#looks like a fisherman hat

[jihef03]

Why does he look like blitzed out of his mind

[yuwuta]

childhood friends to lovers with yuuji is like he’s five and he catches frogs in the lake near his house on weekends fishing w his grandpa and brings them to you like a courting gift (and gets sad when his grandpa tells him he’s got to let them go again, but yuuji promises to catch even more for you next weekend). he’s six and learns he likes to cook and starts making snacks for you and always sits next to you at lunch to give them to you. he’s seven and very definitive that you’re his best friend in the whole world and he doesn’t leave your side during class or lunch or recess or ever. he’s eight and you’re much better at reading than him, but he’s not jealous or upset because that means sometimes you read the harder books to/with him and he learns he loves hearing your voice when you read out loud. he’s nine when he learns he’s got an older brother and even tho he takes to choso quickly, he doesn’t really trust him until you meet choso and declare that you think he’s cool. he’s ten and that summer you go away to sleep away camp for the first time and yuuji cries the first night you’re gone, but choso helps him write and mail letters to you while you’re away, and every weekend yuuji is up 8am to greet the mailman and receive his letter back from you.

he’s eleven when you both start middle school and it’s the first time you both aren’t in the same homeroom, but that doesn’t stop yuuji—he’s sitting by your desk before you even get to school, he’s outside of your classroom before lunch, walks to your classroom after lunch, the first face you see. he’s twelve the first time he realizes that you’re pretty—you’ve always been pretty, but this is different; you’re pretty like sunlight, pretty like his favorite meal, pretty like feeling of coming home. you’re thirteen the first time you get a love letter on valentine’s day, but it’s not from yuuji—it’s another boy in your homeroom that yuuji doesn’t like very much and he never knew why until that day.

once he learns he likes to cook, he starts making snacks for you and gives them to you at lunch and it escalates into packing you bentos almost every day when you two start high school. he’s sixteen when prom rolls around and he’s rocking on his heels asking you to go with him—“as friends, you know haha. if you want, since you’re not going with anybody else and—well megumi and nobara are doing the same thing so i thought? maybe it would work for us, too?”—and when you say yes he tries to play it cool but he jumps and clicks his heels on his way to run and tell megumi about it (and then choso takes approximately 400 pictures of you and yuuji before you two head off to the dance).

it’s not until he’s twenty and a junior in college, and you’ve caught your first sort of serious boyfriend cheating that yuuji finally says something. he always says he wishes it was more romantic, but even now at twenty-six as you watch yuuji laugh with everyone at your rehearsal dinner, and look the collage of pictures choso has proudly displayed, you can’t help but think that it was the perfect confession—that everything about yuuji has always been perfect and that you’re beyond lucky to have him. and when yuuji catches your eye across the table, he smiles all dopey again like he’s five and just caught that frog for you for the first time and you’ve become the center of his world all over again.

[limonenelieu]

I have a face! Here’s me in an arcade and me with my boss’s dog Bella :)

[mactiir]

in HEMA (aka historical european fencing), much of the sport is done with fencing masks on, so identifying your clubmates during sparring or tourneys is just based on gear. you know, what color their jacket and pants are, what patches they have on it, how is their mask painted. If someone borrows someone else's jacket it's legitimately jarring, like having someone with an entirely different body type and way of moving stealing your friend's face.

Once i read about historical fishermen in the north sea and how they each had a specific hat pattern that their buddies would use to identity them while they were bundled up. It was so much part of their identity that they were often buried wearing those hats. The gear is like your name, a visual identifier of YOU when you do not have a face.

anyway, back when I was buying gear i got my pants in ELECTRIC blue. I figured i was gonna get a black or grey jacket. but HEMA gear is kind of expensive because it's all custom- or handmade, so instead of spending $400 on a new jacket I picked up one secondhand for like 20. Except the only jacket that fit me was bright, SCARLET red. And I already had my expensive, new, custom, BLUE pants. I look like a damn rocket pop or like, a mixed Icee. I was like, shit! I should switch my jacket before i become the rocket pop guy!!!

Long story short, not only am I now the rocket pop guy, the color scheme has bled into my entire wardrobe. Every-fucking-thing I own is red and blue. I look like a french revolutionary. I look like a founding father in a school play. I have become a northern fisherman in my stripey hat. Now, even if I DO get a new jacket, I feel like I GOTTA buy it in red, yk? Otherwise they won't recognize me. Maybe I won't recognize me. I'm the rocket pop guy!!!

[specshroom]

*°~There are many benefits to being a mage~°*

Includes: Fem reader x male orc, size kink, "human fetish", friends to more?

In which: Orc with a big problem confides in his mage friend who decides to help him out with a useful spell~🪄

You've been in this town for quite a while now, almost 3 years. That wasn't the original plan but It just so happened that this seaside town was more welcoming than many places you've been to on your travels. It sits at the coast of two major trade routes, connecting people of many different walks of life.

The friendliness and diversity you experienced allowed you to make a few friends you might not have otherwise.

Like the one you're sharing breakfast with right now. His name is Grimmok and he's the self-proclaimed, "Best fisherman in this damn town". He's your typical young, burley orc.

The first time you met him was in the local pub, you were intrigued when a crowd formed infront of the huge orc. He was dramatically telling one of his fisherman's tales and the small crowd hung onto his every word. He was a very good story teller and you happened to be very interested in folklore and myths. You made a habit of just walking up to him, if he didn't look busy and asking him to tell you a story. Soon it wasn't uncommon to see you sitting on the docks listening and writing intently as he waxes on about some old wives tale while repairing his nets.

Now you sit in his home, eating breakfast while he grumbles on about having to train a new fishing boy.

"The boy gets distracted by the smallest things, every time someone even resembling female walks past the docks he's panting like a dog." Grimmok bites into his ridiculously large breakfast sandwich signaling the end of his rant.

He did look more grumpy than usual when he opened the door to let you in for your weekly Sunday breakfast. His shoulder length black hair was tied into a hasty half up half down bun and his stubble looked more scruffy than usual. You can only huff in amusement at his troubles.

"Cmon, don't be too harsh on the kid. You did the same thing with Rosie Cotton, remember?"

The orc stills and huffs indignantly, scratching at his neck. This makes you grin.

"Mhm, you'd be telling me a story and then just stop in the middle of a sentence. I'd look up and sure enough there's Miss Rosie walking on by. Fiery hair flowing in the wind, cleavage spilling out her dress, swaying those hips and-"

Grimmok interrupts your overdramatic musing by flicking your pointy hat off your head.

"Hey!"

"You're acting like you didn't like looking at her too." The big guy grumbles almost like a child. He wipes his hands on his plaid pajama pants and picks up his empty plate, heading towards the sink.

You lean down to pick your hat off the floor, dust it off and mumble,

"Yeah, but I never got to bed her."

The dishes in the sink clatter a little too loudly as he tenses up. You hardly try to stifle your laugh.

"We didn't actually...she was...too small... For me to...." The orc struggles out as he wipes his plate clean.

It's quiet for a minute until you ask.

"But she did try, right? I'm pretty sure that counts, Grim."

The orc just grumbles something unintelligible. You want to sympathise with the poor guy but imagining Rosie Cotton, a "short stack" type of woman, trying to fit his massive green cock in her little pussy was pretty erotic.

"I want to feel bad for you mate but you kind of bring this on yourself. You obviously have a bit of a human fetish."

"It's not a-" The orc goes to defend himself but stops and just sighs when he realises it's no use.

"...and a size kink to boot." You mumble with toast in your mouth.

"I can't help it if I think horny humans trying desperately to take my cock is literally the hottest thing to me!" Grimmok finally lets the dam of sexual frustration burst after you've done a sufficient amount of poking at it. You always were good at getting him to actually talk about his problems.

"But the problem comes in when I actually have to fuck them, they can barely take half! How am I supposed to fuck them!? I'm too big! I'd kill them!"

You can't help but choke on your toast as a cackle forces itself from your throat. "Sorry. I'm sorry!" You struggle between snorts. Your big green friend just stands there with a grimace, arms crossed as he waits for you to finish.

You sigh and wipe your watering eyes. "Well, I'm glad you've confided in me because now I can help you." You wipe your hands clean and stand up from the orc sized table.

"You know that cool thing I can do with my hat?" You take your hat off and reach inside of it, the magic pocket space allowing you to reach your whole arm inside of it when you physically shouldn't be able to.

He nods sceptically still leaning against the sink, a bit concerned about where this is going. He thought by "help" you meant like you were going to pep talk him or something.

"We just have to do this but with...." You gesture down to your crotch.

Grim stands there, mouth slightly agape, blinking at you.

"I mean it's not exactly the same obviously." You pull your trusty spell book out of the hat before placing it back on your head while the pages of the spell book fly open to the page you want. "You basically draw this sigil on someone and then they'll be able to take whatever they can push inside no matter how big. Girth might still be an issue though..."

You explain this to him like you've explained many other spells, like you're reading him a recipe, deliberating what ingredients would work best. He doesn't even know how to react honestly.

"You're serious?"

You clap the book shut and adjust your hat on your head, smugly shrugging,

"This is what I do."

The poor guy just stumbles in disbelief.

"Magic, I mean.... Magic is what I do." You correct yourself a bit awkwardly and clear your throat, regaining your confidence.

"It's a pretty easy spell so we can try this whenever you want really."

"We?"

"Alright! Alright."

"Well yeah, unless you want me to go up to Rosie Cotton and say "Hey love, you mind if I put this sigil on your womb so my friend can finally pound your tight little-"

Grimmok rubs his face with his hands, sighing again and looking unsure. You lean against the sink next to him, barely coming up to his pecs.

"Look, it'll just be a one time thing so you can actually see if human pussy's all that and if you like it, I'm sure we can find plenty of humans who would love to try it out."

"...Alright. That sounds good."

You give a slap to his thick bicep and an encouraging "ata boy."

"and if you don't like this one, I'm sure I could find a spell that'll just make you..." He doesn't miss how you glance down at his crotch. "Smaller."

He huffs and pushes your shoulder playfully, he liked how you could always joke away the tension in any given situation. You walk up to the big wooden chair you were sitting at a second ago and pull it away from the table so that it's facing outward, struggling a bit as it's very much orc sized like most things in his house.

"Cmon. Sit."

You pat the chair, looking at him expectantly.

"Now?"

He's really not used to other people being so forward especially not when it's his mate. You shrug at him.

"Why not? I mean we can wait till you're ready, I don't mind. I have literally all day."

You put your hands behind your back and rock on your feet as you both just stand in his kitchen for about a minute...waiting. He eventually huffs and steels himself, fully committing to the idea and walking over to plop himself in the chair. He's going to put his dick inside one of his best mates.

You place your hat on the table so it doesn't get in the way of your activity and step in front of him. You levitate your spell book In front of you, looking down at the page with the sigil that's way more familiar than you're letting on.

"Okay, I'll face this way so it's less....personal." You turn around so your back is facing him. "You do still need to take off your pants though."

He smacks his teeth, "I figured that." He mumbles, pushing his soft pajama pants down to his mid thighs, immediately freeing his cock as he wasn't wearing underwear. He leaves his white long sleeve on, the sleeves folded to his elbows, giving you a perfect tease of his thick strong arms and multiple tattoos. When he looks back at you and sees that you've already disappeared your pants, he quickly looks away.

Sensing his nervousness you ask with a softer voice than before,

"can I sit?"

He clears his throat before grumbling a "Yeah."

You gently lean down and sit your naked ass onto his lap, legs open wide over his own you can see his half hard cock laying between his legs but try not to stare. Obviously Grimmock is a big guy but he's even big by orc standards so of course his cock is massive even when he isn't fully hard.

Grimmock clears his throat and jolts you out of your thoughts. You adjust a bit on top of him feeling his happy trail against your lower back. Your eyes skim the page levitating in front of you, when you finally find the incantation passage you straighten up and start chanting the ancient words in the text. Your eyes glow and the air feels static, Grim has seen magic before but the novelty never truly wears off.

An intricate shape starts to form right above your pubic bone, where your womb would be. The sigil glows brightly on your skin as Grim peers from above your head to look at it. At first glance he thinks it looks a bit demonic but then remembers he doesn't know anything about magic and decides not to mention it. When the sigil is complete you clap the book shut, immediately cutting off the static energy in the room and startling him in the process.

"That should do it."

You place the book on the table and lean back against his clothed chest, feeling the tension in his body not letting up.

"Damn, I can't believe little Miss Rosie took half of this. What a lass."

Your joke lightens the mood once again as Grimmock scoffs at you. Feeling him relax, you bring your hand down to finally touch the wetness that's been growing for awhile now. "We should still do some prep before you put it in. Is that alright?"

He nods and watches your hand disappear between your thighs. You readjust so that your boot clad feet are on either side of the chair rests. Opening yourself up to the air and to him, he can see you've already got two fingers pushing inside. He hesitates before reaching for his cock and slowly starting to stroke himself under you but it was painfully clear he was holding back.

"I know I'm not as short or.... endowed as Miss Cotton but I could put on a red wig if you'd like."

Grim huffed a laugh at the mental image of that.

"Oh wow~ Grimmie, you're soooo big and strong~"

You say in a high pitched voice (that doesn't sound anything like Rosie Cotton), using her embarrassing pet name while looking up at him and batting your eyelashes dramatically.

Grim scoffs and holds his hand over your mouth "Stop playing around." He tries to sound serious but his smile and the grumble in his chest betrays him. You laugh against his hand holding his wrist. You slowly pull his hand off your mouth and inch it gradually down your body giving him ample time to pull away. He doesn't and you move his hand to rub against your wet pussy ever so gently.

You're both looking into each other's eyes, this was not supposed to be so intimate but it doesn't look like he minds when he takes charge and slowly eases two fingers inside your aching pussy. His thick fingers stretch your pussy so good as you lightly buck into his hand, greedy pussy already hungry for more. The way he's looking down at you with so much need gets you so hot inside. A heat that only increases when he starts pumping his fingers in and out. Grim works you open with one hand and pumps his fat cock with the other.

This entire situation has you pent up and impatient so you pull his hand away and sit up, "I can take it now." He can't help but groan at your words but remains concerned at the perceived lack of prep. Whenever he fools around with humans most of the engagement is spent just doing prep so he's more than a little worried, "Are you sure?"

You don't reply as you gently take his fully hard cock from his hand, holding it up against your stomach to see how far inside you this thing could go. You both groan at the comparison between his ridiculously massive dick and your body, he reaches way past your belly button and into your stomach. Definitely more than a human could safely take. You adjust your legs so that you're almost squatting on his lap, your feet plant on the seat on either side of his hips.

You support yourself with your hand resting on the seat between his legs and lift yourself so you can rub your wetness along the length of his cock. He brings his rough hands to hold your hips gently, not applying pressure but just resting there so he can have something to hold.

You lift yourself up until his tip is in-line with your entrance, slowly rubbing it against your clit. You both groan lightly when the tip pops in and you slowly ease yourself down his cock. He's amazed at how easy your cunt swallows him. You pause half way down to adjust and give a few pumps to the rest of him before your hand leaves his cock to settle next to your other hand on the chair in front of you. He squeezes your hips a little in silent concern and you smile before easing the rest of him in, gently descending until you reach the hilt. Your pubes kiss his and he can't help but let out a weak moan at the sight and feeling of you taking all of him. Finally feeling tight walls grip the entire length of his cock has him reeling. You're overwhelmed as well, It's been a while since you've taken someone this big.

You slowly circle your hips around so that you really feel his cock against your walls deep inside you, you're obviously very pleased with yourself. Grim is seeing stars, eyes shut, head tilted back, trying to regain himself even a little while his literal dreams are coming true.

"Well, we know it works. I guess that's it then." You move to lift yourself off his cock as if your work is done.

"Nononono, Please no. Please."

Comes Grim's hasty but soft displeasure, both his thick arms circle around your waist to keep you in place as he leans against your back, head resting on your shoulder.

"What's the matter big guy?" You lean into his chest, stroke his arm and turn your head to look at him. He huffs, you know exactly what's the matter. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head to look at you.

"I need you."

Your heart jumps in your chest.

"I need you to fuck me...please."

You look up at him, wide eyes, mouth agape as he looks back down at you. The moment is almost sweet until your mouth forms into an evil grin and you snicker softly, a dreadfully familiar mischievous glint in your eyes. Grim closes his eyes and almost regrets all the choices that lead him here.

"Riiight~. I almost forgot, this is probably the first time you've actually been able to fuck someone sooo much smaller than you."

"Poor guy, you must be so pent up, huh?"

You reach down to gently hold his massive ballsack, making him suck in a breath and twitch his thighs.

All he can do is let out a choked moan of your name which only makes you chuckle.

"I can really play the part for you, if you'd like. Y'know the, "Ah, your so deep!" and "You're filling this human pussy up so good!""

You laugh when you feel his dick twitch. Poor Grim can only grip your waist and try to keep his hot face from getting hotter. He looks down at you with pleading eyes and you decide you're not so evil after all. You pat his arms and move them so he's holding your waist. He startles a little when you playfully kiss him on the cheek.

"I've got you big guy."

You lean forward again with your feet under you and start to lift yourself up very slowly until the top of his cock is juuust about to pop out. Your thighs burn as you stay there for a few seconds, teasing Grim and yourself. Grim thinks he might actually cry if you don't move.

Suddenly you grip the edge of the chair and force yourself down hard on his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt in one hard thrust. You both groan very loudly, he downright yelps with the sudden movement. You grip the chair and clench around him so hard he can't help the way he grips your waist tightly. One hand covers his mouth as he tips his head back and tries to not cum immediately. He tries to regain his breathing but you have other plans. You can feel him twitch inside you and a desperate need to be filled engulfs you.

You start thrusting up and down on his dick, moving your whole body up and down his length. It's a good thing he can't see your face because you are enjoying this way too much. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you bite your lip, the sensation of being filled to the literal brim is intoxicating. You work yourself and him so diligently, it's no time before your thrusts become more frantic and you're right at the peak. With one final deliberate thrust you cum hard around him, clenching and unclenching like you're trying to milk him dry.

You both moan freely now, though his are more like growls. Your pulsing walls quickly lead him to his own climax, holding you close to his chest and thrusting up into your cunt, spilling hot seed deep inside your womb. You shake and squirm even more with the blissful feeling of your walls being coated with his spend.

After a few moments of you two spasming and twitching you eventually ease up and fall limply against his chest, adjusting your thighs to rest on top of his again. You breathe out a long sigh and bask in the fullness of your cunt, stroking your stomach up and down.

You're blissfully unaware of the knowing smirk that grows on his face. He cards his fingers through his hair, composing himself a little more. His warm hand joins yours in caressing up and down the expanse of your stomach and chest, loving how small you feel in his hold.

"You've done this before." His voice comes out in a low growl that makes you shiver, not expecting it. You crane your head up to see him smirking down at you and all you can do is sit and stare. He chuckles deeply,

"There ain't no way, this is your first time taking a cock this size."

You stumble for words but none come out. His hands caress your thighs and one hand comes up to gently hold your jaw. He leans down really close to your face.

"You're a size queen."

You suck in a breath and your pussy clenches involuntarily around his cock which you only noticed now hasn't gone down at all. Grim laughs louder this time.

"I should've known the second you pulled out that spellbook."

You sit there, quite embarrassed at being caught. You smack his hand away from your waist.

"Shut up, you're the one with the-"

"Yes, we both know about my kinks, you teased me about it enough which is very hypocritical of you."

Grim is just loving the way you fluster and fumble for words right now.

"Oh, so you don't have a thing for inhumanly huge cock?"

He challenges and uses both his hands to bring your naked thighs to your chest, exposing your pussy, leaking with his seed.

"So you don't like the way I stretch and fill this little human pussy?"

You can't help but whine at his dirty words and the position he's binding you into. His cock adjusting inside of you, hitting a new spot.

"If you don't, I guess I could just pull out and-"

"Nonononono... Grim Cmon."

You frantically babble your disagreement, shaking your head. He chuckles again, very pleased with himself at turning the tables on you but thankfully for you he's not as evil as you are and his dick is still painfully hard.

"Alright Darlin, I'll take care of you."

He lifts himself from the chair, leaving a puddle of both of you when he stands. He comforts your whines when he pulls out to set you ass up on the table and just stands at the edge, one hand on his hip and the other leisurely stroking his cock.

You look back at him with confusion, expecting him to just fuck you over the table already.

"If you ask nicely."

He says looking real smug, you sigh in defeat and turn your body so that you're facing him. You disappear the rest of your clothes, leaving you stark naked on the large kitchen table you were just eating breakfast at. That realisation makes him pump his cock harder.

You press your knees as close to your chest as possible and bring your hands down to your puffy, leaking pussy. You spread your folds for him with your fingers and say, as sexily as you can manage.

"Please fuck me Grim."

Grim is so fucking floored, he's cursing himself for not thinking of doing this sooner. He sighs and pumps his cock harder, lining the leaking tip up to your pussy lips. He eases it inside and the new position makes for a new sensation for both of you as different spots are brushed and tension melts away. Once he's balls deep again he gently worms his arm underneath your back to lift you up with ease. You wrap your arms around his neck for support being mindful not to pull his hair. Suddenly you're face to face, looking into his eyes for the first time since you started.

You look into his dark eyes and they relax you, this is your best friend, you trust him. His eyes leave yours to stare at your parted lips. When he sees that familiar quirk on your lips he looks back to your eyes, catching the mischievous glint. You lean closer so that your noses are just brushing against eachother. You feel his breath hitch when your lips meet his. He spares no time getting into it and moves his lips against yours. You make out while he adjusts your body in his hold, one hand on your ass and the other on your waist.

He then, without warning, lifts you up and brings you down hard thrusting the whole length of his cock into you in one hearty thrust. You break from the sloppy kiss for a moment to groan out in absolute ecstasy, loving the way he takes the lead from you effortlessly. He brings down your whole body to meet his upwards thrusts. The way he's basically using your entire body like a fleshlight makes you embarrassingly horny.

It feels like it's been years since you were fucked like this, the way your body is reacting, so sensitive you're sure you could cum again any minute. This is exasperated greatly when he brings you closer to his chest with one arm locked around you so that he can worm his other hand in-between you two and rub at your engorged clit.

You grab at his wrist as he frantically works you to your climax, you basically scream when you finally reach that high. Clenching and shaking on his cock while he holds you up with his buff arms. You cling into him so tightly, getting drool on his shirt. You even squirt a little, getting your wetness all over his cock and the floor. Your intense climax once again has him reeling. The sight of you clinging onto him, squirting and losing yourself on his cock makes his balls clench painfully as his frantic thrusts turn faster and sloppier. He reaches his climax as he holds you close, groaning into your neck, pumping another thick load deep into you.

You both stay like that for a while, coming down from your respective highs. Your fingers slowly unclench from his shirt moving down to lazily caress his chest, feeling it move with his breaths as you rest your head on his shoulder.

He slowly manoeuvres your legs so he can sit back down on the chair, holding you to his chest. His hand strokes down your back as you both soak in the warm, tranquil after glow. His breathing evens out to a steady rhythm and your eyes flutter closed.

Knock knock knock

You both jolt awake and stare at each other wide eyed and then at the front door, which is very much visible from the kitchen. You both stay quiet and he holds you closer to hide your fully naked body if the rude intruder somehow manages to break the door down.

Knock knock knock

"Uhh Mr Grimmock Sir?"

The tension in Grim's body sags when he hears who's on the other side of the door. A hand goes to massage his impending migraine.

"BOY! What do you want?!"

You can imagine the way the poor fishing boy cringes at the anger in Grim's voice.

"Sorry Sir, I was wondering if you could give me some extra lessons on the boat?"

Grim growls in frustration, you chuckle in amusement and start kissing up his neck which settles him down a little.

"Tomorrow lad, it's Sunday."

"But I was-"

"Tomorrow."

The finality in his tone seems to get through to the young man as he mutters an "Alright Sir, see you then." Before walking off, his steps getting lighter and lighter.

"He doesn't want to work all week but suddenly he wants to work on Sunday?!"

Grim's irritation is clear as he gestures to the door incredulously. You can't help but laugh at the orcs misfortune. You settle your arms around his broad shoulders, one hand playing with his hair as his hand begins to stroke down your back again.

"Thank you for...helping out"

He says, quite genuinely.

"Anytime."

You throw him a thumbs up and he has to laugh and shake his head at the award winning nonchalance. When the amusement fades though he leans forward in the chair and brings his hands lower to cup your ass cheeks.

"Anytime?"

You can feel his soft cock gradually hardening inside your pussy and you look up at him in utter disbelief.

"Unbelievable."

You shake your head and chastise him but the smile that breaks on your face rats you put. He grins and lifts you up, walking out of the kitchen. His mouth marks up your neck and his stubble tickles, dull tusks dig into the sensitive skin.

"Just unbelievable."

You mutter to yourself again as your legs hug around his waist tighter and you feel his cum dripping out of your hole, leaving a trail all the way to his bedroom.

[applewatersugar]

4t2 Movie Star Hair by @goamazons w/o Fisherman Hat by @softerhaze + TheTeddyBearD by @igorstory

Saw a post of these ccs together on pinterest, like a week ago and I just HAD TO convert these to the sims 2, because they look saur good!

☆ Informations ☆

Movie Star Hair TM-EM | 7,6k poly | Compressed | Animated Original CC HERE! Movie Star Hair with Fisherman Hat TM-EM | 4,3k poly | Compressed | Animated Original CC HERE!

The Teddy BearD Y/AM-EM | 698 poly | Compressed | Facial sliders & animations compatible Original CC HERE!

☆ Downloads ☆ Movie Star Hairstyles - SimFileShare | MediaFire

The Teddy Bear Beard - SimFileShare | MediaFire

[haztory]

i’m a firm believer that john price, while he loves to take care of his lady and spoil her endlessly, is not a fan of seeing her reduced down to a baby.

if he’s into daddy kinks, it’s with the premise of you making him a daddy just as he will make you a mommy. if he’s spanking you, it’s not as a means of punishment but instead because it riles you up. he’s not into feeling abnormally ancient within a relationship dynamic, he actually quite likes when his woman is on par with him— intellectually, maturity, physically. he doesn’t like infantilization because he’s not into girls, he’s into women. sturdy ones that can hold their own and dish out as much as they can take.

it comes with its occasional drawbacks, however. the one—and only time— john ever lost his temper and yelled at you (not because you made him angry but because work is stressful, and his last assignment left him having a hard time readjusting to home, and you’ve been so patient, and he’s frustrated that he just can’t be what you need him to be) it was a staunch reminder that this is not a fling with some naive girl who idolizes him for his age and stature. he’s in a relationship. an adult one.

you’re staring at him, a brow raised and a stern look on your face as the echoes of his shout settle in the room. it’s a kind of glare that is only etched out by mothers to their disobedient children. stilling and telling of how exactly you feel about john’s outburst. there is no reason for gnashing teeth and snarling bites when you’re asking how you can best support him. and while you know in your head he doesn’t mean it, it still doesn’t excuse it.

“let’s put a pause in this, cause clearly we’re not going to get anywhere.” you say, voice carefully neutral but he can see the rage bubbling in your gaze, “why don’t you go take a walk, and when we’re both calm, we can discuss this further.”

and he hates the therapy speak, the measured and careful approach to emotions— it’s ridiculous, almost insulting. you’re treating him like a child, an explosive time bomb when both comparisons could be further from the truth. he’s the expert in bomb handlings, for christ’s sake. but he listens, grabbing his keys and a cigar and stepping out the door with an annoyed huff.

time and space, john begrudgingly admits, works wonders on a irritated mind. he finds his error in the mist of vexed thoughts and irrational moods, tempers it down with a long drag of his cigar and the wash of brandy at the pub. and he’s remorseful, incredibly so as he walks through the threshold of your home when the sun is setting to find you in the loveseat, book in hand and dinner simmering on the stove. you spare him a quick glance before returning to your novel, nothing further said.

he stands at the door, shameful and cognizant of his idiocy. he’s removing his fisherman beanie from the top of his head and moves to stand before you on your place on the couch. it has you closing your book, laying it down on your lap as you turn your attention to the man.

“i’m sorry.” he says lowly, eyes fixed on the hat in his hand as he picks a stray string on the fabric. “i shouldn’t have shouted at you. there was no need for that.”

your eyes stare knowingly into his, understanding written all over your face and while it’s a relief to see, it’s only a further iteration of what he’s come to realize—you are not just anyone. you’re someone who he wants to build his home with, navigate through terse and stormy waters with because you’re the perfect balance to the man who tries so hard to balance it all. it’s not perfect, but you don’t care about that. you don’t need perfect, have never demanded it to be—you strive for healthy. you model it by example, and you’ve whipped him into shape for it.

“it’s hard adjusting right now.”

“i know,” you tell him softly. your hands grab at his, pulling him down to his knees so you can see him at your level. you place your hands on the sides of his face, bringing him in for a gentle and sweet kiss. “if it’ll help, i can give you some space. a couple of days, i can go stay with my parents—“

“no.” he’s quick to shoot it down, shaking his head and rubbing his hands up and down the tops of your thighs, “i want you with me. i’m better when you’re with me.”

“okay.” you give him another gentle kiss. “thank you for apologizing. are you ready to eat some dinner or do you want to freshen up first?”

either choice doesn’t matter, he’d rather do whatever it is that you’re doing.

so yeah, john likes women who put him in his place. it turns him on a bit.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships. 

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing. 

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel. 

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe. 

For years they did this until they were gone too. 

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time. 

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman. 

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder. 

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance. 

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more. 

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified. 

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you. 

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders. 

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away. 

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind. 

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock. 

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation. 

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you. 

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind? 

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant. 

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back. 

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel. 

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt. 

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all. 

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued. 

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned. 

Nothing. 

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins. 

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting. 

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south. 

And then you lock eyes once more. 

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself. 

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him. 

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

 “Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.” 

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements. 

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples. 

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?” 

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself. 

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills. 

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear. 

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before. 

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.” 

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind. 

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?” 

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching. 

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly. 

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in. 

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising. 

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave. 

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze. 

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.” 

Your tight arms somewhat loosen. 

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships. 

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living. 

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.” 

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back. 

He was…asking you? 

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.” 

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids. 

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting? 

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling. 

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle 

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart. 

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him. 

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still. 

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash. 

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face. 

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel. 

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish. 

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him. 

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck. 

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked. 

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head. 

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand. 

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings. 

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.” 

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.” 

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.” 

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden. 

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment. 

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them. 

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles. 

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.” 

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping. 

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you. 

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you. 

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?” 

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching. 

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch. 

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement. 

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up. 

Feels nice.  

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing. 

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following. 

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist. 

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t. 

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose. 

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.” 

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?” 

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look. 

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.” 

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening. 

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?” 

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does. 

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.” 

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips. 

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different. 

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment. 

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.” 

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship. 

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne. 

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.” 

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.” 

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt. 

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often. 

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle. 

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen. 

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder. 

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.” 

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—” 

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh. 

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…” 

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.” 

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?” 

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat. 

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction. 

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat. 

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

 “Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”  

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once. 

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers. 

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure. 

A dangerous mix of two different lives. 

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

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[physics-of-one-piece]

Since I did what Doflamingo does/says in I'll build castles for you, my love (look at me, not my brother) (Rosinante x Reader x Doflamingo WIP) I bring the aforementioned brother from the title and a snippet (which is before he dies but I wrote it and nearly cried, so I thought it was worth a share) with him:

Some NSFW mentions in the bulletpoints but nothing descriptive:

Gets into a first bath in a month with Law and bathes him, trips on the floor getting out the bath

trips and falls in his own house in a hurry to get the medicine for Law's fever

most softest 10 foot lover in the One Piece World but he absolutely can rock your world

always careful with his big hands

never holds himself to intimidate while home

has fun coloured sweaters and fun shirts

your favourite outfit of his is his blue dress shirt and white pants, he looks so FINE in that 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 also his marine uniform without the coat 🫠

watches you fuss over Law and cries

he kneels down to hug you, and always loves getting his hair ruffled by you

peppers you with kisses when he comes home

removes make-up and makes Law scream thinking he's Doflamingo

"Did you think my actual name was Donquixote Corazon? Cutee~"

when asked by Law who you are, Rosinante blushes, smiles goofily and chuckles, saying "She's... my wife."

insulted by Law saying to you, "You deserve better."

dances with you in the kitchen

finishes his jobs for Doflamingo early so he can spend the rest of the days he is supposed to be away with you, which means this man sails to you as much as he can

spent two weeks with you and got you pregnant in that timeframe

always bring a bouquet and chocolates and souvenirs from islands he visited when he comes home to you

puts you in a Silent bubble so you can scream your anger/frustration away

his Silent is literally your therapy and when you tell him his Devil Fruit is your favourite Devil Fruit, he grins so bright, the sun wishes it could shine like that

you meet him when he crashes into you

How many guys can say their clumsiness got them a wife? Not many. Exactly, Rosinante is built different.

cries every time you make him pancakes for breakfast

actually a solid cook, but he needs to be watched, always have water nearby

You call him Rosi or Rosinante

He blushes when you call him Corazón or Cora-san. Once roleplayed as his "pirate" persona, and he managed for five minutes before breaking character and you laughed for a good ten minutes

you can get as loud as you want in the bedroom within his Silent bubble 😉

you love his red hat

he can bake cookies and they're sent from heaven

has his own marine squad since he's a Commander and his crew is awesome (original characters but I like them, you'll see)

kills a Celestial Dragon that tries to kidnap you and makes it look like an assassination by pirates - Sengoku is on board with it

humble and sweet wedding day, Rosinante cried the whole time

loves cuddles & loves your cooking

cried of joy when getting a lunch box for his journey with Law from you

takes the secret he has a wife to his grave, never mentioned you to Doflamingo, never let Doflamingo find out about you (considering the chapters with Doflamingo that come, very clear why)

died not knowing you were pregnant, as even you didn't know it at the time (I'm so sorry 😭)

And here is the snippet:

Your face flashed in his mind.

Sorry, mi amor. thought Rosinante.

The red lenses that have by now become his brother’s eyes stared down at Rosinante coldly, red stained glass reflecting the falling snowflakes.

Guess I’m not coming back home this time.

Rosinante was going to make sure Law gets away. He could get himself to Eudai by paying a fisherman to get him there. He’d be safe there, and with any luck, he could then decide what he wanted to do with his life. He knew you wouldn’t ask Law to stay with you if Law didn’t want to. You were good at reading the kid like that.

Law was a smart cookie. He’d probably activate his Devil Fruit powers in an hour from now on and heal himself within a minute. Rosinante knew it. He believed in it.

Rosinante isn’t worried about anything, he isn’t afraid. He is grateful. He is so grateful to be here, in this moment, on the side he considers right.

Not on the marines’ side. Not on the pirates’ side.

On Law’s side. He was Law’s Corazón now, not Doflamingo’s.

You said such to him yourself. Law saw Rosinante as his guide, Law trusted him, had faith in him, just like you did. Law had become a part of Rosinante’s family, your small family Rosinante was the patriarch of, the protector of. Rosinante wasn’t fighting for the marines now, or for the pirates. He was fighting for a sick little boy because nobody else would, nobody else wanted to, nobody else thought to, except him and you.

You had guided him and supported him to become the man he is today, catching him by the hand before he could trip and fall the same way his brother did. 

He remembered the first time you tried to teach him how to dance with him, and he ended up stepping on both your feet. 

“I’m so sorry! Please give me another chance.”

You told him, “Just enjoy the dance.” before pulling him into your first dance together, and he did as you asked, letting his legs follow the beat and the song, and it turned out okay. He never stepped on your feet again.

Six months later, he was dancing with you every day in the living room of the house the two of you called home, pulling you into a dance on the field of blue forget-me-nots, your sweet, soft laughter caressing his ears.

Because of you, Rosinante knew he’d never lose his way. Because if he did, you’d set him straight, grip his hand so he doesn’t fall apart. 

You were the flag Rosinante carried in his heart.

He felt so lucky to have you. He was the clumsiest, luckiest man on the planet. He never thought his clumsiness would bring him to you.

Rosinante was happy. Donquixote Rosinante was the happiest man on earth. He didn’t need any treasure, or an army, or a country, or immortality, or the world. None of those things could ever make him happy as living with you and Law did.

And Rosinante realised it then; it was that Doflamingo lacked. He had a family, but he also didn’t. For a moment, Rosinante pitied his brother, even though his brother had done it to himself. To live without experiencing pure happiness, genuine happiness, without hurting anyone to attain it… 

It must hurt, Doffy. thought Rosinante sadly. You must be lonely.

Rosinante looks at his older brother, and for the last time, there is a pang of pain in his heart at the sight of what his older brother has become. 

Rosinante pulled out the pistol, aiming it at his big brother — at Doffy, at Doffy — pulling back the safety pin, knowing very well he wouldn’t press the trigger, and knowing very well his brother would.

Rosinante really wished he’d gotten to dance with you one more time. 

***

Word Count Report:

Currently, Rosinante's part (Part 1) is 8.4k words, Doflamingo's Part 2 is 13k words so that one might get separated into 2 parts to keep it a normal word count. Part 3 (also Doflamingo) is the shortest at 4k words but there is a lot left to write and plan for that part.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[youronlydarlin]

warning: crack! Local old man Price being drunk in love with you literally, Gaz being a bit sassy, Gaz being a cutie pie, fluffy

Never in your life did you think that you'd be getting a frantic call from Gaz in the late hours of the night. Telling you to come get the Captain's drunk ass from the pub.

It seemed almost out of character. But Price is struggling to keep himself upright while his arm is slinged over Kyle's shoulder, who looks like he's about ready to cry. You could compare yourself to an angel with the way Kyle looks at you as if you just took all his problems away. He slowly moves the Captain down to the floor, muttering something to him before helping him sit upright. And he doesn't even argue, looking like one of the passed out drunks in the dark alleyways.

Kyle rushes to your side and braces himself by holding on to both sides of your shoulder. He looks, and acts as if an angry mob carrying a bunch of pitchforks were just hot on his trail, quickly looking back to Price then to you, Price. Then, you again. You open your mouth to say something, before he beats you to it.

" You don't know know, but those folks in there were glaring at me like they wanted me DEAD."

He accentuates his words with quite a rough shake to your shoulders, making your vision swim for a moment.

"All because he."

Points an accusatory finger at Price.

"Wouldn't stop talkin' bout you."

The finger is now pointed at your chest. And he pants like that explanation just drained years from his life. You feel sorry, really. Though you weren't the one getting smashed in a pub, it still somehow felt like you had somewhat of a responsibility to keep your lover away from causing a disturbance.

So you tell Kyle a quick sorry, and a ‘I'll make it up to you, I swear. Which he teasingly answers with a 'you, better. Gesturing over to Price, Kyle gives you a nod before you two make your way over to the drunken man to help him on his feet. Even with both of your strengths combined it still proves as a tough job to make Price stand up. He's slightly slurring his words, something along the lines of "Piss off, m' taken..." You don't know. It's hard to make out anything when he's resting his whole weight on both of you. Nearly falling over when he almost trips on his own pair of wobbly legs.

It feels like you just had a boulder off your back when you finally managed to get him into the backseat of your parked car. Both you and Gaz taking a moment to straighten your backs, free from the suffocating weight of the man who's physique is comparable to a bear.

You feel even worse when Kyle immediately slumps to the passenger seat. You hope the night hasn't drained him out much, but by the looks of it, he's probably exhausted. Taking a moment to breath, you try and wrack your brain for a reason on why this happened in the first place. Or more rather, why Price decided to suddenly drink himself to oblivion. Climbing into the drivers seat you offer a small tired smile to Kyle which he offers back.

"M' really sorry for the trouble he's caused.."

He gives a breathy chuckle. Looking slightly guilty himself.

"Don't be. I should've taken it as a bad sign when the Captain's already downed three shots in a minute.."

You both laugh at that, before Kyle tips his head to the Price's direction. Oh yeah, better check up on him. You turn in your seat to get a better view of your lover. He has his head down, fisherman hat slightly obscuring his handsome face, and you really can't stay mad at him. Not like you were even mad in the first place. You're sure he has his reasons.

"Hey, hubby..."

You say, and it sounds so gentle, and soft that it's immediately grabbed at his attention. You try and place a hand on his thigh, when all of a sudden he smacks it away.

...

You're left dumbfounded, eyes blown wide. And Gaz looks as every bit as surprised as you are. Mouth agape, hand slightly hovering over it like he had just witnessed a scandal.

"My partner's gonna get mad if you touch me like that, and m' not interested."

He stubbornly says. Turning his face, and body away from you like a child throwing a tantrum.

You have half a mind to hit him on the head for not recognizing you. But you'd rather not start anything in the car, especially in front of Gaz who looks like he's just watched both of his parents fight.

You sigh, admitting defeat, and starting the car, opting to just let Price explain once he's sober. Minutes pass and you're on your way home, Kyle's tapping away on his phone. Occasionally chatting with you, and aside from the fact that Price is now squeezing himself on the farthest corner of the vehicle to get away from you, you can say that the atmosphere's a lot less tense now. More bearable, at least.

You try communicating with Price again. See if he'll give you a proper answer this time.

"You know, never did l think I'd see you absolutely shitfaced after a night out in the pub.."

You say to him. Surprisingly, he answers you. Albeit a bit gruffly, considering his alcohol induced state.

"Jus' didn't wanna get cold feet.."

"From what..?"

"My proposal..."

"What kind of proposal..?"

"The one with a ring..."

You almost crash the car.

a/n: UHHHHH. If you guys don't get the ending it's because reader thought that Price ment a business proposal or something but he was actually just nervous to ask them to marry him. Sorry if this was confusing 😭. Once again, practicing my fluff, n english skills. So this might be bad. But M' getting better, I think! Ne ways, hope you're having a better day/night, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[spacebaby1]

Helloooo May I request a law x any gender reader fic/headcanons where reader is also a survivor of the Amber led poisoning and WAS one of law’s friends from school (they weren’t close close friends). Reader managed to escape in time and somehow found a devil fruit that could also help her with the disease but it left her marks in her body which she is insecure abt (like faint white spots over her body and face.

Thank you and have a good day!

I love it when y'all request to write for Law Trafalgar! Enjoy! This hit home to me as girl with surgery marks left behind😩

Sitting in the small library table with medical books all over the table and almost hiding you behind then you searched for the solution. For the last few years of your life, you kept searching for a cure, a solution to why your devil fruit powers were limited and didn't help you recover fully.

The disease killed all of your loved ones. You weren't even sure how you got out alive because the only thing you remembered was passing on the school grounds and waking up in another village. Turns out a couple had found you, and someone took you out of the whole disaster. A fisherman had sold the devil fruit to your new guardians in exchange for a lot of gold promising them your recovery in return; which was absolutely true. You had gained your health back, well, part of it. Even though the illness was gone. Some marks were left behind for the world to always turn their head around to look at you. They weren't that bad, but they felt like a burden you had to carry. It was hard to figure out if the people looking at you on the streets were just looking or they were looking at your marks. Even if they were just on the left side of your face, you had learned to hide them; with your hair mostly or a scarf or a hat.

But you needed them gone only to come to no end with your research. With a sigh, you shut the last book, running your hands through your hair before getting up and returning the books to their shelves. The small island you had travelled to was a quite one, occasionally some rocky pirate would find their way there for food and supplies without causing trouble; you had once run into the most known pirate none other than Shanks himself. You had completely forgotten how to breathe because you had only seen him in the newspaper or his bounty poster, and seeing him in person was shocking, other than the fact that you feared pirates.

You sighed as you entered the small cafe and ordered a hot tea before sitting in the back and grabbing the newspaper to read before heading home. You flipped the pages, and your eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar someone. It was a bounty poster. Your eyes widened, and you burnt your lips with your tea as you read the name over and over.

Trafalgar Law

Trafalgar Law

The heart pirate?

It said that he could be heading east from polestar island; that's where the small island was. You gasped, standing up and grabbing your things before heading back to the library. Asking the lady there for any papers related to pirates or the heart pirate crew you gathered them and finally were sure that your long lost friend from childhood was a famous pirate. There wasn't much information about him other than his unique ship and crew. Later that night, you were walking home with that newspaper in your hand; the island was lively at night because of all the singing and partying at the bar from the drunk pirates. You stopped in track when you noticed the new ship, and it looked different than the others. A lady who worked at the bar had just come out from the backdoor and saw you. She waved, and you smiled at her, "they never stop partying." She spoke, and you nodded, " I can hear them from all the way down the road." She laughed, "there are new ones, and they seem less lively, but I think they will not stay long -"

"The heart pirate crew?" You asked clinching on the newspaper hopefully to see Law. She shrugged, "Not sure, but they do seem different. Anyways, you're welcome to join the party, I'll head back inside." You waited a few minutes after the lady went back in. You didn't know why, but the thought of walking in and the possibility of seeing Law was driving your heart insane. It wasn't like you two were best friends, but you were classmates and "friends" when you were in school, everyone is your friend. Law wasn't the friendliest with a lot of the students, but he was always nice to you and would help you with your homework. The thought of him being alive and safe after everything that happened made your eyes tear up; you did think about him often after you survived and the guilt of him dying made you have nightmares sometimes, you never forgot about him because he was still your friend. Slowly making your way towards the bar, you stopped and backed away just standing there, not knowing what to do. Just then, someone exited the doors and stood to the side. You could recognise the hat from anywhere. You breath hitched when you saw him, for a second he looked at you then away probably not recognising you in the dim street lights, he looked around before making his way towards the door and just when he was about to enter- "Pookie Head!" You called out; a nickname you gave him when you were little because you kept teasing him about his hat having spots that reminded you of your dresses, the polkadot dresses that you owned as a kid. Law stopped in his track, hand on the bar door, you let out a sigh you weren't sure that you were holding. His eyes widened at the familiarity with that silly nickname. No one else called him that name except for you. He turned around with wide eyes staring at you and dropped his katana that he was holding over his shoulder. "N-nice hat." You felt a tear slip on your cheek as you chuckled. "Y/N-YA?" He asked, rushing towards you, not caring about his katana. You weren't expecting him to fully embrace tightly so much so that you almost fell backwards.

The hug was enough for him to know that it was indeed you. He recognised your aura immediately as he wrapped his arms around you. "You're alive. You're alive." He kept mumbling to himself. "So are you, I missed you, thought I'll never see you again." You were laughing but started to cry as you held onto him because the memories of everyone; you family, your friends came rushing to you and that horrific day. "I was so s-scared." You cried, and he caressed your hair, "I know, I know. But -" He pulled back cold hands cupping your face, "you're okay? You're-how-i mean- h-how did you - " he went to remove your hair from the left side of your face, but you stopped him, placing your hand on his and shaking your head. "D-Don't look at me. The marks never left." You said, looking down and hiding your face behind your hair. "Don't hide from me, I spent my whole life thinking you're d-," he sighed, not able to say the word.

Gently, he cupped your face, "Look up at me, let me see you." You sighed and looked up as he gently and carefully pushed your hair behind your ear. He smiled at you. "You're still as gorgeous as the day I saw you last." You couldn't hold your tears and tried to look away, but he stopped you, "hey, hey. I promise you I'm being honest. It's not bad, not as bad as you think it is. Just let me look at you, please." You looked down, "I tried everything b-but I get rid of them, I can't look at myself without reminding myself that I'm always there between all my friends a-and they're dead but I'm not." You cried it was true; every time you'd walk past the mirror, it only reminded you of the reflection of that day, and it was agonising. "But how did you survive?" You asked him between sobs, and you saw the hurt look on Law's face, "Cora-San, he died to save me. He put his life to get me the devil fruit." Your eyes widened, "d-devil fruit? That's what I ate, and it healed me but not the spots and marks. I-I just can't figure it out how to use it. Sometimes, I'll heal others and myself randomly, but I don't know how to use it. I'm a complete idiot, I didn't even know that you can't swim if you're a devil fruit eater." You said that last part with a confused look that you always had when you couldn't do your homework as a kid and it reminded Law of the old days and how used to think that pouty look was funny evertime you pulled it unintentionally.

He chuckled resting his hand on your head, "you've never been much of a swimmer and you fear the ocean." You smiled blinking the tears, "you still remember that I fear the ocean?"

He smiled at you, "I never forgot anything about you." He cupped your face, "You look tired, are you okay? Is it gone? The disease?" You nodded, rubbing your eyes. You didn't realise how tired you looked after spending hours and hours to find a cure for your marks. He sighed at the tired look of your before pulling you in a hug and you felt your eyes heavy with sleep, "you know I can help you with removing them, I'm sure I can if that's what you want." You looked up at him, "you would do that for me?" He nodded with a smile, "I don't see the difference in it because you're always beautiful to me, but if it makes you happy, I can figure it out if you want." You nodded happily because you did feel proud of surviving that horrible day, but you always wanted to for once look in the mirror and not remember the past just for that night. You rested your face on his chest and closed your eyes, falling asleep in his arms immediately; he's always been your safe haven.

The next morning, he had already warned his crew mates to not just burst into the surgery room because he wasn't sure if you wanted anyone to look at your face or make you uncomfortable. You sat there watching him go through his notes with the katana in hand before he forwarded it towards you to examine but you pulled your knees to your chest with a frightened look on your face, "Why is that huge katana in front of me? You're not gonna slice my face, are you?" He couldn't help but chuckle at your question before shaking his head and explaining to you the procedure to which you replied in an "ohh, okay." You just sat there with eyes closed, and he examined you. And when he figured it out, he explained to you that it would be an easy surgery and that you won't even feel it. He laid your head on the bed carefully, still holding your hand because he could see how much you were shaking. "Don't worry, I will not let anything happen to you. Okay?" You nodded, "good girl. I need Sachi to help me here. Is it okay if I bring him in?" You nodded again with a small smile. After Law was ready to start the surgery you still couldn't calm down, sachi offered his hand, "hey, you can hold on to my hand and squeeze it like a stress toy if you'd like. I've been told I'm a very calm machine." Law eyed him, "Sachi!" You laughed before holding Sachi's hand and closing your eyes, "thank you, sachi." He just chuckled.

No matter how hard you helf Sachi's hand he didn't even yelp but kept trying to calm you down by rubbing his thumb on your wrist and just like Law promised you didn't feel a thing not before falling asleep because of the peng and not after waking up to find Law standing by your bed as you slowly opened your eyes. "Hey, are you feeling okay?" You nodded sleepy, "I don't feel any pain." He smiled, "it's all done now. You won't feel any pain." You to find Sachi, and he waved at you to which you waved at him half asleep before turning towards Law reaching your hand for him which he immediately held, "What's wrong?" He asked. "C-Can I see?" You asked in a low sleepy voice. He nodded, helping you sit before handing you a small mirror. You blinked the blurry vision away and finally saw your reflection. The marks were gone, you didn't feel like the bad memories rushing in as you looked at your face, tears filled your eyes and you sniffled before reaching for Law and hugging his side, "T-thank you, Pookie Head." He laughed at the nickname before hugging you, "I'll do anything for my sweet girl, anything." Sachi got up, "Okay, I need to go." He said before rushing out. Meanwhile, you hugged Law and cried happy tears after so many years.

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 1

This will be a 141/female oc, with possible variations down the line depending on the route I take with a pairing.

Updates will hopefully be once a week, depending on my work schedule. So thank you everyone for being so patient with me!

Hope you enjoy!

~Masterlist~ -Next-

The helo finally started its descent. The front of the vehicle housed a quiet man with a bright smile as he spoke into his headset to the only other person in the air with him. The woman sitting behind him held onto her seat with a joyous laugh at the man's jokes.

“Nik, stop or my stomach is going to burst!” The woman was finally gaining control of her breathing as he landed on the helipad perfectly. Not that she expected anything less from the Russian man who had become a friend over the course of the last few years they had known each other.

With a deep chuckle, Nikolai shuts everything down as she unbuckles herself and starts to gather her backpack and two large duffles, dropping them to the ground out of the door before tossing another duffle towards him.

“Come on, Nik. We’re already late because of you.” She joked towards him, jumping down from the helo without difficulty. Funny now that she thinks about it; she had seen recruits hit the ground like a sack of potatoes more times than she could count, and here she is able to do it in her sleep most likely.

“Says the one who made me late, Kitty Kat.” He rolled his eyes and followed after her onto the tarmac.

She shook her head at the nickname, taking the hair tie out of her hair to let her braid out of its bun and grabbing her bags to find her way through the new base in search of only one person.

The two of them were attracting many looks, Nik seemingly used to it, but the woman next to him was definitely uncomfortable with the eyes on her but kept her head up as they made their way through a set of doors.

Nikolai stopped at a standard wood door, knocking before walking right in. The woman followed behind him and set her bags right next to the door before looking around the room.

It was a moderate sized meeting room of sorts, multiple swivel chairs scattered around a large mahogany table that took up a majority of the room. Two fairly large men were standing in the corner farthest from where Nikolai and Kit were at the door, one of which sported a black balaclava with a white skull imprint on the front and a UK flag on the front of his tac vest, while the slightly shorter man had some sort of weird mohawk and an SAS patch on his chest. There was another man, younger than the other two, dark skin and short hair sitting on the opposite side of the table.

There was a TV stand set up in the corner behind an open laptop between the larger men and the youngest, with the woman the pair came in looking for was standing. The person in question was standing just behind the small screen, an average size woman in her mid forties with brown hair pulled out of her face. She was standing hunched over the laptop with a man in his mid to late 30’s, brown mutton chops and some kind of odd looking fisherman hat. 

A boonie hat? She hadn’t seen anyone wear one since she was younger.

“Kate Laswell, good to see you again, old friend.” The woman finally spoke up from next to Nik.

The older woman across from her snapped her head up to the voice. Kate's hard set eyes softened after taking the other woman in for the first time in what seemed like years, a smile appeared on her face as she relaxed slightly at the sight of the 5’9” woman. 

The woman next to Nikolai had dark hair that tumbled down her back in a long braid, piercing silver eyes that seem to observe everything all of the time, and olive skin that was only disrupted by the sight of freckles across her face. She wore a grey long sleeve shirt under a camo jacket, black cargo pants and boots expertly laced up, with a small neck wrap tucked into the back of her jacket,

“Captain Felis. You know it is always a pleasure.” Kate walked around the man next to her, holding her hand out to Felis, to which Kate was pulled into a much needed hug.

Both women checkled as they stepped back from each other, Kate turning to address everyone else in the room but looking towards Nikolai.

“Thank you for the safe travels, Nik. I appreciate not being thrown from a plane this time.” Kit nagged, shaking his hand before he nodded with a chuckle.

“One time, Kit. Laswell, Price, a pleasure.” Nik turned and walked back out of the door and shut it behind him.

Kit sighed as he left, looking back towards the group in front of herself and Laswell.

“Captain Felis, I'd like for you to meet Task Force 141. This is Captain John Price,” Kate motioned to the older man she was conversing with before Felis came in.

Price walked around to shake Kit’s hand, with her returning the firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Price. Most people just call me Kitty, or Kit.” She shrugged with a gentle smile.

“This is Lieutenant Ghost Riley,” He motioned to the larger man with the skull mask. “These are my Sergeants, Gaz Garrick and Soap MacTavish.” Price nodded towards the younger dark skinned man as Gaz, and the mohawk as Soap.

Kit nodded to the three of them, recognition flashing in her eyes at their names, having seen their files from Laswell a few months prior to being requested on this particular base.

Laswell waved her hands towards the table to get everyone seated. Kit took a seat closer to the door with her back to the far wall and the door in her line of sight. Old habits die hard.

Price sat next to Laswell at the other end of the table, with Soap sitting next to him, Ghost standing behind them and next to the door, and Kyle sitting to Kit’s right on the other side of Laswells and across from Price.

“Gaz, Soap, Ghost. Captain Felis is going to be your doctor on base, and a field medic when needed.” Laswell passed a folder to Price, most likely Kit’s if she guessed correctly. “As well as a strategist and stealth specialist.” 

Kit took a deep breath, leaning her elbow on the table.

“I hope that’s the redacted version, Kate.” Kit chuckled softly, meeting Laswell’s eyes. 

Laswell shook her head with a gentle smile. “As if you’d give me access to any other.”

Both women laughed softly together, much to the confusion of the four men in the room.

“And don’t worry, boys, I know how to handle myself with anything thrown at me. That’s a guarantee.” Kit shrugged, eyes meeting everyone's gaze head on with no fear.

[rdr2stories]

"Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?" A rdr fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Jack Marston.

My uncle stood next to me, the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the sun coming down from above. He held a fishing pole in his hand, his line ended somewhere out in the middle of the river where he had thrown it. My line is only half his length, my small arms could not handle more, he had caught three fish, I had yet to catch anything. I found fishing boring, the flowers in the grass further up the shore looked pretty, they made a nice necklace to mama.

Father, I can’t help but remember that day when you asked me to fish with you, when you grabbed the bucket and the two fishing rods. You looked awkward, but happy somehow, you didn’t quite know what to do with me, I didn’t quite know what to feel. I still found fishing boring but caught a fish before you did, you were impressed and I was unsuccessful in keeping spite from my voice when I told you it was uncle who taught me. You simply replied “oh did he now?”

Uncle was never a good fisherman, yet the day he taught me he told me I was the second little boy he had taught to fish, I used to wonder why I didn’t have a cousin if that was so, but with time it simply made me realise why he hated you.

He died eight years prior to that fishing trip with you father, meaning it had been eight years since my first fishing trip. I had been just four and when I stood with the rod in my hands again I had been just twelve, it had been just eight years since uncles death, you barely talk about him, your brother, I barely remember what he looks like, but I remember what I had seen him as; my father. He brought me a comic book, and I drew him a drawing of a family, it had been him who had taken the place of the father, not you, I carried not his blood but to me he was my father.

It has been eight years, eight years since your eyes last held disgust, eight years since you last yelled at me, eight years since you decided that you wanted to be my father.

While I forgave I never forgot and I never stopped wondering. Oh father, what did I do for you to reject me? What did I do to be unworthy of your love and why was it first when you decided I fit into your life that you allowed me to be your son? Whatever could a child still growing in the womb have done to make you hate it? I am a creation of love, I shared the blood of the woman you held dear, yet that affection not only did not extent to me it was also cut off from her when she came to carry me.

Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?

Father, did you forget? That day on the riverbed, had you forgetten the way you used to look at me? The way you never even tried to hide your disgust but would shout it so everyone would hear, you were so ashamed by me that you chose to humiliate your son of four years in front of everyone in the area. I cried to mama that day because my child brain did not understand that you hated her just as much as you did me, that she was just as hurt by the way you shouted at her as I was by the way you looked at me.

Father, did you know I used to hide in my aunt’s skirts yet I could still hear the sound when she slapped your cheek through the fabric? I remember it even now though she has not laid her hand on you for eight years, she wanted you to accept me. I was too young to know then, but I now know what she meant when she said “I don’t care how you feel about me, but at least make an effort with the boy.” Did you yell at her for telling you to love me?

Father, did you know I don’t react to my own name? The one we share? The one given to me by my mother before you decided to give me a nickname because the idea that the two of us would share four letters made you angry? I have never once been called by our name, though it has always been a dream of mine.

When you speak to me, you speak as if your voice has never carried anything but love, I wish it was the truth, and although I am happy it doesn’t give sour comments no more I can’t help but wonder when you decided I was worth your time? Was it first when you saw someone else take the role you had taken for granted?

I know the man you called father, the man I called grandfather, never carried your blood and you never his, yet it was also him you drew on drawings and it was him you taught you to fish. We are similar in that sense and because of that I can’t help but wonder when you took me to that riverbed, did you hope you could teach me to fish?

[heartsforseo]

Straw hats x child! reader

Summary: Jinbei finally joined the straw hats crew, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of weariness. wc: 585 requested? <yes> <no> requests = open ft: Jinbei, Robin, Nami warning: stalkerism(?), tripping ppl (that's bad kids), not asking for permission

After a long and grueling battle, Kaido and Big Mom, the two most feared pirates in the world, were finally defeated. The crew let out a cheer of triumph and were all filled with relief and joy. During the celebration, we got a new member named Jinbei.

He was a big fella who wore a traditional kimono with pretty patterns. His hair looks fluffy, and his chest looks cuddly. The first thing that came to mind when you first saw him was a plushie!

You and your crew had recently left Wano. It was a beautiful country. The trees to the people. The plants to the extreme scenery. Jinbei, as the crew's helmsman, was steering the wheel, getting directions from Nami to the next destination.

Jinbei couldn't shake the feeling of a constant presence on the ship. Despite the loud noise of the crew's constant chatter, Jinbei's senses were heightened, and he felt like he was being watched. Although he couldn't pinpoint the source of the strange feeling, it was clear that something was amiss, and Jinbei couldn't ignore it.

"This is the perfect chance," you had thought. You had been eyeing Jinbei for quite some time now. The crew knows that you like sleeping in random places. And when you first saw Jinbei, you knew you had to do it.

You approached the helmsman and spoke." "Hi, Mr. Jinbei. Ms. Nami said that the sea should be fine for now. So, you could leave your post and join us!"

"Is that so?" he replied,

You nodded in agreement and continued, "Let's go down Mr. Jinbei!"

You deftly dodged the thin rope you had placed earlier, then heard a thud as you turned around. Quickly, you climbed onto Jinbei's stomach and lay down, leaving the helmsman in shock.

The others, of course, heard the thud. Nami and Robin went up and saw you almost falling asleep on top of Jinbei.

Robin, who was quick to act, pulled you off of Jinbei, earning a little whine from you.

"Y/n, is that how we should act?" She said.

You frowned and didn't dare to look at the three's eyes. Though you have noticed that Jinbei finally got up.

"No…" you quietly muttered.

"And what is the right way?" Robin asked.

"I should ask first…" you answered.

"And what did you not do?" She asked once again.

"I didn't ask…b-but I just wanna know what it's like!" you started tearing up, and your voice started to crack, "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Jinbei!" you wiggled out of Robin's grasp and hugged the fishman's leg.

The fisherman only smiled and chuckled. He then patted your head and said, "No worries, Y/n. You should've asked."

Nami tapped your shoulders from behind, and you immediately turned around. One of her arms was behind her back while the other was squishing your cheek.

"Hey, Y/n, what do you think I got?" She grinned cheekily

"Uhm, candy!" you shouted.

"Boo,"

"Hm, a clip?"

"Boo, do you give up?"

You nodded hastily, excited for the surprise. There, Nami's right arm finally came into your view, and she gave you a medium-sized plushie.

"I noticed you looking at the stores and Jinbei, so I thought I'd get you one. You better be happy, alright?"

"Thank you so much, miss Nami!" You quickly ran from Nami and hugged her legs, thanking her.

"Now, you shouldn't bother Jinbei-san as much, ok? He's also busy. I know you wanted a cuddle buddy, so from now on. He'll be your cuddle buddy!"

A/n: I LOVE JINBEI SO MUCH!!! I JUST FINISHED FISHERMAN ISLAND ARC AND HE IS SO COOL!!!!!!!!!!! I'M SO EXCITED FOR WANO. ALSO I JST FINISHED THE 15TH YEAR SPECIAL ANNIVERSARRY AND HELLO??? BOA LOOKS SO PRETTY AND IMMA NEED THAT JACKET LUFFY!!!

[zyonsay]

Monarch Butterflies

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: You're a rook that Ghost grows fond of

Reader: Male

Warnings: Smoking/Vaping, Scars? (Not sh)

Now playing: Trash Magic by Lana del rey (unreleased song)

AN: Its 1:50 am here and the fic gets shittier the more you read but im more pleased with this one than i was with the old one. Also i renamed this one! I might rewrite this again in the future... Have fun pookies! [:

The deafening noise of the helicopter blades overrode every other sound at the base. The hair of the young man descending from the Helicopter stairs was swirling in the stirred-up air, making it hard for him to see anything at all. The pilot chuckled at the rookies obviously intimidated posture. “Go on, make yourself at home!”, he yelled. The youngster felt a bit more confident now, even if it was only a tiny bit.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and began walking towards the entrance, since you were told you’d be greeted there. You were meant to be at this place, but your low self esteem made you feel as small as a mouse. But you did graduate at the top of your military training, so you packed quite a punch. Other people would describe you as ambitious but sweet, which some dickheads saw as an invitation to pick on you.

“Soldier, Welcome!”, a man with a quirky fisherman’s hat greeted you. You offered him a warm smile, inhaling deeply before you spoke. “I’m assuming you’re Captain Price?” The air smelled fresh and was slightly cool, running a chill down your spine.  The bearded man grinned at you, “Yes, indeed. And you are L/N F/N?” You saluted hastily, “Yes sir!” His grin widened a tiny bit. “At ease soldier, let me introduce you to my boys.”, stepped to the side, revealing a group of soldiers, all of them looking very unique.

“Hi, I’m Kyle but you can call me Gaz!”, the young man with an incredibly beautiful face smiled at you. You offered him a small nod while you were wondering what the hell his skincare routine was. “Soap MacTavish! Lookin’ fahrward to working with ye!”, his thick Scottish accent very apparent. He held his hand to you, giving you a hearty handshake. You eyed the next man carefully, examining his clothed face, which only revealed his dark brown eyes to you.  “Ghost.”, his words felt like a cold hand crawling up your back, gripping your soul and ripping it right out of you. Your knees felt weak, and your posture shrank ever so slightly.

The rest of the team has introduced itself to you, each and every individual letting their character shine through. But that clamming, cold feeling still hasn’t left you. “So, rook. You can’t just fuck around and find you, so I’ll assign you a mentor. We don’t want to waste your potential, now do we?”, he paused quickly, looking at you intently, smiling. “…And maybe that bastard will learn something too.” He then directed his smile towards Ghost, causing him to roll his eyes at his Captain. “Lieutenant, would you please show our rook around?” Ghost only responded with a sigh and began walking away, not waiting for you to catch up. You quickly scurried after him, not before quickly saying goodbye to the others.

Ghosts’ steps were big, your smaller form was struggling to keep up, but you’d never admit that out loud. “Here are the barracks.”, he curtly nodded towards a big entrance, numbered with some ungodly long cipher. He also showed you the multiple gyms that the base offered, peeking your head in to check out all of the machines available. The washrooms were pretty close by, allowing you to quickly use the toilet, since you didn’t get the chance earlier.

Your mentor has proven himself extremely important to you, even if he was a bit gruff sometimes. “AIM STRAIGHT YOU ASSHOLE” or “GODDAMN IT, ROOK. KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED” could often be heard over the radio during your missions. But the more time passed, the closer you two got.

“You want one?” Simon offered you a cigarette as you two were standing outside of the base, a cool gust of wind passing through. You shook your head, thinking it might just be impossible to even light one with this wind. “Nah, got my vape.”, your voice was barely above a whisper. Your Lieutenant shrugged indifferently, picking his lighter out of the pockets of his jeans. He’d never tell you that, but he cared deeply about you. To him you were like a younger brother and he’s willing to defend you in any situation.

This day came way too fast, ripping you out of the daily routine you’ve been following for over a year now. A heavy, awkward silence fell over the base. The one-four-one knew what would happen, today you’d be joining the Forze speciali italiane (Italian special forces) and would be permanently deployed there, meaning you won’t be part of the 141 anymore. Most of the guys have already said their goodbyes, some of them had a pained expression on their face, others (Soap lol) were bawling their eyes out. But someone has been avoiding you all day. Simon. You urgently wanted to talk to him, knowing it would eat you up from the inside for eternity if you didnt.

You hesitantly knocked on Simon’s door, waiting a bit too long for a response. A muffled “Come in” could be made out over the steps of some soldiers down the hall. You entered the room, carefully closing the door. Your friend was sitting at his desk, writing something on a piece of paper. You sat on his bed, like you’ve done many times before. You two were silent for a while, both not sure what to say. Then you slowly began. “So… how are you?” Simon turned around in his chair and looked at you intently. “Shut the fuck up.” Just a few seconds later and you were pulled into a tight hug. This was all that it took to make you cry like a little child, sobbing in your friends’ arms. You were surprised to hear Simon sniffling too, was he crying? As you two parted, you saw that he was indeed crying as his eyes were red and his blond eyelashes stuck together because of the tears.

You looked at your shiny wristwatch, standing up again. “I really gotta go. I’ll miss you Si.” You offered him a warm smile.

And with that you were gone.

The smell of fresh cut trees adorned the air, leaving you content. Your hair was dancing in the wind, looking a lot like the flames of a hungry fire. For the past five years you’ve been part of the Italian special forces, being an important asset. You’ve worked your way up the ladder and could now proudly call yourself a Lieutenant.  In the past years you have collected a lot of experience but not all of it good.

“We’re here L,t.”, the pilot pulled you out of your thoughts. As soon as the helicopter had landed, you jumped out and moved towards the all too familiar entrance.

“Rook! Or rather Lieutenant!”, Price greeted you warmly, patting you on the shoulder in a dad-like manner. You laughed, chit chatting with him as you continued walking. You met Gaz, Soap and Roach, making idle small talk with them, when Simon appeared out of thin air, as usual. He stared at you, not believing his eyes. “Y/N…?”, he whispered hesitantly. You walked up to him, happy to see your friend again. Tears were welling in your eyes, you thought you might never see him again. Simon hugged you with his strong arms, gripping you tightly, scared that you might just be a phantom of his imagination. You looked different, more mature, but also like you’ve seen some shit. You were still his friend from back then, but there was a hint of seriousness in your aura. Maybe it was also the gigantic scar across your whole face, indicating a serious injury, as it barely missed your eye. You guys definitely had a lot to catch up on.

"I missed you, idiot."