you really are.

“No, Mommy!” the little girl wailed as she writhed on the hospital bed. “I want to go home!”

Her mom looked at you apologetically as she tried to soothe her child. You needed to get her vitals. Based on the mom’s description, you also probably needed to get IV fluids and an antiemetic in her. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen while the kid felt scared and overwhelmed. This wasn’t your first rodeo with kids in the ER. In fact, the other ER nurses often called you over when kids were difficult to work with. They called you the “bad kid whisperer.”

You knew better. They weren’t bad kids. They were usually just scared. There was a lot to be scared of at a hospital. And you were good with them because you understood better than most what it was like for your body and brain to feel so overwhelmed that you could no longer regulate your emotions. Being autistic was hard sometimes, it made you stand out, but this was a place where it made you stand out in a good way.

You lifted your hands to show the little girl that you were setting down all your medical instruments.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, pulling the curtain closed around the bed. Sometimes making the space smaller helped. You bent down to her height, careful to keep your distance and not to touch her.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, shaking as she sobbed.

You nodded. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk right now. Do you feel like you can’t breathe or anything?”

The girl shook her head.

“Good. Then all this other stuff can wait, okay? I’m not gonna touch you. No needles, no thermometer, no heartbeat or anything until you feel a little calmer. We can wait.”

She seemed to calm down a bit when she realized you weren’t going to make her do anything, her sobs subsiding to the occasionally aggressive sniffle.

“Here,” you offered, pulling a tiny tech deck skateboard out of the pocket of your scrubs. “Sometimes when I’m scared or nervous, having something to do with my hands makes me feel better.” You rolled the skateboard toward her, and she started running it across the rails of the hospital bed, her breathing starting to calm.

“Better?” you asked.

She nodded.

You started taking her vitals and continued the conversation. “You think you can tell me your name now?”

“Maddy,” she whispered.

You smiled even as you read her temperature: 103.4. Pretty high. She was almost certainly dehydrated. “That’s a really cool name. Now, do you know why your mom brought you here?”

“I threw up,” she told you, lip quivering.

“Oh, man,” you commiserated. “That’s the worst. I hate throwing up.”

Maddy nodded.

“Did you throw up just one time or a lot of times?”

“A lot.”

You exchanged glances with the mom to make sure this information was accurate.

“She can’t keep anything down,” the mom worried, biting her nails.

“Okay. Well, that’s okay. We’re gonna help you feel better. First, we’re gonna get some fluids in you. Do you know what that means?”

She shook her head as you gathered the supplies and pulled on gloves.

“It means your tummy is so sick that when you drink water, it all just comes right back out. And that’s not good because your body needs water. Your heart and your lungs and all the things that make you healthy and strong, they need water. So since you can’t swallow it, we’re gonna put a little tube in your arm and send water through the tube. That way your body gets the water it needs. And we’ll send medicine and electrolytes and all kinds of other good stuff to fight the sickness, too. It’s like we’re sneaking weapons past the sick.”

This explanation seemed to cheer her up a bit. “Like a secret mission?” she asked.

You nodded conspiratorially. “Exactly like a secret mission. But to get all that good stuff in there, we’re gonna have to put a needle in your arm. Just for a second! It makes the path for the supplies to go in.”

Maddy seemed to think deeply about this, then nodded. You had her play with the skateboard while you placed the IV line, ensuring that she was comfortably positioned for a good hour or so of fluid intake.

“Thank you,” her mom mouthed to you, and you gave her a quick thumbs up before adding a few reminders to your chart–what to check in the next hour, etc.

Maddy, now calmer, took a good look at you for the first time, from your glasses to your fingers that twitched by your ears, to your stomach that protruded out past your waistline–you were six months pregnant.

“Why are you so fat?” Maddy blurted out.

“Madeline Grace!” her mom hissed.

“It’s okay,” you laughed. “My tummy looks like this because there’s a baby in there. But some tummies are just bigger than others, too, and that’s okay. All tummies are good tummies.”

“Where’s the daddy?” she asked, reaching out to brush her hand over your stomach.

“No daddy,” you explained. “This baby has two mommies. His other mommy works upstairs. On brains.”

“Brains!?” she squealed.

You nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty cool.”

Just then, the relative calm of a midday ER was interrupted by a loud, brash voice, bursting through the doors, yelling at the nurses at the station.

“Where the fuck is my daughter!? Middle of the fucking work day. Unbelievable. Am I going too fast for you? Read my lips, sweetheart. Madeline. Y/L/N.”

You froze, any icy stream of panic running from the back of your neck all the way down to your heels. You’d know that voice anywhere. It was an angry voice, a coach’s voice, the voice that had yelled at you to “stay the fuck in the bleachers” when all you wanted was to sit in the car and breathe. The same voice that growled at you to stop “doing that shit with your hands, you look like a r*tard.” The same voice that told you over and over that you weren’t “stupid enough to be on the short bus,” but you were “too stupid to function in real life.”

You felt your brain start swirling, felt panic building in your chest. You knew he’d gotten remarried, of course you knew. But you didn’t talk to him, hadn’t talked to him in nearly a decade. You knew they’d had a kid, but you didn’t know it was this kid.

All the ER noises, the beeps of the machines, the buzzing of the overhead lights–were they getting brighter?–the clang of instruments being set down, wails, conversations, and above it all your dad’s voice. Your dad’s voice. It was too much. It was all way, way too much.

You felt your hands start to shake at your sides, your body swinging back and forth, and you had to stop. You had to stop. Your dad would kill you.

He threw back the curtain, and his jaw dropped when he saw you.

“You!?” he spat, looking down. “Are you pregnant!?”

Maddy seemed oblivious to the tension. “Daddy!” she called. “Her name is Y/N and she gave me this little skateboard and the water is fighting the sickness through my tubes and she has a baby in her tummy and the baby’s other mommy fixes brains.”

You tried so hard not to stim, but it was not working. 

“Don’t tell me you’re a nurse?! God, it’s a miracle you didn’t fucking stab her. You shouldn’t be holding any needles with those flappy arms. Probably shouldn’t be holding any babies either.” He shot out his hand and grabbed Teddy’s arm, which was wild to you. The audacity of the man to assume he had the authority to bother the trauma surgeon. “Yeah, honey, we need a different nurse over here. This one’s a r*tard.”

Teddy looked flabbergasted and deeply offended, but also concerned, as you clenched your teeth, hugging yourself, twisting your body back and forth. “It’s doctor, sir, and that word is not welcome at Grey-Sloan. Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional. In fact, she’s one of our best, especially with kids.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you,” your dad whispered loudly to Teddy. “She’s got autism. She shouldn’t be handling tools or people or anything.”

Teddy pressed her lips together in frustration. “As I said, sir,” she repeated more forcefully. “Y/N is a perfectly capable medical professional, and we’re lucky to have her. But I’ll get another nurse over here for you. Y/N?”

Teddy beckoned you over, careful not to touch you, and led you to a quieter corner of the room.

“Who the fuck is that guy?!” she asked.

“M-my dad,” you stuttered. Everything in the room–sounds, lights, smells, all of it–seemed to be crashing over you again and again. As if you’d been knocked over by a wave and couldn’t get back up again because they just kept coming.

“You want to hang out in one of the on-call rooms for a bit?” Teddy suggested.

You nodded.

“Should I page Amelia?”

You shook your head. “She’s in surgery.”

Teddy pulled out her tablet to look. “I mean, we could just check.”

“Don’t bother her,” you repeated. “She’s got work to do. I’ll be okay.”

You made your way to the elevator and up to an on-call room, breathing heavily when you shut the door against the rest of the hospital. You turned off the lights, curling into a corner of the bottom bunk and pulling your knees up to your chest–or as close to your chest as they could get with your baby bump in the way.

You rocked yourself back and forth, thoughts spiraling. The movement and the dark usually calmed you down, but you were having a hard time regulating today, and nothing seemed to be working. Your breath just got faster and faster. And the fact that you couldn’t get yourself out of your spiral only made you spiral more.

You knew you were a good nurse. You knew that. You knew because you’d done it. But you hadn’t ever been a mom before. What if he was right? What if the baby made you overstimulated and you yelled or lashed out? What if the baby went to school and you went to parent nights and he was embarrassed of you, of how you couldn’t make eye contact and didn’t start conversations right and didn’t get the jokes. What if being autistic made you a bad mom?

You had tears streaming down your face by the time you heard a light knock on the door. It creaked open and Amelia’s head popped in. When she saw it was you, she quickly let herself in and locked the door.

“Oh, babe,” she said, watching your body rock back and forth in huge, aggressive sweeps. “A bad one, huh?”

“Go away, Amelia,” you hiccuped.

“Hey,” she said, jokingly. Then when she got closer and saw the tear tracks on your face, she said it again, quieter, sitting next to you on the bed. “Hey.”

When you didn’t say anything, Amelia shrugged. “Teddy said your… dad was here?”

You nodded.

She let out a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Honey, will you let me hold you? Please?”

You nodded again.

“Alright,” she said, waiting for your body to line up with hers as you rocked, then quickly grabbing you up in her arms, like she was catching something midair. “Gotcha.” She rocked with you.

“What did he say?” she asked, her breath warm on the top of your head.

“That I shouldn’t hold medical tools or babies because I’m a fucking re– I don’t want to say it. I hate that word.”

You felt Amelia’s arms tighten around you, and her breath came out in huffs. She was very angry. “As you should,” she told you. “It’s a nasty word. And it’s a word that doesn’t describe you at all, you know that.”

“I don’t know, Amy,” you whispered into her chest. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Babe, I think that ship has sailed,” Amelia said, running her fingers through your hair.

“Not my dad,” you explained. “The baby.”

Amelia was quiet for a moment, then you felt her lips press against the top of your head.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice soft. “Of course he’ll like you. He’ll love you. You're his mom.”

“But what if I’m bad at it? What if autism makes me bad at it?”

“Y/N,” Amelia said, gently grabbing your face and positioning it so that you had to look in her general direction, if not in her eyes. “Look how good you are with the kids in the ER. You’re gonna be an incredible mom.”

“I’m just scared,” you admitted.

“I’m a little scared, too,” Amelia told you. “But you know what? I think we’re gonna be okay. Me and you together? I mean, surely, combined, we can be at least one whole good mom, right?”

You giggled.

Amelia grinned at you. “There she is.”

You were quiet for a moment, playing with Amelia’s finger, with the edges of her scrubs.

“You know what you are?” Amelia asked after a bit, kissing your forehead. “You are smart and kind and empathetic. You’re funny and brave and you work hard. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You looked away.

“Hey,” she said, pulling your face back toward her again. “I don’t like people talking about my wife like that. Even you.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing your face to her chest.

“Are you going back down there?” Amelia asked.

You shrugged.

“Want me to check if your dad’s still here?”

“Would you?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, standing and placing one more kiss on your cheek. “In fact, I’d really like to talk to him.”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get you fired, Amy,” you called after her.

She looked back at you and winked as she walked through the door. “Can’t make any promises.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 11

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about dinner?” Steve asks as he stretches his arms above his head.

Your eyes wander the muscles of his arms, still bulging and round despite his age. He makes you feel lesser. You’re probably half his age and you’re all soft and cushy. You have nothing to admire. You scratch your scalp, itchy from the layer of sweat, and shrug.

Before he drops his arms, you catch a peek of his stomach. You look at the ground guiltily. You don’t even know why you were looking at him. It’s rude to stare.

“Sure, honey,” your mom answers as you follow Steve to the deck, “you been working so hard today.”

“You like barbeque?” Steve stops and nudges you with his elbow as you come up beside him. You shy away.

“Er, sure.”

“Oh,” your mom’s cheeks twitch, “mm, that’ll be nice. A little family dinner.”

You shrink down. You’re standing right there and she forgot about you. Or just doesn’t want you there.

“Ice cream for dessert,” Steve pats your shoulder and you wince again. He squeezes before he steps forward, “Holly, you okay?” He asks as your mother’s head tremors. “You’ve been sitting out here for a while. Maybe I could send you over something instead.”

“I’m good,” she insists, gripping the sides of the chair. She stands with an effort. She doesn’t look well.

“Alright, I’ll get stuff ready. Could use some help,” he looks at you. Your mother rubs her lower back and flutters he lashes in your direction.

“I can help,” she insists before you can answer.

“Really, Holly, relax,” Steve counters, “I know you want to help, but...” he pauses and reaches to grab her quivering hand, “you should probably just sit down.”

“Oh,” she looks at his grip before it falls away. “Yeah, I... you’re right. I’m... thanks.”

She sits down, uncharacteristically demure. You’ve never seen that in her. Any time you reminded her of her sickness, even unintentionally, she got defensive. Not this time. She almost looks sad.

“Come on, I’ll share my famous recipe with you, then you can make some for your mom,” Steve says as he waves you towards the doors.

You shuffle behind him, offering no resistance. You wouldn’t want to stay in case your mom chose to direct her shame at you. She won’t say it to his face but she won’t have any problem sharing her displeasure with you.

You leave your shoes by the door, overly aware of your surroundings. Steve’s house is clean and spacious. He might have just moved in but you suspect it’s as much his standards as the newness. He leads you into the kitchen and you stand awkwardly by the counter.

“Should wash your hands,” he goes to the double sink and grabs the dish soap, “come here.”

You near him, hunched slightly, and he squeezes soap into his own hand before aiming the nozzle toward you. You hold out your hands and he squirts the liquid onto your palms. The water scours from the tap and you wet your hands, forced to stand closer than you like as you lather up the bubbles. You scrub your nails and get between your fingers, making sure to get as much as the residue as you can.

You rinse off and he grabs a hand towel, offering it to you first before he takes it and dries his hands. He hangs it and turns to the fridge. That’s fancy too. The door is glass and you can see the contents without opening it. He pulls the door and reaches within.

You wait listlessly as he takes out his ingredients. You shy away as he moves towards you, opening cupboards to pick out seasoning, then bending to grab a bowl from below. He plunks the large dish on the counter near you.

“How about you make us a salad, sweetie?” He grabs several veggies from his horde and sets them by the bowl, “knives are right there.”

He points to the block then opens another cupboard. He takes out a spinner and sets that out as well. He has all these nice things and fresh food. Your salads come out of plastic containers or bags.

You rinse off a pepper and put it on the cutting board. You slide out a knife and stare at the veggie before you slice into it. You chop it in half and seeds spill everywhere. You frown as they stick to your fingers. You try to move the heavy wooden board but can’t budge it. Instead, you rinse the inside of the pepper then wipe the board with your hand.

“Here, let me show you a trick,” Steve turns and takes the knife, “Cut the sides,” he takes the yellow pepper, “like this.” He expertly trims off each side then cuts them into neat slices, turning them to dice into squares. You watch quietly and he turns the handle of the knife to you. “See.”

You nod and take the knife. Doesn’t matter much, the red ones already halved. You do your best to cut out the middle with all the seeds and slice slower than him, careful of your fingers. It takes you far too long to do the tomato, with no shortage of gushing juices, and the onion.

As you add them all to the rinsed lettuce, Steve adds some crumbled soft cheese and croutons. You clean up the remnants of your work and he points you to the metal bin. You step on the pedal and dumb it all inside. You return to the counter as he pulls out another bowl.

“Now the burgers, we got the meat,” he unfolds a paper package and dumbs the ground beef into the bowl, “bread crumbs,” he shakes the tin, “but most important is the seasoning.”

He takes each slender container, measuring out the powders and dried herbs by sight alone. He names them each but you can’t keep track. He caps the last one and spreads his fingers wide.

“Now the good part,” he proclaims and kneads it all together with his hands.

You watch his fingers work, deft and confident. He mashes in the bread crumbs and seasoning then holds up his messy hands.

“You can help with the next part,” he takes a handful and rounds out the meat into a patty shape. “Just like that. Think we’ll do what? Six or so? Might want seconds after all that hard work.”

“Okay,” you reach in and take the cold beef. The texture is unnerving. You mimic his own motion, rolling it into a ball then flattening it. He puts the first one on the plate and you add yours to it.

“You’re quiet,” he comments.

You flick your eyes up and back down, reaching for more meat.

“Not that it’s bad. Shy? I know we’re just getting to know each other. That’s cool. But I get it,” he says as he takes a handful, “you know, it’s really something the way you look after your mom.”

You nod then shake your head, “she’s my mom.”

“Yeah, but... not everyone... would,” he says. “You know, you should give yourself more credit.”

You grumble and put down the patty in your hands.

“Well, if I’m gonna be around, I wanna help out, you know? You shouldn’t be taking this all on yourself. It’s amazing you’ve done it so far but... you’re young, you deserve to have some fun.”

You press your lips and roll another patty. You focus on the task as you watch your hands. He sniffs and lets out a deep breath.

“One day, you’re gonna make some lucky guy a good wife,” he says, “so you might as well enjoy your free time while you got it.”

You blink, surprised by his suggestion. That’s a far way off, if it ever happens. You don’t really know what will happen... after. You only ever worried about today. Tomorrow can wait.

[crybaby-magic]

Birthday to Remember

luffy x reader

fluff

birthday art

“LUFFY!!”

“Oops shi shi shi”

You sigh out at his soap throwing behavior as you try scrub his hair and body with soap in the shower.At some point you stare at him before grabbing the shower head and spraying it over his body letting the soapy water fall off his body.Reattaching the shower head back to the shower you let Luffy get into the bubble bath that he insisted on with his wood thousand sunny boat and the straw hat crew rubber duckies that you created for him.Taking your eyes off of him you move to shower yourself letting your mind wander to the past.

————————————☆————————

It was a very exciting day for you not only because it was your 7th birthday and you decided to spend it with Luffy.You had got dressed in a white dress with red ribbon accent.White long socks with black shoes to match.Only problem is your hair.Sighing out you realize your older sister must have left the cabin already.Grabbing more red ribbons you head out to find your mom or sister.Leaving your shared room you see the red haired pirates decorating the ship for your 7th birthday.Heading to the front you find your Mom directing the placement of decorations while Dad and Uta where on the net thing that was attached to the ship.

Rushing up to her pant legs you tug at the ruffles that were a part of the pants trying to get her attention.

“Mommy can you do my hair?”

She directed her attention towards you before saying a quick sure.She picked your body up and set you on top of the table on the deck.She's quick to put your hair in a cute style.She does a once over of your body making sure you meet her standards.While your distracted you didn’t notice you Dad and Uta wandering up towards the table.

“Hey birthday girl!” Your dad says in a joyful tone trying to mess up your hair only to get swatted away by your Mother.

“Knock it off Shanks.”she said in a dead tone.Making him pout for a moment

Your attention is directed towards Uta.Who is standing on the floor looking up at you.

“Why are you so dressed up?”She asked

“Luffy is taking me to a secret spot to show me my birthday present” You cheekily spoke as your eyes gleamed.

“WHAT!” Your Father screeched in despair making everyone on deck stop and observe the spectacle that was finna starting.Your Mother stared at him with an annoyed look.

“You can’t do that,besides how come this is the first time I'm hearing about this.”

“I asked Mom when Luffy had asked me.She told me it was fine she even has Roux making me a picnic basket.”

A sudden wave of betrayal washed over him as he faced your mother who was still nitpicking at your dress.Before he could complain that she allowed one of his babies to go with a ‘random dangerous kid’ she spoke up. “I don’t want to hear it Shanks.They won’t be out long she’ll still make it to her own party.Besides you like Luffy I don’t see the problem.Also can you fix your face it’s annoying me.” Every word that she spoke was like a dagger towards his heart.She let out a sigh debating if she should make Beckman deal with him.They are like husbands anyway.She shook her head before directing her attention to you and your sister.

“Your Father does have a point though I really don’t trust seven year olds wandering around and not cause trouble.So you need to wear your necklace and Ki-Bon has to be there to keep watch.”Your Mother spoke as she pulled your necklaces out from her pants pockets.Placing it on around your neck.

“You do remember how to summon your familiars or do you need me to do it for you.”

Quickly you shook your head as you slowly raised your hand to summon them.You quietly mumbled a spell in a language that you couldn’t understand but oddly know the words too.As your eyes slowly changing to a bright light purple two bubbles popped out of your skin.They soon formed into a floating black cat and white bunny.Both with purple eyes and red swirly cheeks.Once they were created without you mothers help she looked satisfied with your abilities that were forming nicely.

Uta spoke up “I still won’t get used to that” Making your Mother chuckle.

Your Mother grabbed Ki-Bon’s attention before speaking to them with a low tone.You redirect your attention to your Father who you realized had the picnic basket with the food inside.

Your Dad had set the basket down next to you as he grabbed you, putting you into a very tight hug.You hugged him back feeling him still pouting. ‘He’s too high maintenance’ you sighed at the thought despite being seven now.Your attention was now grabbed by a voice at the deck.

“Luffy!”You yelped out.Struggling to pull out of your Father’s grip that was suddenly getting tighter effectively trapping you. “Daaaad leeet Gooo!!!” only to get whining.Everyone laughed at the father daughter moment while they worked.

“Shanks let her go.”Your mother and Uta said deadpanned.Only to get more whining in return.

“Daaad let Go!Your going to make me late!I’ll hang out with you later.”In the final sentence he let you go.

“Ok!See you later!Have fun!Make sure to come home at a reasonable time!”He happily replied and waved you off.Talk about whiplash.

Hopping off the table as you jog off the ship onto the deck to see Luffy waiting for you.In his blue shorts with the fluffy bottom and an orange t-shirt with a fish on it.

“Heyy!I was wondering where you were.”

“Oh sorry I was a little caught up with something.”

A voice came from on top of the ship.Looking up to see your dad and mom with Uta looking at you two.Ya’ll watch as Ki-Bon comes down one with the cover picnic basket and the other your straw hat that was set upon your head. “I expect her back in good condition Luffy.I mean it!”Shanks' non-threatening threat made you two giggle at him before running off for Luffy’s secret spot with Ki-Bon following on your tail.Missing the fact your Mom had hit your Dad across the head then dragging him to continue working all while Uta is laughing.

————————————☆————————

“Are we there yet?”you groaned out with distanine.Really should have worn better shoes for this if you knew where y'all were even headed.

“We’re almost there!”He said.All you could do is internally sigh at the thought of going any further.Maybe your mom was right you were sheltered despite being a pirate yourself.You were quickly brought back to reality once you accidentally bumped into luffy.

Backing up you move around him as you rubbed your nose that got most of the hit.

“Tada! You like it!”Loniking around it wasn’t really anything special: trees,big rocks,small rocks,flowers,plants,And a stream of water passing through.But you did have to agree it was peaceful and relaxing.

“Yeah it's very pretty Luffy! I really like it.”

“You set up the picnic, I'm going to get your present!Ok?!”

You nodded your head in agreement.You decided to have Ki-Bon lay out the orange and white checkered blanket on top of the rock.While setting the basket on rock close by that y’all can reach the food.Ki the bunny familiar had picked you up setting you on the rock.Bon the cat familiar had removed your Dad’s hat,and set it on top of Luffy’s head as he was crouching down and looking into the grass for something.You sat there watching him for awhile wondering what he was looking for.You always did stare at him with great fondness not completely understanding the emotions he caused for you.But you enjoyed how he made you feel.

“Ahh Haa!I found it!”

You questioned what he found tilting your head. You realized he had lifted up a rock and under said rock was a bug.Not just any bug but Luffy’s favorite bug, a beetle.It was pretty because of it’s colorful shell but- “Here you wanna hold it.It reminded me of you cause it's pretty and your pretty.”He said with such a big smile while holding the beetle up to your face.Your hand slowly holds out its palm letting him place the bug in your hand.

“Thanks Luffy, it's really pretty.”You said hesitantly despite the voice in the back of your mind telling you to throw it and run.

While you were in a mental state of distress Luffy hugs you slightly comforting you but not really.

————————————☆————————

“Yo Ho! Hey, stop ignoring me!”Luffy’s voice pulled you out of your trip down memory lane.You realize you were now in the tub with Luffy.Its probably been awhile seeing as your hands were wrinkled.Looking at Luffy’s drained and pouty face you giggled at him.

“It’s not funny. I'm bored and hungry. Can we get out? Sanji has to be done with the food now?!”

“Sure Luffy.”You got up from the tub grabbing the towel for the both of you.You handed him his towel so he could start drying off. As you finished drying you started to get dress.Looking back at him he was dressed but his hair was still wet.Sighing once more you grabbing your towel you started to dry his hair properly.

“You really need to dry your hair properly or you're going to get sick.”

Once satisfied with his hair you grabbed his hat and set it on top of his head.

“Common, let's hurry, you don’t want to miss your own birthday. I even got you the best present.”he said with excitement exiting the bathroom to head to the galley with you in tow.

“Happy Birthday” everyone yelled as you entered the dining room/kitchen of the ship.

You and Luffy sat besides each other as the long table was surrounded by food and in the center a brownie cake and the crew in their own sets.

What followed was the crew singing happy birthday with Brook playing an instrument along.

Luffy tried to eat all the food, even the brownie cake that Sanji was to cut.

Zoro drinks almost all of the alcohol while Sanji yells at him for not helping.

Chopper,Usopp,Frankie dancing and singing along with Brooke with a small basket and sticks in their mouths and noses while Jinbe laughed at the chaos.

Nami and Robin handing you the presents from the crew.

Which contained:

Jinbe getting you more small knives to add to your weaponry.

Brook got you cute underwear that you probably will never wear for obvious reasons.

Usopp making you a small bag of his bullet balls things,but they contain poisons and smoke.

Frankie made you a mechanical lock box that you’ll definitely be putting your favorite jewelry in.

Robin got you some cute outfits,and dresses for when you do your traditional dances.

Chopper got you herbs that you can use, plus a bag of candy.

Nami got you makeup that you've been dying to get your hands on,and a sewing kit.

Sanji got you ‘healing water” that he somehow got from your fathers hometown in the West blue.

Zoro surprisingly got you something which was jewelry with the prettiest gems.

“Hm?Luffy, where's your present that you kept talking about all week.”

Luffy stopped eating for a moment staring at you before hopping up from the table with a shout.He ran out of the room,but not before stretching his arm to grab more meat.Everyone stared at you then each other with confusion on what was happening.He soon re entered the room with the biggest smile plastered on his face.He set a small rectangle thing in front of you that was covered by a white cloth.Everyone stared at the suspicious box.

Luffy then dramatically lifted the white cloth with a ‘TADA!’ to show a travel size cage.Inside the cage was two beetles.It was silent for a moment before it erupted into chaos once more.Nami and Sanji freaking out cause he got you bugs as a present.Usopp and Chopper looking in amazement at it.While the others laughed at the scene.

Tears slowly fell down your face making Nami yell at him more for making you cry.Luffy started to panic at the sight albeit slightly confused.

“D-did you not like it!?I swear you liked them before!”

You just shook your head before hugging him with a small thank you coming out.Luffy relaxing once more.He then started laughing again before demanding Brook to play something.Then everyone started doing what they were doing once more.Singing,eating,dancing,and laughing.Nami just shook her head in disappointment while Robin giggled at the sight.You stared at the cage with fondness.Not only cause it brought back good memories,but it also makes it so you don’t have to touch them.You still hate bugs,but you’ll tolerate them for Luffy.

[iclarye]

Nothing Serious

pairing: roronoa zoro x fem!reader

summary: you had no idea why you were so concerned about whether or not your relationship with zoro was serious. you both were certainly merely supporting each other, especially in the midst of the ocean, where people crave tenderness.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ content, a lot of talking, eventual smut, oral sex (f receiving), face-fucking, face-sitting.

ao3 link: nothing serious

authors note: english is not my first language. enjoy!

“You'll see him tonight.”

You inhaled the cigarette smoke till your lungs burned. It wasn't the first, second, or third time Sanji had brought up the matter; you were tired. Leaning against the rail of the ship, smoke encircled the two of you.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” You took another inhalation before giving the blonde's cigarette back. “Anyway, it's nothing serious, whatever you're thinking, I assure you.”

He snorted, and you could see he wasn't buying what you were saying. After years of working together at Baratie, Sanji was able to read you like a book. “Oh, please, darling, I believe that at this point only Luffy is unaware of what is happening between you two.”

“Again, it's nothing serious. He's only a friend.”

“No, darling, I'm your friend; Nami is your friend; he's…” He dropped the rest of his cigarette in the sea and began to head to the kitchen to prepare dinner, yet not before lingering at the door to give you a sidelong glance. “Zoro is a very complicated person, I'm just saying. I think he has something going on in his moss head. If you happen to want to keep doing this, be careful.”

You continue to wander the deck of the ship while mulling over the conversation until the sun eventually sets and darkness falls. It was nothing serious. Zoro was really easy to be around; there were no challenges when you were around him. He was additionally very hot. Nothing that had been going on between you two had anything to do with the fact that whenever you felt that your pirate life was getting to be too much, you would always flee to his embrace in the dead of night. Especially in the midst of the ocean, people crave tenderness. Zoro was simply there to help you.

However, once the two of you have had enough sex, he embraces you and plays with your hair until you nod off. Or how he always tries his hardest to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as he does, despite his issues with feeling vulnerable when you're topping. Or how he took a mattress so sex wouldn't be uncomfortable on the hard ground or leaning against a wall.

"Fucking Sanji, what does he have to do with what I do?" You murmured to yourself as you walked into the dimly lit kitchen, which was already packed with the crew dining at the table and savoring the food the blonde had prepared.

Dinner went quickly, and you just engaged in the conversations surrounding the upcoming supply gathering. Zoro's gaze tracked your movements, and you couldn't help but blush when you caught his attention in you. It was foolish, and even he looked puzzled by your behavior.

“If you'll excuse me, I need to wash the dishes to avoid a buildup.” You swiftly rose out of your chair as you began to pick up the dirty plates from the table. “Sanji, come with me.”

You were furiously scrubbing the plates when Sanji caught up with you at the sink and lit a cigarette “What's going on?”

You didn't know exactly what was going on. Outside of the nocturnal meetings, your relationship with Zoro was always easygoing; neither of you ever brought up your activities nor anything odd that might have addressed it. “It’s nothing serious, right? We're pirates, after all, so it makes sense that we would sleep with each other. He may have another female on a random island.”

If not for the fact that he had no random girls lying around, he had casually revealed to you that you were the only person he had slept with in the past few months. Why had he told you this?

“I don’t know what exactly you want me to say, love.”

“This is all your fault; I would have been perfectly normal if you hadn't started off with the idea of being serious or not.”

Sanji gave you a bored face, as he didn't seem stunned by anything. He snorted as he peered over your shoulder at the crew's still-occupied table. “Talk to him.”

You mumbled something indecipherable, hoping to put an end to the conversation. You didn't want to tell Zoro your thoughts because it might make everything too genuine, too real. Also, you couldn't help thinking that he may taunt you and assure you that what you two are doing is simply a casual fuck.

Even if you begged the gods for time to move more slowly, or even if you stood by in the kitchen a little longer to help the blonde clean the counters, you knew that eventually you would have to face Zoro.

As you walked down the stairs to the storage room, you limited yourself to positive thoughts; perhaps he won't notice your odd behavior; maybe he won't even give you a chance to speak before he picks you up by the hips, tosses you onto the mattress, and then takes you in such a way that you'll have to stifle your moans.

“Hey.” He was undoubtedly waiting for you for some time, as he was sitting on the mattress without his shirt on. You wondered how much time you spent helping Sanji in the kitchen. “C’mon here.”

Without looking him in the eyes, you untied your bra, dropped your shirt while approaching him, and just kneeled low enough to straddle his thighs. “Guess someone had been waiting for me."

“You look... so... pretty.” You moaned as one of Zoro's hands reached and pinched one of your nipples. “So perfect, only for me.”

He begins kissing and pinching the skin on your neck and jaw while stroking your breasts, yet your attention doesn't turn to the sensations in your body. For the thousandth time since your previous talk, you ponder whether he viewed you as special, whether or not he did what he does with you with others, if he engaged them in conversation about their insecurities, if he also talked about his childhood, if he also...

“What are you thinking?”

You emerged from your thoughts and let out a sigh as you regretted having come to see him with those thoughts in your head. You should have gone directly to your room and trusted that he would get the message. In short, you shouldn't have shown up.

“Could you just fuck me, please? I'm not in the best mood, Zoro.”

“No, I won’t fuck you when you’re barely here.” He threw out a sigh of annoyance at the situation at hand. ”Just tell me what's going on; you've been acting oddly since dinner.”

“Are we serious?”

The green-haired one grew silent and turned to face the wall behind you. As the room fell quiet, you tensed in his lap and started getting ready to get up and leave when he grabbed your hips roughly.

“I told you that I wasn't seeing anyone.” You could see a hint of color on Zoro's cheeks, as he was reluctant to look into your eyes. “I thought that meant quite the deal.”

“Oh. Oh. Are you for real? I didn’t realize this meant that.”

The realization made you feel embarrassed. It was so simple, yet you had been thinking about this particular comment of his for days. Of course, the careless manner in which he talked affected your understanding, but it was so fucking obvious.

“Y/N, I like you. But I don’t do this bullshit of boyfriend and girlfriend,it’s too... childish.” When he turned to face you, the inside of your chest started getting warm. “So, I really enjoy you. If you want to go tell Nami or the waiter that we are more than crewmates, sure, no problem, whatever.”

There was nothing you could say to express your delight other than a soft kiss, so you gave him that. You knew it wasn't a declaration of love; it's very likely that you weren't at that point in the relationship, but it was something.

“Just don't expect me to brag, kiss you on the deck or do anything cliche. You know that I am not like that.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Your lips curled into a faint smile. “I kind of like the private thing we have right here.’’

“Well, then, can we continue what we were doing? I mean, no offense, but it's difficult to pay attention with your boobs that close.”

You had barely finished nodding when his lips crashed into yours. He began nipping and sucking your lower lip between his teeth before sliding his tongue inside your mouth. His hands went right to your breast, and you whimpered when he lightly pinched your left nipple.

“Oh, Y/N…” Zoro mumbled, his pupils expanded, and his eyes grew dimmer. “I want you to sit on my face.”

“W-what? Why?”

Several times throughout your six or seven months with Zoro, he found himself between your legs. Receiving orals has never been an issue for you; in fact, he might actually like giving you orals due to how you wriggle under him.

But no, not in the way that he was requesting. The green-haired man was always reluctant when you were keen on riding his dick or being in any other position where he was at the bottom and “vulnerable”. Even though he never said it verbally, you could tell by the way he always tensed.

“What do you mean why, I want to eat you puss-“

“No, I know that.” You cut him off; it seemed odd that he wanted to do the position right then; you didn't want him to perform the deed out of a moral duty or anything similar. “Just, you know, you don't enjoy it when I'm topping.”

“Y/N… It's not that I don't enjoy it'” He cocked his head to the side while offering you kisses and hickeys in your neck. “Normally, I don't feel at ease. You, though, are the exception, and I want to make you feel good.”

You stopped straddling him to get off the mattress and take off the rest of your clothes. You felt his eyes watch you until you heard a noise that was obviously his body lying down completely on the mattress. Nervousness rose in your body as you returned to your starting position on his lap.

“It's alright, babe, come on up.” You were taken aback by Zoro's unexpected pet name—he never used that kind of thing—as his hands got to your waist.

He helped you climb up his body to his head, where you found yourself sitting on top of the green-haired face. But fuck, you dismissed all your anxieties the moment you felt his hot breath travel down your center.

He helped you climb up his body to his head, where you found yourself sitting on top of the green-haired face. But fuck, you dismissed all your anxieties the moment you felt his hot breath travel down your center.

“So wet for me.” You feel a rush of pleasure as you hear his breathy voice. “C’mon let me taste you”

He pushes you down by placing his hands on the inner sides of your thighs. Your folds are immediately warmed by Zoro's exploratory mouth heat. You whimpered as he ran his tongue over the length of your pussy, up and down, just to get a fickle at your clit and amplify your screams.

Zoro toys with the bundle of nerves with his teeth as he slides his tongue into you slowly. He knows exactly how to get you immediately over the edge. At first, the sensation is odd, yet gradually it causes your eyes to roll back in ecstasy. He is skilled at fucking you in every way possible.

“Y/N, I-” He stopped moving his head and breathed heavily into your core, “Ride me.”

The waves of pleasure pulsing through you nearly caused you to ask him to repeat what he had just said. If it weren't for Zoro's hands reaching to your ass and guiding you to move against his face, the lack of expertise probably would paralyzed you.

So you did ride him. You initially felt a little ashamed of the newly acquired control you had until you reached the ideal angle where his tongue pierced you and their teeth scraped your clit as you rocked back and forth.

“Oh, fuck Zoro, fuck..”

The green-haired man's hands were groping you blindly, squeezing your thigh and ass so thougly that it would probably have marks in the morning. You were drawn closer to his face as a result of his claws piercing right through the flesh.

You flung back your head as pleasure overtook you. Grabbing Zoro's hair with both hands and moving his face to find more friction, already too out of it to care what he felt.

You feel a rush of vibrations go through you as he moans into your core, and you just know that you’re close. Your walls clenched around Zoro's tongue as you rocked faster against his face.

“I-I’m so close”

You cum with a muffled scream of the green-haired man's name, and he continues fucking you through your orgasm, your body already getting tired from the overstimulation.

You're not sure how you got out of the position, but when you open your eyes, you're lying next to him, still gasping for air. You feel something shifting towards you, and when you look, Zoro is looking directly at your state.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I should be the one asking you that. Fuck, that was good”

He licks his juicy lips with his eyes half-open, completely pussy drunk. You suppose you should have an odd expression because he laughs, and you think you could hear that sound for the rest of your life.

You look away and end up coming into line of sight with his crotch, completely marked by his hard cock, which must be hurting at the time. You bring your hands to the waistband of his pants, but he stops you.

“No. Today was for you, only for you.” His tone is solemn, and you lack the strength to disagree or try to persuade him.

So you lie there next to each other, your body aching from the circumstances, but your mind is completely clear. You did not want to leave; you wanted to remain there forever, but you know it's past midnight and you both need to go to your rooms.

He gets up first. He's awkward and trying to hide his erection, despite the fact that you are already aware of it. “I need to go; you know, this mattress is not that comfortable…”

“Yeah, me too. I’m going in one minute.”

He comes to a halt just before the door, peering into your eyes one last time. “You should ride my dick next time.”

You can't stop your chuckle, and he grins as he leaves and closes the door.

You don't know how long you stayed on that mattress staring at the ceiling, remembering the whole night over and over again. You just know that when you finally got back to your room and finally let the tiredness get to you, it didn't take long for Nami to wake you up for the day.

Your body was sore; there were purple marks on your neck, thighs, and butt but everything was fine. When you arrived in the kitchen to have breakfast, he was there, like every day, but this time there was a tiny bit of difference in the way he said good morning to you.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Dirty Alphabet - Eustass

Eustass Kid x Female Reader

*This one I got carried away cause he's my boo lol 🥵❤️‍🔥🫦*

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you're already in a relationship he will be a big snuggler but don't you dare mention it or he'll deny it. If it's a casual/ one night stand thing he'd probably see if you wanna go get drinks…or just bounce up outta there. Lol

B = Breath Play (do they like it done to them or doing the deed)

Loves choking you and knowing he's so strong he could crush your windpipe buttt he's a kinky man so he loves it if you return the favor when you're riding his cock. Your smaller hands trying to squeeze even just the smallest amount of oxygen makes him grunt and groan out curses.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Big mess maker for sure!! Wants to fill you with cum but also wants to cover you in it too. Smear that shit along with your makeup till you're a big sloppy mess that he can tease. If you swallow so be it but he loves shooting it on that pretty face of yours. Also he cums A LOT! So be prepared!

D = Dirtiest Kink (what they think is their dirtiest kink)

Wants to tag team you with Killer which you expected but the real secret is that he thought of sharing you with Law and Luffy. He doesn't know why but the thought plagues his brain. Maybe it's the fighting they've done together in Wano that drew him to the idea but he'll never admit it to you…maybe he'll tell Killer though.

E = Exhibitionist? (Do they like being watched)

Loves attention!!! Watch him all you want but don't think he'll be shy about it baby. That man will solo masturbate and talk you out of your panties in a second to join him. Also loves watching you as well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything to showcases his strength and his big dick. Full nelson, mating press to keep you pinned down and feel his entire length. Also pronebone so you can't push him off and his big arms can cage you in how he likes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Will crack jokes but always in a teasing way as he's fucking you into the mattress. If you try to make an embarrassing joke though just expect him to scowl.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I wanna say kind of trimmed cause he looks like he manscapes but he likes having a happy trail of red hair leading to the ‘main treat’.

Idk why but I feel like if you didn't shave he'd go feral. 🤷‍♀️ Idk why lol but I think you not following the usual beauty standards would drive him literally insane lol

I = Initiation (how do they get you going? Vice versa )

He's a horn ball 24/7 so he's super handsy and if he's not touching you he'll spill pure filth no matter who's around. His crew gets a kick out of it but if they try and make comments to you best believe they'll be thrown overboard or spending their time scrubbing their own blood off the deck.

J = Jealous (how do they get when jealous )

It's Kidd…he's territorial. I can totally see him getting jealous and storming off somewhere. But if you've been together a long time he's not asking questions just grabbing you and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to punish you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation Kink! He loves the both of you being fucked out beyond the point of words, shaking and drooling from round after round.

Corruption Kink! If you're a good girl, best believe he wants to change that. Wants to turn you into a horny ticking time bomb, literally desires to turn that shy exterior into a handsy sex machine just like him.

Glasses glasses glasses!!! If you wear glasses it makes you look nerdy/sweet which plays into his corruption Kink and now he can't help but picture what they'll look like covered in his cum. (Totally self indulgent but IDC it's my page lol)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. This man has no shame when it comes to sex on his ship, hell he'll even fuck you in an alley way. Weirdly doesn't like you being seen though so he'll pick positions that he can cover you with his big body. Even covering your mouth so no one can hear the sweet sounds you make for him only.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's always horny but loves when you get just as handsy as him though. If you do try flirting he'll make you work for it just to see how far and bold you get.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Can't really think of anything this man won't do tbh lol 🤣 He's a freaky freak.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves fucking your face but loves eating pussy, it's his favorite meal. Ask him and he'll be honest.🥵 So sit on his face and then you both can devour each other.

P = Pace (rough and fast, slow and soft)

Depends on his mood. He's always rough but sometimes he'll fuck you slow with deep mind numbing thrusts till you're begging for him. Yet other times he'll fuck you fast and hard till you're shaking and drunk on his cock.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes yes yes. Whenever and however many he can get from you he's down.

R = Rope (shibari, bondage? Do they like it?)

Yup whether giving or receiving that man is down. He's a big boy who can take you whipping him or even slapping him across the face while he's tied up. But won't go as hard on you as you can go on him. He knows his strength but won't push yours unless you beg of course.

S = Sharing? (Are they willing to share you?)

Depends on who it is. If it's Killer, absolutely lol If he's having a captains talk with Law and Luffy and they just so happen to mention you he'll freak out in a feral lust but ultimately it's up to you of course.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He makes his own of course. He's a craftsman with many skills and desires so of course he'll come up with something.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The meanest 🥵 teasing you till you're pouting and begging for relief

V = Voyeur (do they like to watch)

Yup yup! He'll even join you in giving him a show lol

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If you wear heels, step on him! Not in a submissive way but more in a, “I'm strong those pointy heels won't do shit” type of way. It's like a play on a pain fetish and heel/foot fetish. The feeling of your heels scratching at his shoulders make his groans so much raspier. Will also kiss along your ankles when you wear them telling you how hot they look.

If your feet end up hurting while you walk he'll just toss you over his shoulder before you can even think of removing them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick baby~ heavy dick and veiny with big breeding balls 🤷‍♀️ just saying the man cums alot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always on go!!!!

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

His brain can be pretty active so it takes him a minute tbh but he'll cuddle you to sleep and fall out shortly after.