#thank you for organising op!

[diana-bluewolf]

He has no idea what sleepovers are for, but it has the word “sleep” in it, so count him in.

Attention all Hogwarts Legacy MCs!

I am starting an MC Sleepover! Everyone is welcome!

To participate just Reblog with an image, drawing, or even a sleepover story with your MC to THIS post

Sharing and “nominating” others is definitely encouraged! I would like as many peeps at this sleep over as possible!💜💙

I look forward to seeing everyone’s MCs in there pjs! 🌙✨

Edit: you do not need to be tagged to participate! Plz do not feel left out if you haven't been tagged, you are still welcome to come!!!

[caityelizabethjoy]

@ff9week2024 Day 1 - July 1st - Party Member || Antagonist || Role Swap

I love the entire cast of FFIX, but my favourite party member always has and always will be our beloved protagonist - Zidane Tribal. I love his happy-go-lucky zest for life; I love how he develops and grows throughout the story, learning to accept other people's help; and of course, I love his unwavering selflessness.

One of my favourite lines of his is 'To hell with looks. It's what's inside that counts.' At the time of my first playthrough as a pre-teen who didn’t feel beautiful, this line meant everything to me.

[fairyvearths]

these two windows

FANDOM: one piece WORD COUNT: 5, 500+ on tumblr. 9, 300+ on ao3 PAIRING: monkey d. luffy x roronoa zoro x reader WARNINGS: cursing, i guess. lots of banter/teasing. forced close proximity. kissing towards the end, and leaning towards suggestive. if you’re going to read it on ao3, pls pls pls look at the tags on there first before continuing SUMMARY: you’re crushing on your two best friends, who are in a relationship with each other. you try not to be too obvious about. (you're very obvious about it.)

NOTE: @some-piece​​ hello bas!! i am your valentines for the @onepiece-blorboexchange​. i know this is very very late, but i hope this makes up for it 💖 to bas, please read it on ao3, there is so much more to the fic than what’s here on tumblr. to everyone else, if you’re 18+ and want to read some, uh,, unholy stuff, you can head on over as well. otherwise, enjoy this little fluff piece. also to mod lale, thank you for granting me the extension. i’m still late though, so orz

You don’t mind being saddled with looking after Luffy and Zoro—presenting no fight when Nami lists out the groups.

She gives you an apologetic grimace but you wave away her concerns; it’s easy to dismiss her worries when Luffy smiles at you, eyes closed, cheeks squishing as his lips stretch wide.

Your heart does a funny little flip flop, and you manage a grin back at him, trying to ignore the fluttering in your throat. You hold his gaze for another half second before you look away—cheeks dangerously warm. As you turn your head, you catch Zoro’s eye, flickering your attention to him when you see him watching you.

You try not to grimace, knowing how he gets when Sanji or Usopp—Hell, even some of the other captains you’ve met along the way—are a little too affectionate with Luffy for Zoro’s comfort. You back a step away from Luffy, refocusing on Nami as she organises the last of the crew.

She announces budgets and shopping lists before handing out pouches of Beli. When she gets to your team, she sighs softly. She spares a glance at the others, lips thinning into a straight line. She looks, for all intents and purposes, like she’s fighting a losing war in her mind. Nami passes the bag to you. “Don’t… let them buy things, okay?” she whispers.

With what you hope is a reassuring smile, you swipe the pouch. “You can trust me.”

She looks anything but reassured. “I don’t.”

You wink. “That’s the spirit!”

She blinks, glances at the others shouldering on their bags, preparing to depart. “This was a mistake,” she laments to herself. “Maybe I should reshuffle the groups.”

“No!”

Luffy’s yell carries over the ship.

You have a second to react, turning to him to see what’s going on before something firm collides into your body, warmth wounding tightly around your middle.

A breath escapes you and you’re tilting backwards, the unexpected weight shifting your centre of gravity.

A hand on your back steadies you, another on your arm to pull you back upright. You can feel the heat even through the shirt you’re wearing.

“Oi.” Zoro’s gruff voice comes from beside you, and it takes his intonation for you to realise that Luffy had been the one to crash onto you.

Luffy has his legs coiled around your waist, arm’s curled snake-like over and under yours.

Zoro admonishes him, letting go of your arm now that you’re standing upright again. He swats the back of his hand on Luffy’s arm. “Careful.”

“Keep the group!” Luffy implores Nami. “I like it like this.”

You pretend that that doesn’t fill you with a cloud of warmth. That it doesn’t feel like the sun is shining directly on you. You back up a step in an attempt to get away from the rising feelings in this conversation, but you belatedly realise you can’t; Luffy is on you, Zoro has a bracing hand against your back. You’re quite literally trapped here.

Nami throws a look around the small group before landing on you, something in her face that you can’t quite place. She grins, light of mischief dancing behind her eyes. “Okay,” she relents, in that tone you know means that there wasn’t that much of a fight to begin with. “I’ll keep the group.”

Luffy giggles, something light that bubbles out onto your shoulder and his limbs tighten around your body. The hand on your back gets heavier.

Uh oh.

Zoro’s getting angry.

He’s gonna take it out on you.

“Okay,” you say, keeping your voice purposefully light and devoid of the awkwardness you feel in this situation. “You’re getting heavy, Luffy.” You don’t give him a choice, shifting your weight to steady yourself before grabbing his thighs to pull him from you.

“I said, be careful.” Zoro digs his hand a little harsher, pushing you upright.

Luffy wriggles out of your grasp, climbing you like some sort of snake.

The change in weight unbalances you and you careen towards the deck, back first.

There’s yells, coming from you, Zoro and Luffy and you hit something firm, the air crushing out of you as you land.

“You fucking gremlin,” Zoro breathes, voice strained. It’s only because his chest is reverberating against your upper back do you realise that you’ve fallen on him.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You try to get off him, but Luffy is resting his weight atop you. 

He’s laughing, like it really doesn’t concern him at all that he’s still clinging onto you, half fallen into your lap while you’re on top of his boyfriend.

“Okay.”

You crane your neck to look up at Nami, who’d been the one to speak.

She blinks down on the three of you, looking very much like she’s trying to hide a smile. “You guys…” She chuckles. “Do your thing, I’m gonna.” Not even bothering to finish her sentence, she turns, walking away to the group that she’s organised for herself.

“Hey.” Zoro places a gentle hand on your side to grab your attention and you whip your head to face him at the touch. “You okay?”

Your heart stutters in your chest; his hand is resting on the side of your ribcage. His gaze, always magnetising and heavy, feels even more so with his face literal inches from yours. Your mouth is drying, your throat sticks to itself.

Has he always been this pretty? Handsome, yes, that is a relatively objective fact about him. But pretty? It’s his eye that draws you in; a cool shade of grey that has, at times, looked silver under different lighting. He blinks down at you, lips parting, probably to speak again.

But you’re staring at his mouth, heart roaring deafeningly in your head so you don’t really hear what he has to say, if anything. You don’t remember moving, but your face is getting closer to his. Close enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek, and—

Nope.

You pull away, heat rising up from your chest, flushing across your neck. What the fuck?

(So caught up in your own thoughts, you miss how Zoro’s hand falls away, fingers curling into a loose fist by his knee. You miss how he shoots a quick glance at Luffy, both their faces pinching in disappointment. And, most importantly, you miss that you weren’t the one moving at all—Zoro had leant into your space.)

Okay.

You’re crushing on your two best friends, who are in a relationship with each other. Big whoop, that’s not news to you. You’re usually much more inconspicuous than this—fucking relax.

Your heart drops into your stomach when you realise that Luffy is staring at the two of you, expression unreadable.

“We should get going,” you throw out into the air. “Before the shops close.”

Zoro hums, a short noise that you can’t quite read.

“You didn’t answer his question,” Luffy says. He leans forward, a little pout on his lips. 

You back away, jerking lightly when you bump into Zoro’s shoulder. You find some weird middle ground, holding yourself awkwardly so you’re equally distant from them both. “What?”

“We fell,” Luffy reiterates. “Zoro asked if you were okay.”

“Um.” You take stock of yourself; yes, you’ve been jarred around slightly, but, all things considered, you’re surprisingly unharmed.  If you forget about the tightness in your chest, and your heart hammering away, the only thing of note is that Luffy is a pressing weight on you, but that can be easily fixed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Luffy says, blunt.

“What?”

He blinks at you, expectant.

“He means, you don’t seem fine,” Zoro pipes up from behind.

Shit.

Fuck that Captain’s Intuition.

“Uh.” You swallow a wave of panic. “I wasn’t hurt in the fall,” you try instead.

Luffy stares at you for a second longer before nodding, satisfied. He climbs off you, arms already stretching to grab onto the ship’s bannister and slingshot him onto the island, smile splitting his cheeks, a yell of adventure on his lips

“I…” You sigh, defeated. “We were supposed to stick as a group.”

“We’ll catch up,” Zoro muses. He’s already stood up and he reaches down, offering you a hand. “C’mon.”

You take it, gingerly, trying not to think too much about his hand in yours. It’s normal, you tell yourself. People help each other off the floor all the time. Don’t think too much about it. “Yeah,” you say, because talking always made it easier to keep your mind off of things. “but Nami probably put me with you two to keep you both on a leash.”

Zoro smirks as he pulls you up. “You think you can tame me?” he asks, voice dangerously low. His grip on your hand tightens and your heart squeezes with it.

You think you forget how to breathe, frozen in a stupor.

When you don’t react, Zoro releases your fingers, turning around so you don’t see the grin fighting its way on his face. “Let’s go,” he says as he begins walking.

You blink after him, once.

Twice.

The fluttering in your chest settles onto your sternum. Wait, hang on. “You don’t know where you’re going!” That thought sobers you up enough to bound over to him. “Maybe it’s better if I lead.”

Zoro furrows his brows as he shoots you a glance out of his periphery. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” You’re trying to find a way to phrase your words without offending him. “You—Where do you think the market is?” you try instead.

He shrugs, shoulders hunching up to his neck. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Meaning?”

“We find Luffy,” he says. “He always gets us where we need to be.”

Your steps falter, watching Zoro as he continues walking across the deck like what he said wasn’t out of the norm for him.

Roronoa Zoro—a sap?

Honestly?

Kinda cute.

No sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it quickly. Stop that, stop it.

It’s supposed to be an uneventful supply run.

In-and-out. Quick. Efficient.

That was the plan. Or, at least, Nami’s plan.  

You should have known that none of those words would be in Luffy’s or Zoro’s vocabulary.

And Nami should’ve known it wouldn’t be in yours either. Honestly, what was she thinking, putting you with them? There’s no way you would’ve babysat them. At times, it feels like you enabled them, more so than anything, but—

You know what, actually?

No, no.

You aren’t taking the blame today. And you’re not blaming Luffy or Zoro either. None of this was any of your faults.

Because who, in their right minds, would have predicted that this small island would have a Marine Festival?

“What the fuck’s a Marine Festival?” Nami hisses, through the Baby Den Den Mushi.

“Exactly!” You force your voice into a whisper, glancing to your right, outside the edge of the wall.

No one is looking.

“A shit ton of Marines are marching through town,” you inform her, “and we’re, kinda, maybe stuck in an alley.” The way the houses are laid out means the gap between the buildings progressively grows smaller the further in you go. And at the sole entrance of the alley, are all the Marines on the island, apparently. Slowly walking like some parade.

Music, cheers, and confetti, included.

Nami sighs, exasperation lacing the breath of air. You can see the exhaustion lining her brows on the transponder snail. “At least—Please tell me you’re still with Luffy and Zoro, though?”

“Yeah.” Unfortunately.

In your initial panic after seeing the Marines, you’d pulled Zoro into the closest hiding place. You then grabbed Luffy and yanked him in with you.

Zoro had shuffled into the space, until he could barely wedge himself further, shoulders too wide to go any deeper. Which is good, you tell yourself, because the only way out is the only way in, and you’re standing right there.

And you’ve kept Luffy directly in front of you, giving you the opportunity to stop him before he runs out into the town—or worse; go deeper into the alley because his bodily rubber properties would allow him to.

God forbid either of them be left unchecked with Marines.

In your, more hopeful, infancy of ten minutes ago, you’d waited for the Marines to scatter. But they kept marching, and marching, and, so, you called Nami to tell her the news.

“I just—Why can’t we chaos our way out of here?” you lament; the prospect of being stuck in the cramped passage for any longer than you already have doesn’t sit well with you.

Luffy perks up, eyes illuminating with a gleam that you can see, even with the dim lighting. Zoro leans in closer, arm flush with yours.

You pretend not to notice and focus all your attention on the Den Den Mushi in your palm.

“Because we need to wait for the Log Pose to calibrate.” 

Your lips press into a thin line, unimpressed. “How long’s that gonna take?”

“Hours—”

You roll your eyes, displeasure roving through your features.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me—”

Oh, shit.

She can see your expressions, too. 

“Wait—no, no-no,” you clamour to your own defence. “I wasn’t rolling my eyes at you, it was at the situation.”

The snail is silent, looking very indifferent.

“Nami,” you whine, “I promise.”

“Uh-huh,” she finally says, sceptical. 

“Nami—”

“Just lay low until the Log Pose resets, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and then to make up for the eye-roll, you add, “Love you.”

Without missing a beat, Nami responds, “That’s fifty Beli for loving me.”

You splutter. “Hello?”

She hums. “If you can’t afford to pay, you can’t afford to love me.”

“Yeah, alright.” You chuckle, grinning at her antics. “You ain’t worth it, anyways.”

Nami yells—the beginning of her tirade spilling through the Baby Den Den Mushi.

You jump, hand over the snail’s mouth to muffle it before you hang up on her. “What the Hell,” you breathe, turning your attention to the entrance of the alleyway.

The Marines keep marching.

“Scale of one to ten,” you say, lightly, “how badly do you think she’ll beat my ass when we get back?”

Luffy makes a sound like he’s thinking. “Four.”

“Just four?” Surely it’d be higher than that—it’s Nami.

“She’ll try on a seven,” Luffy elaborates, “but you’re strong, so four.”

You blink at him, a blush beginning to creep up your neck that you hope they don’t see. “You think I’m strong?”

Luffy beams, cheeks stretching. “Yep!”

Oh. You look away, breath stuttering in your chest. Your fingers twitch as you try to find something to do so you’re not forced to stare at him. Belatedly, you realise you’re still holding the communication device. You try to open your bag, but your left arm bumps into Zoro where he’s still leaning against you.

He’d been so quiet, presence strangely comfortable and safe, that you’d forgotten to register he was there.

“Uh.” You turn to face him, but he seems unfazed by your accidental touch. “Sorry,” you mumble.

He dismisses your apology with a grunt.

When he doesn’t offer anything else, you clear your throat. “Can you possibly move back a bit? I need to get to my bag.”

“Can’t,” Zoro says. “‘S too narrow.”

“Ah. Well—”

“Here.” He takes the snail from your hand, hand brushing against your own fingers and you try not to let your breathing change too much. He attempts to undo the clasp on your bag with one hand, but he struggles. “Luffy,” he finally says after giving up.

Without hesitance, Luffy leans over and fiddles with it. His knuckles scrape against the fabric of your shirt as he works.

Your heart flutters into your throat until all you hear is your own heartbeat thudding away in your ears. You hold your breath, afraid that if you did try to breathe, your lungs would stutter and you’d give yourself away.

Luffy holds the flap against your waist and Zoro places the Den Den Mushi inside.

You stare at the bag, watching their hands move so you don’t have to look at their faces and fluster yourself even more.

Once inside, Luffy releases the flap so it falls back into place and Zoro buckles up the clasp again. Neither of them move back to their original position, crowding into your space even though they have no reason to be.

Or, maybe, they’re just trying to get closer to each other.

That would make more sense. 

You should move out of their way.

You slide over to the right, closer towards the exit but your shoe trips over something.

Luffy yelps.

You flail for balance.

Luffy steadies himself on the wall next to you, and you fall on his outstretched arm instead of the floor, and Zoro grabs you both by the elbow.

“The Hell are you two doing?” he barks, tugging lightly to pull you upright before letting go. He sinks his back on the roughened bricks.

“Sorry—I’m sorry!” Judging by Luffy’s earlier exclamation, you realised you kicked his foot.

“What were you up to?” Luffy asks, head tilting in puzzlement. He doesn’t remove his arm from beside you and if you were to sidestep to get further away from his limb, you’d only be crowding into Zoro’s space.

“I was trying to get out of your way,” you answer honestly, “let you two be closer, or something.”

Luffy’s lip downturns. “You don’t want to be closer?”

You blink. Then, “Bit weird, is all.” You’re trying not to read too much into his words; take him at face value, don’t assume his intentions.

“What’s weird about you being closer?” Luffy leans forward—trying to prove his point, or out of interest, you’re not sure.

Regardless, you inch away, back of hitting the wall. Your shoulders brush against Zoro’s. You spare a glance at him, but he only watches, face impassive. You let out a small breath, once again cursing the small enclosement you’re trapped in. “I don’t—This is—” Your voice is getting smaller and smaller.

“Relax,” Zoro says.

“I am relaxed,” you fire back.

He makes a sceptical noise. 

With how close he is to you, it wouldn’t take that much effort to elbow him in the ribs, so you take advantage of that and do so, earning a grunt. “Fuck off.”

As you settle back against the wall, you realise; you’re calmer. Less nervous than you had been before.

Son of a bitch.

You’re barely able to hide the smile that rises to your lips; somehow, Zoro grew to know you. But he’s right—if you’re going to be stuck here for the next hour or so, you shouldn’t be so tense about it. “You guys don’t have claustrophobia, do you?” you inquire, suddenly realising that this wouldn’t be an ideal situation if they did. 

“What’s claustrophobia?” Luffy’s nose scrunches in confusion.

Zoro shuffles, like he’s shrugging. “Afraid of Santa Claus.”

A laugh startles out of you at the answer and you cover your mouth to muffle yourself.

“Oh,” Luffy says, sincere. “No.”

You shake your head. “That’s not what it means,” you manage to say in between giggles.

“What do you mean?” Zoro presses, the same time Luffy asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Wait.” Newfound chuckles linger in your throat and you turn your head to face Zoro. “Is that—Do you really think that’s what that means?”

Zoro blinks at you, lips pressing into a thin line. “Well—I don’t anymore.”

“No-no,” you beg, grabbing his arm. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“Ya-huh.” Zoro is doubtful, and you don’t blame him because you’re still laughing. “Can definitely feel you’re not.”

“Zoro—” 

“What does it mean, then?” Luffy implores, leaning into your space. 

You smile at him, quick huff of breath escaping your nostrils. “Afraid of small spaces.”

“Ah.” Luffy nods. “So, Zoro was stupid.”

“Shut up!” Zoro hisses, leaning across you to smack Luffy’s arm.

You can’t help but laugh at their antics, chest tightening as your breath sticks in your chest because you’re not taking in enough air. You try to be quiet about it, not wanting to alert the Marines.

“You didn’t even know what it meant,” Zoro snaps. 

“But I didn’t get it wrong!” Luffy fires back. “Hey.” He batters your arm to get your attention. “Zoro’s stupid, right?” 

“Oi!” 

You try to stifle your laughs, but to no avail. You shake your head, making a cutthroat motion with your hand to let them know you can’t be a part of this conversation. 

It takes another couple minutes for you to collect yourself, especially when Zoro and Luffy start to silently wrestle with each other, doing more harm to themselves when they crash their own elbows and knees into the walls instead of each other. 

“I have another question,” Luffy pipes when you’re taking a final, big breath. 

“Uh-huh?” you croak, wiping the tears from your eyes. 

“Who’s Santa Claus?” 

As it turns out, the Log Pose needed three hours before it recalibrated to the next island. When Nami’s call comes through, you can’t rush out of the alley quick enough. The restlessness of being trapped for so long resulted in absolute chaos as soon as the three of you were spotted by the Marines.

It’s not like you guys were trying to be found.

But…

It’s not like you were trying to be subtle about your presence, either.

Needless to say, the number of injured Marines who were there before you arrived, compared to the number after was… drastically different.

You’re stretching out in the sun, enjoying the warm rays you’re able to catch, now that you aren’t in a dark alley filled with cold bricks. After telling Sanji you hadn’t had breakfast, and then later weren’t able to buy anything during lunch ‘for the sake of the crew,’ he’d whipped up something quick and somewhat light, so you’d still have room for dinner in a couple hours. You’d finish the last bite ages ago, but the sun feels too nice to leave, so your empty plate sits on the table. 

A shadow falls over you and you open your eyes, brows raising as Zoro rattles a plate onto the table. He pushes the first plate to the side before placing another next to it.

Luffy comes bounding over with empty bowls and spoons.

“You guys hungry too?” you yawn.

Zoro huffs in amusement. “When isn’t he?”

You chuckle. Then, after noticing how they’re more relatively cleaned up than usual, you pry, “Is this something special?”

“A date,” Zoro says, blunt.

“Ah.” You know a dismissal when you hear one. You stand, taking your plate to clear up more space for them. “Alright, I’ll get out of your way.”

In the distance, you hear a squeal before it’s muffled and a small crash. You turn to look at the level above, where you’re sure you heard the noise, but you don’t see anyone or anything there. You narrow your eyes, turning back to Zoro and Luffy. “Uh, have fun,” you say, departing for the kitchen.

(Zoro and Luffy watch you leave, eyes tracking as the door closes behind you. Luffy pouts, gaze forlornly drifting to the three bowls stacked on each other. Zoro groans, tilting his head back to the sky.

“How can someone be so stupid?” he muses.

Usopp tears Nami’s hand from his mouth and they jump out from their hiding spots, vaulting over the railing to join their Captain and first mate on the lower deck.

“What was that?” Nami hisses.

“Hey, keep it down,” Zoro grouses.

“What did you guys say?” Usopp accuses.

“Nothing!” Luffy protests. “Zoro said it was a date, and then—” He gestures towards the kitchen where you’ve disappeared into.

Nami stares at the both of them, their brows furrowing as they sit in their misery; Zoro on the beach chair you’d just vacated, and Luffy on the ground. Patient as a saint, she pulls in a deep breath. “Did you say it was a three person date?”

Zoro sits up, as Luffy turns to look at him.

A beat.

Then.

“No,” they both answer.

Usopp growls something that sounds more like squeal. “Are you—?”

“Keep it down!” Zoro hisses, pulling the sniper to the ground before his voice can escalate any louder.

Usopp lands with a grunt, effectively silenced. “Why are you both so stupid?” he bemoans.

“It was Zoro!” Luffy defends himself.

“Oi!” Zoro kicks at Luffy’s leg.

“Lord have mercy,” Nami sighs.)

Sanji looks up, wide eyes blinking owlishly when he sees you. “Uh…” He pauses in cutting the onion. “Why are you here?”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder, back out to the deck. “Zoro and Luffy are having a date.”

“Uh-huh?” he responds slowly.

“They set up at my table—I mean, I don’t know why ‘cos there’s like, two other tables out there, but, y’know.” You shrug, trying to be nonchalant, but you’re too annoyed; they didn’t have to kick you out so rudely.

It hurts a little, you have to admit to yourself. Especially after hanging out with them in the alley. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it wasn’t the worst, either. You had fun together, or so you thought.

“Wait, so what’d they say?” Sanji asks. “Exactly?”

You furrow your brows, heading to the sink to wash your plate. “That it was a date.”

“And that was it?”

“Yeah.” You rinse the soap off and place it on the dish rack.

“And they didn’t ask you anything.”

“Uh.” You wipe your hands on a towel, heading back to the counter. “No. What would they ask?”

Sanji looks about this close to bursting out in laughter.

“What?” you implore, thrown off by his expression.

He shakes his head, bowing his head to resume the prep work for dinner. “Nothing,” he sings, mirth underlying his tone. “What a bunch of priceless idiots.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he repeats.

“Sanji—”

“You gonna stay to help?” He tries to redirect your attention, easily grabbing a knife from the wooden block set and placing it on the counter, handle to you.

You huff. “Not if you’re hiding stuff from me.”

“I’m not hiding—” At your pointed look, he shrugs. “Okay, maybe, yeah,” he relents. “But, trust me,” he says beseechingly, “this isn’t something you want to hear from me.”

“You know you're leaving me with more questions, right?”

He scrapes the minced onions into a mixing bowl. “I don’t think I should say anything.”

The door opens at the end of his sentence and you peek over your shoulder, fully swivelling around in your chair when you see that it’s Luffy and Zoro. They enter the kitchen, letting the door shut behind them.

It’s silent.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

“We weren’t clear,” Luffy says.

“Uh.” You look between the two of them, trying to figure out what conversation just got dropped into your lap. “About what?”

“Not in here,” Sanji begrudges.

“Shut it, Cook,” Zoro snaps.

“You are running out of favours, mosshead.”

“You can shove your—”

“Zoro!” Luffy whacks his arm into Zoro’s stomach.

Zoro actually looks ashamed, clenching his teeth together.

Sanji sighs. “Fine.” He takes off his apron and drapes it over a chair as he passes by. “Don’t touch anything,” he warns.

Zoro and Luffy turn to watch him leave, waiting until the door swings shut before rounding back to you.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” You decide to speak up first, laying out your level of awareness.

“The date was supposed to be with you,” Luffy says.

You blink. “What?”

“The date—outside; you’re supposed to be there too.”

“Why?”

“Because we want you there,” Zoro states.

“And you want to be there, too,” Luffy adds.

You purse your lips. “I don’t want to third wheel—plus!” you yell when they open their mouths to interrupt you. “Dates don’t really include friends.”

“Not as a friend.” Luffy steps forward, stands in front of the chair you’re sitting on.

“What?” you ask, voice weak.

Luffy holds onto the chair on both sides of you, caging you against the counter and him. “Not as a friend,” he repeats. “We want you there on the date—as a date.”

You forget how to breathe, chest flooding with a tightness that almost hurts with every heartbeat. It’s fast, your heart thud, thudding away in your ears.

They want to date you.

They want to date you, too.

You’re not alone in your feelings for them.

‘We want you there,’ Zoro had said. ‘And you want to be there, too,’ Luffy had claimed.

He knew.

He knew.

Luffy says something, mouth opening in silent syllables that you don’t hear above your own thoughts.

You should probably answer him, ask him to repeat. But you lean forward, clutching his vest in your fist to pull him in and meet you halfway in a kiss.

Luffy groans into your mouth, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kisses back, searing and desperate and filled with so much affection that your heart bubbles away under your tongue. He’s almost leaning you back onto the counter with how much he’s pushing himself onto you.

When you part, he pulls you back upright onto the seat, breathing heavily. He laughs, pecks your lips again.

You smile in return at his joy.

You kissed him. You kissed Luffy, and he kissed you back.

Luffy looks over to the door and you follow suit.

Zoro is still standing at the entrance, watching.

You swallow thickly, disappointment swirling in your gut because you don’t know what he’s feeling or thinking, but if it was something positive, he’d be more reactive, right? You pull your hands away from Luffy, clasping them in your lap. “You’re okay with this?” you ask him, voice quiet.

“I’m okay with it.” You can’t really pierce through his tone to know what he’s thinking.

“What about us?” you inquire. Zoro had become one of your best friends, and like Luffy, you’d developed a crush on him too. You’d hate for your new relationship with Luffy to erode your previous friendship with Zoro because he got jealous.

“What about us?”

If there was ever a time to define a relationship, it would be now, right? “Do we…” You clear your throat, shaking away the nerves.

Luffy slides a hand into yours, and, somehow, that gives you the courage you need.

“Do we get to kiss, too?” you question, hesitant.

Zoro tilts his head to the side. “Is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?” you parrot back.

Zoro smirks. In seconds, he crosses the distance, hand cupping the side of your cheek.

Your heart flails wildly in your throat.

“Yes,” he whispers, and he brings your lips to his. He kisses you just as hungrily and passionately as Luffy did, thumb sliding across your jaw.

Your heart jumps into your throat and you gasp in a breath, only for him to dig deeper, tongue flicking against yours. You moan, a quiet noise that he swallows into his chest.

Warm lips attach to your neck and you almost choke, squeal of surprise sticking in your throat.

Zoro chuckles into your mouth, humming as he breaks away from you, kissing softly behind your jaw.

You’re panting softly, eyes rolling back as Luffy sucks on your skin. Your head feels cloudy, chest so full and light at the same time, heart beating so loudly you’re not sure how it hasn’t exploded out of your ribcage.

This is real.

This is happening.

“So, about that date,” you breathe, slotting your hand under Luffy’s jaw and lifting him off your neck.

“Fuck the date,” Zoro growls into your ear. He nips your earlobe.

You barely have time to react to that before someone slides their hand on your thigh, boldly going up higher and higher until their fingers rest just below your crotch. You groan, inhaling a quick breath.

Luffy grins at your reaction and you know it’s his hand. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggests. “And make you make more noises?”

Oh, shit. Eyes widening, you nod vigorously. “Yep, yeah.”

They pull away, Luffy sliding you off the chair before you all exit the kitchen together.

The cool air of the evening breeze washes over your hot skin. Usopp, Nami and Sanji are lounging around the now-deemed ‘date’ table and they look over when the door opens.

“Up there,” Zoro says, nodding his head to the crow’s nest.

Luffy pulls you along with him with such urgency that Usopp straightens his back.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Luffy doesn’t respond, already climbing the ladder.

“Uh,” you start, stumbling after him.

“Don’t interrupt us,” Zoro suggests. “We wanna be left alone.”

“Oh,” Usopp says. Then, “No! I didn’t need to know that!”

“You asked, dummy.” Zoro waits for you to get higher on the ladder before he starts to ascend.

“Because I didn’t know!” Usopp wails.

Luffy has already reached the landing. Rather than wait for you to complete the climb, he stretches down and wraps an arm around you, pulling you off the ladder.

You yelp, flailing as he pulls you up. “Luffy!”

“Also,” Zoro continues, “you might not want to be near here; we’re probably gonna be loud.”

“Shut up!” Usopp screams, cheeks reddening.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

me: well maybe i will contemplate joining the @girlcharles-ficfest

also me: bashes out 1,200 words for a challenge prompt in an hour

[bothfeetinthegrave]

| Cleaning ! |

Hello, it's been a bit and I've missed you! This blog is currently a mess, and the state of the notes, etc, is stressing me out and making want to avoid it or throw a bunch of things out. This happens to me a lot actually, especially in spring, so I'm just going to treat this as spring cleaning a few months early.

Things that are New

All of my OP verse stuff for Eden I'm going to move to @malpractising - if this applies to you and you haven't yet, please go follow me over there. The verse I use here is just going to become a pre-timeline verse there prior to whatever shared timeline the crew sets up.

I'm probably going to keep my activity here a little lower because my sideblogs are just more busy - at least for a little longer. What really should probably happen is setting up Cora as the main blog and making this a sideblog, but I'm not ready to do that in my heart. OTL

I'm going to set up a thread tracker, for my sanity.

I'm going to unfollow people I don't interact with, that don't follow me back, or that haven't been active in around a thousand years or so

Things that I'm still going to Do

Stuff that's already in the inbox

Things that have been recently started for me by others ( or move them - inb4)

A starter or inbox call, once I've cleared out everything and can tell what's what

Things that I'm not going to Do

Keep current threads on this blog ( unless you ask me to! This is absolutely okay, and you should if you want to - I just don't know for sure what people are super attached to and am trying to clear out what I can. Cora's blog will not be dropping anything, at least not at this time.)

Dig things like tag games out of my notes between the time I last disappeared and now. Thank you a whole bunch for including me, but I think a clean slate with activity is what I need here.

This will be subject to edits as I think of more relevant things. Thank you all for your continued patience, and thank you for sticking with me!

♡ Rory

[thefrogdalorian]

Having of those moments where I wish to yeet the like button into the sun or maybe make it so there was setting you could turn on so that people can only reblog posts (even better with the minimum requirement of adding at least one tag)!!

It's kind of absurd that one of my fics is getting close to 500 notes while simultaneously being one I've had the least actual human interactions come from. Like...... come on, that's now how it should be AT ALL!

Don't get me wrong, I'm so thrilled people are clearly finding it and I guess enjoying it(??) but just having endless likes without people letting me know what they enjoyed about it or even if they liked it kind of makes me sad. That's not why I want to share my writing here!

I love having those little human connections with others. I don't ever want my writing to feel transactional. I would love to talk to more people about things I've written. It's truly one of the best feelings and I would hate to lose that, the more I write or the more notes my fics get. Please don't be shy!! I get the social anxiety, but there is no reason to be. I am truly just a Din Djarin obsessed loser.

Anyway, whine over. I don't want to focus on the negatives here and I appreciate every single person who has ever left a positive interaction with something I've written. You are truly a light!

[upslapmeal]

the fact that we're hitting the CXG song tournament quarter finals without a Paula song?? you should all be ashamed of yourselves

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[fluffyartbl0g]

@svtboo's April Crack Roulette!!!

Basically the rules were that we had to spin this wheel E made with a heck ton of OP characters and then draw/write something for them!!! I got Niji and Conis, and now I am here today to explore this wonderful crack ship with you all >:D

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST BOY USOPP!!!!

ahem Niji is 5 hundo percent the TRASHIEST of the quadruplets, so their crack ship can unfortunately only end in either Conis blastin him or a 200k slow burn fic where Niji spends the first 150k words becoming a decent human being. And at this point you may as well scrap the Conis ship and just read Undone by pkmntrainer_alex u _ u

Thank you again E for organising this >//////< Go check out everyone else's crackships on the ao3 collection! (It'll be updated over the week ouo)

[captainjamster]

Pairing(s): 141 x Reader Warnings: mentions of (pixel) animal death, butchering of a pixelated cow (rip thank u for ur sacrifice) Wordcount: 2.3k Summary: How I think you would get the boys into Minecraft and/or what it would be like playing with them. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Hello why yes, this IS my first post in four months despite the mountain of unfinished fics I have xD I will edit any errors out of this later, but I'm making myself post this because I'm tired of avoiding uploading until something feelings perfect lol

We're pretending Mojang is competent so ignore any inaccuracies to how Minecraft actually works <3

Full fic under the cut <3

Price just plays to amuse you, but he becomes competent at the game ridiculously quickly. Yes, he might jokingly be an old man, as his favourite youthful commander would put it – but this ‘old man’ can learn new tricks, and he’s pretty sure some of the technology he works with would make a civvy’s head spin. Though he’s unfamiliar with most video games and consoles, sacrificing his youth for service, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard of them or played a game or two. John will admit; he doesn’t see much point in it, but adores the excitement you glow with as you’re adventuring and building.

“Alright, so it’s w, a, s and d to move, right? And then the space is to jump.” Your hands barely stretch over his, guiding them to the keys.

“S’easy enough, I suppose,” he rumbles, giving you that smile that crinkles his eyes. You resist the urge to kiss them as he adjusts his hands over your keyboard, giving the buttons experimental taps and watching how the screen reacts.

“Yep, and then you use the mouse to control your head, look around and stuff.” You nudge it over to him, and he gives it a shake before looking around.

“More bloody blocks. What’s that thing, there?”

You squint, looking closer. “A sheep, don’t worry about it. You want to try moving around?”

Once you’ve taught him the basics, his rapid acclimation to the games and controls are jarring. While he doesn’t become some Minecraft speed-runner pro, he’s an equally capable player in fights and foraging, and your base is ridiculously plentiful. You’re never lacking resources, and although he never mentions it, you can see John bloom with pride from the corner of your eye whenever you praise him for the neatly organised provisions.

You have to laugh at his suspicion of everything – “is this hostile?”, “this one hostile?”, “s’hostile one?” – and the way he takes protecting you seriously, scolding you for not wearing armour and giving you his own until he can make more.

The first time his dog dies, you think it might be over for your Minecraft run. He goes silent, aggressively hitting the keys as he slaughters the mobs around you, only speaking up when the area is clear. “I didn’t know that would happen,” he mutters, picking up the dropped loot as you make a sympathetic noise. When you log on the next time, waiting for John to come back with snacks from the corner, you don’t mention the small fence with a sign reading ‘Price Jr’ tucked into the oak trees at the edge of a pond – but the next time you check it, there’s another daisy swaying in the wind next to yours.

-----

Gaz knows what Minecraft is AND he’s played it – you’ve even played it together before. This boy is a gamer, and he’s down for a night of co-op couch games and take away with a cosy blanket if you are too.

Though he tries his hardest not to let it show around you, Kyle is aggressively driven in becoming competent, and that includes in video games. You never have to worry about dying, although it becomes a little frustrating when his experience level is more than triple yours – but you can’t even stay frustrated, you learn, as he unfalteringly drops his items and starts building a dirt stack that he jumps from, exploding into clouds and XP that floats towards you with a light, twinkling chiming. When you scold him for doing something so unnecessary, he gives you a kicked puppy look over his shoulder, pouting up at you. “I didn’t want you to wait for me to make a mob farm!”

Unlike Price, this man IS a Minecraft pro – he’s pulling out the water bucket to save you from falling, using beds to fight hostile mobs in the underworlds, zooming around with fireworks and an elytra to find that rare, specific coat of cat you’ve been running across the map looking for. You’re pretty sure that he could’ve beat the Enderdragon twice as fast if you weren’t there, but he still insists you were an equal champion of the fight as he proudly places the dragon head on your trophy wall.

Gaz is always prepared when the 6-month Minecraft fever hits and you make a new server. He’s sending you pinterest links of cute house ideas, making comments about adding another coop for the chickens and a pond for turtles. Hell, he’ll build them with, or even for you, if you want him to.

Playing with him can sometimes be similar to one of those youtube tutorials that cut back to a clip after some ‘offscreen building’ and they’re standing in front six life-scale cathedrals and a replication of Mt Everest – each time you log back on, you swear he’s expanded your base by another chunk, and you can’t even be mad you didn’t get to do anything because your world looks GOOD, and Gaz makes damn sure of it.

He has just about everything you can think of, and if not? There’s a sign next to his bed for you to note anything missing. Your main base is situated within a town of villagers with minecart roads and furnished houses, bakeries, animal centres, banner and dye stores – hell, he’s even built a zoo and an aquarium for the animals you can’t tame. All of your pets have names that he refers to fondly, each with their own little houses in a miniature version of the village. Despite the effort he puts into housing them, Gaz is a menace to the villagers – bad deal? Executed, or imprisoned at best. Sometimes logging onto for a session turns into a dramatic medieval roleplay as you dutifully play the executioner, triggering the trapdoor to give way to the pool of lava while Gaz finishes dramatically reciting the villagers’ crimes from a book - gives the ones that get to live names like ‘village dunce’ and ‘emerald hoarder’.

When you do build by yourself, he’s your project advisor throughout the process, patiently supplying the materials and helping you with the details. “Babe, this doesn’t seem right,” you grumble, head in your hands, “can you please come look?”

He’s quick to slide his chair across to yours, leaning on the sides. “This one,” he announces after a quick scan. “You added an extra block.”

You recount again, letting out a groan as you start breaking the blocks, and Gaz dutifully rolls back to help you. He’s your partner in crime, complicit in indulging your abandonment of any appropriate sleep schedule, staying up until he calls out your name to find you asleep, drooling on the keyboard.

-----

Soap does not give a shit until you mod the fuck out of it.

Yes, he knows what Minecraft is, thank y’very much bonnie, but he just doesn’t care for games that much. Like Price, his youth was spent either trying to get into the military, or actually being in it. The only games he’s entertained are his small selection of first-person shooters he plays occasionally off deployment that you can never beat him in. The topic first comes up is over dinner after a call with Johnny’s family, as he’s grumbling between bites.

“My sisters weans play all sorts ‘o stupid games, bloody bite my head off if I call ‘em the wrong thing – Minecraft, Roblox, aren’t they all the same?”

“Aren’t all shooter games the same, by that assumption?” You point out to his distaste, and he makes a face at you, reaching over the table to steal a bite of your food.

The next day, you pull up Minecraft for him to properly check out. Johnny isn’t particularly enraptured by the charm of the game, but he perks up when you mention the redstone mechanics. “So, it’s really just all block-y? And ye smack things wit’ yer hand?” He frowns, leaning against the back of your chair.

“That’s one part, yeah. But you run around and gather resources, by mining and stuff, so you can craft and build better things to survive – you know – Mine, craft. Minecraft.”

Johnny scoffs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Y’think I’m daft, now? Taken too many knocks to the head, aye?”

“Let go of me, you’re going to get me killed!” You squawk, and he lets you struggle for a moment before he kisses the top of your head and releases it, wandering into the kitchen for what you assume is a snack, knowing Johnny.

The next time he takes interest, you’re still up when he stumbles in blearily, rubbing his eyes. “Bonnie? Yer not really still playin’ this, are ye? Y’haven’t even slept?”

“I was going to sleep soon,” you huff, turning back. “I just need to get a few more things and go back home.”

There’s an incredulous noise amongst footsteps over your shoulder, and his voice is suddenly a lot closer in your ear. “Soon? S’five in’ the morn’ bon, are ye just gon’ sleep the day away?’

You pause the game, spinning the chair around to meet him with a glare. “Why are you up this early?”

“International meeting, don’t go changin’ the subject.” He spins you back around despite your protests, leaning back upon your chair once again and peering at the screen. “Cannae see what yer enjoyin’ about this.”

“Wh – I mean, it’s not like last time. This time, I’ve downloaded these files that modify the games contents, and there’s way more crazy shit. You can mod it so much it’s like a new game.”

Johnny makes a noise of interest, dropping down to settle against your shoulders. “Really now?”

“Yeah, like look at this. I’ve got a gun in the game.”

A shotgun appears in your hand as you scroll to the hotbar tab, and you shoot a shell into the ground, listening as Johnny clicks in appreciation, surprisingly satisfied after his scrutinising. “Alright, show me ‘er properly.”

He hovers over the chair for a few more minutes, taking in your overview of the mods. “Oh, and this one! Hang on, look.” You hit a cow, and Johnny watches as it falls to the floor. Grabbing the body, you drag it over to a pixelated hook, and show him how you break the carcass down through the stages, collecting parts down to the bones.

He makes a noise of interest. “Si would like that. Can ye play with other people?”

You spin around to give him an excited grin, feeling the sleepiness retreat with your rapidly building enthusiasm. “Why, you want to join?”

Johnny scoffs, but there’s no hiding how his eyes gleam as a smile tugs at his lips to mirror yours. “Only after I finish the meetin’, and y’get some decent fuckin’ rest.”

-----

Ghost doesn’t care until Soap asks him to play.

When you originally ask him, it’s a late evening, and he’s curled up on the bed with a book as you deliver the question. There’s a pause in the turning of pages, and you get the usual dead-eyed stare when you say something he thinks is stupid over the edge of his book. ‘Y’want me to play a kid’s game?”

You give him your own scrutinizing look back, before turning back to the screen. “It’s not a kid’s game, Simon. Video games aren’t just for kids.”

He doesn’t press the topic any further, but you know his mind is often unchanged - so it’s a nice surprise when he brings it back up again a month or so later over the quiet chatter of some foreign film he’s watching, stirring you to look up from the words of your book.

“Oi, what’s that game y’were talkin’ about? Bloody… Mineshaft?”

You think Simon knows perfectly well what the game is called, but you humour him, pulling the blanket down slightly to look at him. “Minecraft?”

He snorts, leaning back into the armchair. “Yeah, s’one. Johnny’s bird got ‘im into it, won’t stop yappin’ ‘bout it now.”

You hold your breath, doing your best impression of nonchalance, directing your gaze back to the book. “Oh, yeah? That’s nice, sounds like he’s excited about it.”

Simon gives a non-committal grunt, but you can tell his focus is beyond the screen he’s looking towards. “Asked me t’play it with ‘im, bloody bastard. Said ‘e’d paid for a server or some shite.”

Excitement explodes in the back of your mind as you mentally praise your husband’s co-worker, thanking him for his influence as you steady your tone. “Well, why don’t you?”

He snorts with a cross of his arms, holding the remote against his chest. “Don’t know how to do all that rubbish.”

You close the book, sitting up and waving off his statement assuredly. “I have it installed already, you don’t have to do anything – oh, but can you ask him if he’s playing with mods?”

He’s not impressed with the request, frown deepening. “What, ‘m I your personal messenger now?”

But you’re onto him already, guiding the topic back on track. “Alright,” you give him a dry look, “give me his number then.”

The show pauses, and Simon looks back at you. It takes a moment, but you know you’ve won with a roll of his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he pulls his phone out and passes it to you after another message comes through.

>> Bonnie got me a whole folder of mods. Liek a whole nother game. Yer gonna play minecraft with me?

“So what?”

“Okay, well that’s easy to set up.” You pass the phone back to him, settling into your comfy nest of blankets. “So?”

“Are you going to play with him?”

(A month later, there’s another desk snug against yours while Simon fumbles with his screen settings as a broguish laugh comes from the headset, and Friday nights are something you’re realising you’ll never get back from that goddamn pixel game)

Headers and Dividers by saradika-graphics

[saint-vagrant]

for the love of god stop with these Rational Thinkers' paragraph + italicised "VOTE!" posts. is anyone moved by this? i've seen "vote for whoever you like, but just vote" VOTE FOR WHOEVER BUT JUST DO IT? BRO! that's somehow more pathetic than demanding that you back biden or else you're too young and too old and too stupid and too academic and ultimately a traitor if you came to a different conclusion and act, to your best ability, in accordance with your ethics.

like yeah you'll do whatever and so will i, i guess. but it's psychically painful to see this totally coincidental influx specifically since october 2023. people calling leftists (well specifically anti-imperialists &/ communists) "russian/chinese/3rd party agents" who are "lying to you to stop you from voting." it's been worded as "your friends are lying to you." that is so cool. it's like 2016 in here. yday i saw "voting isn't about which leader will sign off on your glorious revolution" which is such a snide misunderstanding of... most things, i think? it's giving "proudly launching headfirst down stairwell." more than half the time i check out OP, they're openly a zionist, or end up there by default in the sense of being a bland milquetoast etiquette-obsessed "let people enjoy things" centrist who's so mistrusting of information or pattern recognition that if you possess either you're corrupted by "ideology."

why would it be necessary to lie? what purpose for a big convoluted conspiracy? for whom IS this simplistic, condescending, dispassionate shit anyway??? surely not for the people whose families are burning alive, thanks to the american government who robs and brutalises its own people in order to fund further massacres. because how could you look that person in the face and tell them "no, you don't know fuckall about how things run around here. now is the time for political decorum" ?? there must be such a sense of comfort in the idea that those people are "over there." like i think it's pretty unfortunate that a lot of these posts begin by citing some ~dramatic~ ~babybrained~ "take" committed by disgruntled "western" posters (who are spies) but when i heard the source, or when i go find it, it's by a palestinian or muslim person or just someone from whom it like, kind of makes sense why they feel the way they do! but then it's characterised in such a vague wussy ass way! huh??!!! like it seems very convenient to ignore WHO is organising/mobilising/criticising, WHO is protesting and abstaining, so that these posts come off more sound and reasonable than the leftist sleeper agents who appeal to emotion over sense. and i'm not even telling you not to vote! i'm wondering why it's so impossible to conceive of a reality where a marginalised person or group concludes that the health and safety of their community will be sought and achieved through other means. you really can't imagine that? that's dumb to you?

so i guess i, too, don't care what the hell you do with your precious little life, but it is So Fucked to talk down to people about genocide like it's a petty, inconvenient wedge issue we have to sidestep for the greater good. fwiw voting isn't wholly irrelevant to me, And Also, i understand being against a system means, for many, abstaining from its approved tools and pouring efforts into direct action. this is not a new approach! greater good is sought and achieved mainly and actively on the ground— not from above. moreover, there is no good greater than opposing and ending genocide for fuck's sake! jesus!

[intermundia]

If you start with "I dont wish to be a hater or judge someone else's tastes but" I am sorry to inform you that you already are 🤷🏻‍♂️ Answering more seriously, ignoring all the canon examples that can be given for the appeal of this ship, let's address what could possibly motivate someone to consider it to begin with, regardless of the canon reasons. I assume you're implying some immoral issues that you personally take issue and cannot understand how we all just overlooked them, so— Historically, power dynamics between a Master and their Apprentice, would often include sexual tones and tensions that were explored or not. There's intrigue and interest in seeing how being raised in such an environment, when your main and closest bond, physical and mental, is also the one who raises and trains you, the one with whom you mature and develop (sometimes mutually, as one grows out of apprenticeship, and the other becomes a master). Some cultures saw this as being part of educating a young man to become a decent adult, showing them how to love and make love correctly, and modeling the correct behaviour. We can also address the fact that Anakin is a slave, phycologically, children with trauma tend to imprint on their saviors (hello Padme, hello Obi-Wan) and more than a few times, that leads to inappropriate and sometimes sexual fantasies, too. Not to mention that teens, even such without a trauma, but especially with one (those who lack one of the parents, double the chance) would develop a deep attachment, sexual fantasies and resentment and complex about their idol. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, only addressing Anakin's side. If we speak of Obi-Wan, a man raised in a cult-like organisation with strict codes, no modelling of healthy father-son relationships or any sort of real family structures and give him a boy who does not know how to not love with his whole ass heart--- anyways. It's interesting. It's intriguing. It's fun to explore and untangle. If you think that shipping Anakin with Padme is better by a lot, given their type of relationship and attachement style, as well as their communication and how anxious Anakin is-- well, you're just judging the ship based on the fact that it feels yucky for you to imagine irl. But well, isn't it lucky this is fictional? Anyways, if you don't want to be a hater-- just don't be. Plenty ships out there that are no everyone's cup of tea, what you do is block them and don't read them and forget about them, rather than come to ask someone a question under the guise of actually wanting to know the answer. If you have, you would have worded the question with a curiosity that would have prompted OP to give you a real answer. But you intent was not pure, therefore :)

thank you so much, i really did NOT have the spoons to put any of it into words today. usually i just block similar message but i really hated how that one was phrased in particular, like i really have always been happy to explain the million reasons why i think they love each other in every possible way... i've written so much meta and 750k words of stories about it. but they're just "asking" as a shame tool bc they think it's icky, and they don't want to actually consider the myriad complex reasons why people sometimes love each other in inappropriate situations and where those situations might arise inside the world of the gffa lmao

[ithebookhoarder]

Hey! I love your writing🥹 If you’re taking requests, please could I get your take on: female reader & Javi P are in a relationship. She finds out she’s pregnant a couple of weeks before a huge raid and hides it from everyone. During the raid she gets cornered by one of Pablo’s men and screams “I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant” Javi’s hears over the radio, his head snaps up and he takes off running to find her, Steve not far behind. + the aftermath once they get back to the embassy. Thank you ❤️

Crossroads (Javier Peña x AFAB!Reader)

A/n: MY HEART 💔  Thank you to whoever sent this gem in! I promise I’m also working on all the other requests in my inbox. I have them all started as drafts, but I get random bursts of inspiration for one at a time and then this happens. I’m so sorry for those of you patiently waiting - I will get to finishing them. Soon. This one just popped in my inbox and ran away with me... oops?

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of possible termination of pregnancy, injury, references to drugs and the cartel. 

Masterlist

You didn’t know why you hadn’t told Javi. It seemed strange now, to think that you hadn’t told the one person who deserved the most to know. 

Maybe it was denial? Fear? Fear that he’d react badly? Fear he’d react with excitement? 

You couldn’t be sure, but why you hadn’t told him didn’t matter now so much as the fact itself. You hadn’t told Javi you were pregnant, and now it was too late. 

Now, you were stood inside a crappy warehouse, alone, waiting on a contact to confirm intelligence for a raid you had planned for later that night. Sure, you could tell him tonight once this whole mess was over with, but that was dependant on both of you getting out of this operation unscathed - and whilst you were both great agents, you’d learned long ago never to under-estimate the prey you hunted. 

Escobar and his network were intelligent, well connected, and somehow always one step ahead. It was why you relied so heavily on contacts such as the one you were meeting right now.

Only eighteen, Sophia was the daughter of one of Escobar’s runners and desperate to get herself and her family away from the cartel.

She had approached you some weeks ago, begging and pleading for your help fleeing the country. In exchange she had offered the one thing of value she had - intel. Positioned close enough to the organisation to gather information, Sophia was also removed enough not to attract attention or suspicion. Hell, she said none of Escobar’s men even acknowledged her existence unless they wanted a drink, a smoke, or to paw at something during their visits. 

It seemed like a perfect opportunity for everyone involved. Or, it had, should you say… now, staring at your watch as the minutes ticked by with no sign of the young girl, you began to suspect something was wrong. 

God damn it. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to fight the urge to radio out to the surveillance van positioned further down the street. There was no need to get them worked up yet, not when Sophia could just be running late… the last thing you needed was Javi or Steve getting antsy and pulling you out, blowing your cover and fucking up the raid you had planned for later tonight. 

No, those two had always been protective over you, long before you and Javi had started seeing each other romantically. It was frustrating, even if a little flattering at the same time, to know you had two such loyal friends and partners. 

They never held the fact that you were a woman against you, but then again they’d never had cause to. Now? Now you were a walking stereotype. A liability. A pregnant woman carrying her partner’s child whilst trying to run ops in the middle of a war zone… They’d pull you out of the field so fast it would make your head spin - something you had worked too hard to risk. Not until you were certain… certain it was what you wanted, hence your decision to keep things quiet for now. 

In fact, the only person who was aware that something was different about you was Connie, and that was because you had needed her help to confirm it. 

What with her job at the clinic, and being Steve’s wife, Connie was the best option when it came to confirming your fears, rather than trying to risk a visit to a local doctor - one who was likely to talk to whoever would ask, no matter whether it was one of Escobar’s men, or even someone who could feed it back to the embassy. 

No. Connie was your only choice, being both discreet and loyal to a fault - something you had never been more grateful for than now.  That, and she was your closest friend outside of the office. There was no one else you wanted more to be holding your hand whilst you waited to find out if this was actually happening. 

She had also been more than willing to talk you through your options afterwards, promising to honour your wishes no matter what you decided - even if she kept trying to convince you to tell Javi. 

"He deserves to know," she'd sighed softly, holding your hand and wiping away your tears. "He's kind and he loves you. All he'd want is to support you. You know that."

If only you could be so sure of that.

Javi? A baby? The two things didn't seem compatible, even if he did have a soft spot for Olivia, but she wasn't his... a biological child that was yours to raise, protect, and nurture... it was a whole other situation - and given that Javi thought coffee was a food group, a situation you weren't sure he was ready for yet.

Hell, you weren't even sure you were ready for this yet, which was probably why you hadn’t made any decision other than to just carry on working like nothing was wrong until such a time as the answer came to you... if it came to you... or perhaps the universe would answer it for you... 

Why else would you be risking your neck here in this warehouse, late at night, distracting yourself and delaying the inevitable moment where you’d be forced to chose?

After all, inaction was still action in this kind of situation. You knew you couldn't keep putting off the conversation forever, but that didn't make it any easier to know what to say or do in this situation.  

Thankfully, that was the moment you were startled from your spiralling thoughts as footsteps echoed across the room. 

You recognised the sound as someone came in, closing the squeaking rusted door you’d already entered through. 

“Sophia?”

You watched as the girl crept from the darkness, nervously tugging at her sleeves. 

You paused.  

As timid as Sophia had seemed previously when you met one another, you still felt something was off as she moved towards you. It was like the energy rolling off of her was wrong... sending shivers running down your spine as you felt your fingers twitch towards the gun sat at your side. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, over here,” you called, “I was starting to think you weren't going to show.” 

It was like watching a rabbit, twitching, with wide eyes, like she was about to bolt at the first sound. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry? What for?” you asked. “It’s ok. You could have called to say you were going to be late but-” 

Then you heard it. 

The click as the gun was cocked behind you. 

Without even turning you knew you had been betrayed. 

“Sophia,” you sighed, trying not to let the fury show on your face as you stared at the sobbing girl in front of you. After all, you couldn’t really blame her had you been in her situation. You should have expected it, actually. The call had been far too easy and the information too tantalising for the DEA to pass up. 

Still, that didn’t change the fact you were now here… stuck… held at gun point by the two men who had entered the room when you weren’t looking. 

Shit. 

You really had been distracted tonight and now you were paying the price for your mistakes. 

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was barely audible through the girl’s tears. 

“Me too, kid. Me too.” 

You watched as one of the men kept his gun trained on you, whilst the other marched over to Sophia and shoved the wad of cash into her hand before pushing her out the door in a clear message to beat it. They had what they wanted, as did Sophia - she had her life and her freedom, for now. 

Who knew how long it would actually last... 

Hell, who knew how long you’d last given this sudden change of events? 

The door had barely shut behind her when the man who’d given her the cash turned back towards you. 

“So, you’re the one who’s been snooping around? Trying to get our girl to talk?” he teased, his tone cold and mocking. “Don’t you know what happens to little girls who stick their noses in places it don’t belong?”  

The threat was clear as he grinned, his friend walking around you so that you could see the gun held in his hand, pointing directly at you. 

Your own gun was snatched from its position at your side, tucked instead into the man's jeans for safe keeping.

“Well, lucky for you, the boss wants to know what you know, and where you got that intel from,” your captor continued, his tone oozing with a sick satisfaction. “If you tried to make a rat out of Sophia, who knows who else you’ve got squeaking away in your gringo ear. So, you see, we can’t just kill you, else I’d be pulling this trigger right here and now… but when we’re through with you, you’ll wish I had.” 

You couldn't help it. You flinched as the man nearest you stepped closer, gesturing towards the door with his gun in an obvious signal. 

“Move,” he hissed. “Now.” 

Shit. 

You take a deep breath, trying to remind yourself that you weren’t alone. That your comms were still in place, and that there were still men positioned outside the warehouse. The moment you emerged, with two men holding you at gun point they would be surrounded. 

But would that be before or after they had the chance to pull the trigger and plant a bullet in the back of your skull? 

You’d seen enough of these hostage situations to know how they went down, to know that the hostage didn’t always make it out… the directive was to remove the sicarios - they were the priority. 

Not you. 

It was that thought that made your stomach roll as you began to move, legs shaking so hard you weren’t sure you could stand. 

"Where are we going?” you stammered, you mouth so dry you can hardly form the words. 

“Shut up, bitch," the thug sneered, shoving you forward. You could practically taste his contempt. “Keep walking unless you want me to shoot you in the leg and drag you myself.”  

You knew he’d do it too. He seemed the type to be cruel - to get off on inflicting pain and exercising what tiny slither of power he had. 

However, you also knew that letting these guys move you to a second location was as good as a death sentence. 

No, this was it. 

You had to make your final stand here and now if you even wanted a chance of making it out of this in one piece. 

It was for that reason you said a silent prayer before clenching your fists. Two on one… it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst odds either. You just had to be smart. After all, they needed you alive for now - they’d foolishly revealed that much. 

You could work with that. 

"You do realise that waiting outside those doors is a whole bunch of DEA agents, right?" you jabbed. "You walk outside with that gun pointed at me and you're dead."

"Shut up, bitch," the man with the gun snapped back sharply. "You think we're gonna fall for that? Nice try. Now, get moving."

"Hey, it's your funeral."

"I said shut up-"

"Dude, maybe we should go out the other way," his colleague interjected, the hesitation exactly what you'd been hoping for. "We can get the van round out the back, off the road and out of sight of any police."

"No."

You took the distraction as your cue.

The moment you felt the gun drop from your back you were on them, throwing the weapon upwards and sending the resulting shot up into the ceiling.

Your foot was next, smashing up between the man’s legs in a well rehearsed manoeuvre, followed by your elbow slamming into the other man's face, stopping him before he could reach for you.

The few precious seconds you'd bought yourself were all you needed to make a run for it, bolting back towards the doors up ahead.

Your fingers reached up, squeezing the switch on the side of the mic you had taped under your collar, ready to call for back up. 

But you never got the chance. 

Your fingers had just grazed the switch when you felt something collide with you from behind. A great weight that sent you crashing down onto the ground, hard. 

You tried to roll over, only to be met with a fist slamming into your face, too fast for you to even try and block him. 

The ferocious assault caused your head to bounce off of the concrete with a sickening thud. Pain exploded, your eyes filling with tears, and your vision blurred as the shock of the impact resonated, unleashing agony that pulsed through your skull. 

A silent cry escaped your lips, full of shock and pain. 

Shit.

Your assailant jumped off of you, following through with a swift, vicious kick to your ribs, knocking all the air from your lungs with the force of the blow. 

Scrunching your eyes tightly, you tried to fight the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath. 

“Stop,” you begged, hating how weak you sounded. However, something inside you roared, an urge to fight taking over you - but not just for yourself, but for the future that was growing inside of you... a future you hadn’t been sure of until right now…

Now, as you stood to lose it. 

It suddenly didn’t matter if Javi wanted this baby or not, or if he would be happy or terrified or disappointed. What mattered was that he would never get the chance to be any of those things, to decide for himself, to have the opportunity to choose what life he wanted. 

He needed to know… you couldn’t die here, without him knowing… 

“Stop, please!" you pleaded. "I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!” 

Without even thinking, you curled your legs in tight, huddling into a ball and trying to block your stomach before he could land the next blow. 

However, it never came.

“Hold on!” your assailant’s partner scolded. "Not here. The boss wants her alive for now.” 

He paused. "The bitch deserves it!"

Then you heard it - the door slamming open. The thundering of boots running across concrete towards you. Orders barked in Spanish. 

You watched as your assailants silently gaped in horror, raising their hands above their heads as they were suddenly surrounded by figures... 

Why was it so hard, all of a sudden, to make things out?

It was hard to distinguish one sound from another, to see anything beyond colours and shapes as your world began to dissolve. The warehouse was replaced by a dark haze that seemed determined to consume you no matter how hard you fought against it.

“Y/N!” 

Javi’s voice echoed in your ears, a swirling sound full of panic, yet it somehow made you feel calm... safe...

“Y/N!” 

“Javi,” you croaked, as you felt yourself slipping into the darkness.  

Your body had turned into cement. 

That was the first thought that crossed your muddled mind as you felt the beginnings of consciousness returning to you. It was as if every part of you had decided to refuse to respond to your demands, held down by invisible weights. 

You'd been knocked unconscious once or twice before in your lifetime, but this grogginess was a first... an uncomfortable and disconcerting force, trapping you on the brink of the land of living.

You had no choice but to lay there, helplessly listening to the sounds around you, each becoming clearer as your faculties gradually returned

Machinery beeping.

Footsteps passing in the hallway. 

Voices caught in frantic conversations. 

"- Javi, calm down. I know. I'm the one who should be feeling guilty, letting her walk in there by herself." "We all thought the meet was secure, Murphy. How could we know she was gonna turn on us? And Y/N, the crazy, stupid - Why didn't she tell me?" 

Javi’s voice was full of anguish.

"Dude, calm down. Y/N’s the strongest person I know. She’s alive and gonna wake up. You heard the doctor, the swelling in her head is down and she’s going to wake up. That’s all that matters now. You can discuss the baby, and what you’re going to do, later."

The baby? You caught the words, a weird rush of relief flooding through you at the confirmation that your baby was alright... 

Thank god. 

And Javi knew? 

That thought echoed over and over in your mind as you felt yourself beginning to fade back into the darkness from which you had come. 

Stubble softly scraping the back of your hand was the first thing you noticed when you finally came to. That, and the pressure of someone squeezing your hand tightly. 

You knew the grip without even opening your eyes. You'd felt it often enough, the rough calloused hand holding yours, brushing against you, touching every single part of you... "You've got to wake up, honey," came an also familiar sound, luring you ever closer to the land of the living.

You'd know that voice anywhere, considering it had become your constant companion. It was the first thing you heard every morning and the last thing you heard at night.

"Please," it continued. "I'm so sorry, ok? Sorry for everything - for making you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. Just... shit... I need you to wake up, cause I fucking love you and I can't- can't lose you-"

Somehow, that was all it took. Those words flipped a switch inside you, allowing you to find the strength to peel your eyes open and register the full extent of your surroundings - including the man sat beside you.

Turning your head, you were greeted with a sight so perfect a part of you thought you must still be dreaming.

Javi.

Sat next to you, you realised he had your hand pressed to his cheek, his lips pressing soft kisses to it in between words.  

He didn't seem to notice the fact that you had stirred, so lost in his desperation. It was probably why he jumped, flinching as you reached over with your free hand to run your fingers through his hair.

"I love you too," you croaked in greeting.

“Y/N?”

Javi had never seemed so fragile as he did then. Eyes wide, he looked nothing like the ice-cold DEA agent you often glimpsed in the field. Instead, he looked like one good gust of wind would send him toppling to the ground had he not already been sat down in one of the plastic chairs that you had come to recognise from your repeated visits.

“Javi, where - where am I?" you continued softly, "What happened? What day is it?" "Sssh. It’s alright. It's almost Saturday. You've been unconscious for over twenty-four hours, even if it felt fucking longer.” His hands were warm as they cupped both sides of your face, guiding you towards him as he kissed you like his life depended on it. 

It was as if neither of you could get close enough to one another, you curling yourself eagerly into his side, breathing in the soft scent of his cologne and cigarette smoke.

“I... I’m sorry,” you choked, the words tumbling out of you before you could even realise what you were saying. “It was my fault. I should have known that something was wrong-”

“No,” Javi scolded, tensing at your guilt-ridden tone. "No, don't say that. Don't - don't do that to yourself. This isn't on you. It's a fuck up - a colossal fuck up, yes, but one we didn't see coming. We vetted the source. She was good. We cleared the meet with Carillo and the Ambassador... there was no way we could have prevented this."

"But-?"

"Carino. Stop. Please," he begged. Yes, Javi actually begged and it was enough to stun you into silence. "I just... talking about the meet? I honestly don't care about all that right now. The who, why how of what happened will still fucking be there later... but right now? Now, you're here... you're alive... and you're finally awake."

His tone melted your heart, making you somehow wish you could absorb every ounce of pain he was experiencing. It hurt you, to know you had caused the man you loved such agony. In a way, you'd had a slightly easier time of it, being the one to sleep through the after math of this disaster. He had had the hardest job; waiting, watching, and worrying.

You knew that pain yourself, having experienced it firsthand since your arrival in Colombia. You'd never forget how it had nearly torn you apart, waiting as Javi had been admitted after a close shave in a shoot-out.

Those two days had felt like an eternity. Two days with no news... just sitting and waiting and praying.

“I ... I could hear you, by the way.”

“What?”

“I heard you,” Javi repeated softly, snapping you out of your head and solidly back into the present, “over the radio. I heard what you said when those assholes hit you - about the baby-”

You froze.

Despite knowing that this moment would inevitably come, now that it was finally upon you, you suddenly wished you were back in the realm of unconsciousness you'd just come from.

"Javi," you began nervously, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, don't be mad at me-"

“-Well, too bad, sweetheart because I am mad. So mad," he exclaimed sharply, "I'm mad at you for not telling me, for putting yourself in danger like that, knowing you're pregnant. I’m not saying you had to decide to keep it or whatever, but it would have been fucking nice to be asked. To know. To not find out after you put yourself on the line." "I- I didn't know what else to do."

“And I’m sorry for making you feel like that,” Javi added swiftly, his tone softening with every passing moment.

It was like watching the air deflating out of a tire, the fear and the rage dissipating almost as quickly as it had first appeared. 

“I get it, why you may not have wanted to tell me... I’m mad at myself that you felt you had to do this alone. I thought you’d trust me enough to know I’d support you, no matter what you decided.”

“I do, Javi,” you sobbed, unable to prevent a tear from escaping your eye. “I just... I got scared and I panicked. I think keeping it secret was more my way of pretending this wasn't real, that I could act like it wasn't happening, that I had more time.”

Silence. 

“Javi, please say something. Anything...” 

"What's there to say? You're pregnant." He shrugged in a desperate attempt to look nonchalant, but you could see the truth. Underneath it all, Javier Peña was utterly terrified.

It didn't matter how much he tried to hide it behind that calm swagger of his, and the crossing of his arms over his chest - you knew him better than anyone. You'd seen him at his very best and his very worst. Such was the lot of living in a war zone, let alone falling in love in one.

Fighting the urge to let your tears escape your burning eyes, you reached over and took his hands in yours. To your relief, he didn't fight you. Instead, he lifted his gaze, his eyes wide and telling you all you needed to know without even asking.

He had obviously spent the last 24 hours mulling the entire situation over and over in his head since the moment he had first heard the news. Lord knows he'd probably imagined each and every possible outcome for the future... your future... "Y/N, I don't know what to say or do. I never even thought about being a parent."

"Me either..." you confessed, relieved to finally be able to say the words aloud to the man who'd needed to hear them the most. "I mean, could the timing be better? yes. I never pictured something like this happening so early on, but it has and now we have a choice to make. To have longer, just the two of us... Or to become a family of three, but either way we'll work it out together. I will love you unconditionally, no matter what you choose but you're my partner, Javi. You have a say in this too. We're a team."

"Y/N," Javi whispered, his voice pained. "I ... I thought I'd lost you... back there in that warehouse, seeing you lying on the ground, knowing I could have lost you, lost this - it was all my worst fears realised." Gently taking your head between his hands, he wiped the tears away. "I love you, too," he declared. "And... if you want this, with me, then I'll try to be a good father."

It was as if a weight had been taken off of you. To know that he was with you, no matter what... that was all you'd ever wanted.

"That's all I can ask for, Javi," you whimpered, failing to hide the playful smile that fell into place, "because let's face it; you don't have much choice anyway, because I'm not going anywhere."

Javi's own signature smirk tugged at his lips. “Good, because I can't lose you... I can't be left with just Murphy. Can you imagine? We'd drive ourselves into an early grave.” 

"Javi!"

It felt blissful for you both the be able to laugh again. To joke like nothing had changed between you, even if it had - for the better, ultimately.

“Speaking of... Where’s Steve?” 

Javi paused. “Went with Connie to get coffee - I feel I should mention that Steve’s pissed you didn't tell him too, you know.”

You groaned. You weren't surprised. “I’ll add him to the list of apologies. Do you think making him and Connie godparents would make it better?” 

“Woah there,” Javi scoffed, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. “One day at a time, querida. One day at a time.” 

[arrowfleur]

✩‧₊˚ Redacted HC’s ✩‧

Part 7: Asher and Babe

If you saw me accidentally post half of this earlier, no you didn’t

Asher has a photo of babe dress up up as the werewolf framed in their apartment

Babe is one of the only people Ashers head can clear around

Asher’s hair was so FRIED at one point that he shaved a buzz cut. Only to immediately bleach patterns into it

Looked good tho

Babe loved running their hands across it

They’re both big on touch but Asher asks for it more often

Asher is one of those that can eat and eat and eat and never put in weight, get acne, bloated etc

Babe always gets bloated

It’s very annoying

Babe is good at making several different outfits with the same few pieces of clothing

Asher sleep shifts a lot more since the inversion.

Babe hasn’t brought it up, they just snuggle into him

Asher is actually somewhat lactose intolerant but he just ignored it and refuses to admit it. Also don’t mention it when he orders pizza

Babe loves fairs, the lights, the attractions, the food. They’re very nostalgic to them

They’ve also kept all their childhood dvd’s and watch them for comfort

They are both oddly taken to d at finding little hidden gems around Dhalia

They of course organise taking the pack to them after they discover them

They’ve kept a couple to themselves though

Touch

Asher is obsessed with Babes big doe eyes

They’re so expressive

If a normal appliance comes in pastel colours Babe is twice as likely to buy it

Babe has slowly become less neat after moving in with Ash. Not because he’s a bad influence because he has not once since they’ve known him made a single comment about their things being in the way

When some of the pack slept over at their apartment Babe made a massive den for everyone

They did end up having to take out a few blankets, this was when they realised radiating heat was a wolf thing not an Asher thing

And also an Angel thing?

Babe warms their hands up on Asher and Angel by sticking them under their shirts

Babe find it hilarious

Asher has a wonderful habit of buying them matching things

Phone cases, key rings, plushies, pyjamas. If he likes something he always thinks of Babe too

He loves sharing, very little things are off limits with Ash

Ash is very serious about traditions and upholding them. He thinks it’s very important

He also has a lot more than just regular holiday stuff and Babe was very intrigued to learn what was random ash shenanigans and what he’d repeat the next year

Thank you for reading! An ‘underrated’ couple in my op, such cuties

[cyberrose2001]

Hi there! I found your blog not long ago and I wanted to say that I love your work! I saw your requests were open, so hopefully this is okay. (This is also my first request like this EVER, so I'm sorry if I'm super awkward or unclear lol;;;; )

TFP OP x human!fem!reader. The reader is shy but tries to help around the base, and make everyone smile. She develops feelings for Optimus and is interested in a relationship with him; but, due to said shyness and a fear of rejection, she keeps the feelings to herself and it's a huge pining situation. Maybe those feelings grow to wanting something more intimate over time.

I hope this makes sense! Thank you! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

TFP Optimus x human!fem!reader

Hi! I got your other ask as well and its all good! Thank you for requesting! I hope I've done your first request justice :)

Warnings: Suggestive (more towards the end, but mostly SFW)

Word count: 703

Since you've been taken in by the Autobots, you've made it your duty to repay their kindness in the upkeeping of their base. You're not the talkative type, often keeping to yourself and avoiding confrontation. And helping with maintenance allows you to avoid the others.

You would watch as the other humans would go on missions and help save the planet, but you were more than happy to stay behind to clean and organise equipment. Some would call you the human equivalent of Ratchet, except less grumpy and more reserved in nature. The cleaning gave you something to focus on, mainly when your thoughts drifted to a particular red and blue mech.

You couldn't help yourself. Optimuss's strong and bold personality resonates with everyone he meets. He displays it with such gentle kindness, and you fall for him. You're in love with him. You're so fucking in love with him that it hurts. It hurts because you know he could never love a human in the same regard you have for him. So, you transform that pain into something actually useful. Instead of daydreaming about him confessing to you, you grab a mop and a bucket of water and clean the base's dirty floor.

Dip. Squeeze out the water. Mop. Repeat.

Giving the concrete one last sweep, you stand back and admire your handy work. It took you nearly the whole afternoon, but the way the floor glistens and shines is worth it. Kneeling on the mint-condition floor, you run your hand across the smooth surface, gazing at your reflection. It is near damn perfect, almost as perfect as the sculpted face of Optimus staring back at you. You are about to run your hand across your star-crossed lover until your hand freezes. You're not hallucinating from the cleaning chemicals. That's his reflection.

You jump out of your skin and fall backwards. Your eyes shoot up to meet the glowing azure optics that belonged to Optimus Prime. He's crouched down over your comparatively petite frame, giving you a questionable look.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you." Optimus lends you his servo. You're hesitant but accept the offer, and he quickly pulls you off the ground and onto your shaky legs. He notices and keeps a servo wrapped around your hand to keep you steady, "Are you alright?"

No, I'm holding your hand, you think to yourself.

"I'm fine, thank you." You feign a laugh as your face flushes. He is so close to you that you could genuinely touch his face for real if you wanted to. His grip on your hand is firm, and the size difference makes you swoon internally, "You gave me a fright, though."

"That was not my intention," He chuckles, and it's like music to your ears, "I could not help but admire your skills. This place has not been this pristine in years."

Don't freak out, but Optimus just gave you a compliment.

"Oh! Thank you." You say as you withdraw your hand, overcome with bashfulness. You swear you could see a glint of disappointment in his optics as you did so, "It's not much, honestly… I'm surprised you even noticed."

Optimus gives you a gentle smile and returns to his pedes, "It is difficult not to. You've done a fine job, Y/n."

He turns his back to you, and you can see the hesitance in his stance as he turns his helm to look over his shoulder at you.

"Perhaps you could… assist me in cleaning my quarters someday." He casually says as he saunters off to the base computer.

You're thankful that Optimus wasn't looking at you because the amount of blood rushing to your face, and surprisingly to another region of your body, is embarrassing. You were curious to know if he was flirting with you or if you took his words in a completely different context. Either way, you hastily pick up the bucket and mop and power walk to the nearest janitor's closet.

"Is she alright?" A curious Bulkhead asks as he witnesses the whole thing, "She looked kinda… red."

Optimus focuses on the screen before him, a slight smirk on his dermas, "I only startled her, I believe she will be ok."

[cloudypariah]

Loving How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies so far! Will the reader turn the guys against each other when they figure out what’s going on?

Oh, you betcha. It would be an intrusive ‘what if’ thought that gets that ball rolling.

You’re sitting on the couch when you feel it: the lightbulb sensation of an epiphany invading your current daydream.

110% you “break into” John Price’s place again to review the whiteboard because a certain captain forgot to ask for the spare key back. It takes about nearly ten minutes of total silence and restraint before you come to the dreaded conclusion that you are the one they’re after. You stand there as your blood runs cold, your brain struggling to process what this could mean for your future and you relationship with the 141 itself. And the fact remains that you’ve been helping them learn about yourself inside and out, which means they have the advantage in this situation.

You’re quick to come to the conclusion that whole this is inevitable - with their training and unusually intimate knowledge of you, you’ve got no shot at emerging victorious and escaping their clutches. But just as you reach that conclusion the lightbulb comes back.

That doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with it. After all, you’ll eventually find out anyway, so why not fuck around?

You start to spend some one on one time with each member of the 141, telling them how they make your job much easier whenever they complete their reports on time, and how they make you feel so at ease when things get rough. Those whispers and shared touches grow until you openly admit to each guy privately that there is one certain 141 gentleman that has managed to catch your eye - but it’s not them. It’s only because they are your closest friend that you’re gushing to them about something so wonderful, but you trust them not to tell a soul because that’s what friends do right? ‘Thanks for being such a pal about this.’ You take care to mention the things that this “gentleman” does that makes you widely smile, without actually naming the man.

Each member is thoroughly put out because weren’t they doing enough to secure your affections? How have the others managed to slip their way into your heart but they haven’t?

They’re crushed for a little while until each of the men comes up with a game plan.

Gaz spends more time with you going over the reports and talking about the ops more than he should, hoping his openness and insight puts him back on your radar. This interferes with John’s plan.

John organises a small lunch nearly every day he’s on base - just you and him - so that you’ll feel comfortable telling him about this 141 member that he can’t seem to put a finger on. He doesn’t feel as sorry as he should when he has to kick Kyle out of your office, John’s need to adapt and overcome bigger than Kyle’s ego. But this interferes with Soap’s plan.

The pride wounded MacTavish offers to take you off base to go shopping for mundane things, civilian things to show that he does plan on settling down at some point, and that he can offer security in a relationship. He gets a little frustrated every time he sees his captain in your office chatting you up. But on the days where he can take you out for a short day trip, this interferes with Ghost’s plan.

Simon has a similar plan to Johnny, but Simon mentions going to the shooting range to get you away from the office and lend an ear to your frustrations, hoping you’ll drop some more hints about where he went wrong (or the others went right). It annoys him when Johnny takes you out for the afternoon when the Sergeant should be bloody working on something else - anything else, really. But when Simon does take you away, it put a damper in Gaz’s steps when he doesn’t see you in your office.

And soon it becomes a toxic and repetitive competition between the four of them. Their communication breaks down slightly, pride and ego ensuring they’re more focussed on bringing themselves into your romantic spotlight rather than talking to each other about the situation. You know this won’t last forever and they will eventually find out about your deception, but at least you can enact some contingency plans while they’re distracted.