#this prompt has been marinating for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

msfantasy-anime · 7 days ago

Text

No way! Luffy has a Wife?!

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader

Summary: an amalgamation of many requests on others finding out Luffy is married.

A/n: Thanks @matronofthevoid for the prompt of Boa Hancock and to the other anonymous DM’s requesting others

Part VII

After a few weeks of Monkey Y/n’s Wanted posters circulating, the world government has issued a retraction after being unable to locate the marriage certificate of Luffy and Y/n.

The marines have since issued new Wanted posters, removing the family name ‘Monkey’ followed by the following description.

‘Y/n, Wanted Dead or Alive for 200 million berries after assaulting a marine officer for insulting childhood friend Monkey D. Luffy. The bounty has been increased as Y/n is confirmed to be an official member of the strawhat pirates after eye-witness testify Y/n claiming allegiance to the strawhat captain in wholecake Island. The World Government would also like to retract any claims or statements of the marriage between the pair due to lack of evidence to support claim.’

Whilst it true the new posters and description have been issued- not everyone has received the new news.

Shanks - Receiving the original poster

“Hey captain! Check this out!” Yassop howls in laughter with Lucky Roux, throwing a newly issued bounty down into their captains lap.

Wanted Dead or Alive. Monkey. Y/n. 100m berries.

Shanks eyes widen slightly at the name.

“Luffy’s a grown man now, wife and all…” Shanks mutters, his eyes shining with pride before quickly faltering to horror. “That little twerp got married and didn’t even invite me?! Can you believe that?!”

Silvers Rayleigh - Receiving the original poster

Shakuyaku smirks down at the news paper below her, taking a good long drag from the cigarette sitting loosely between her fingers.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Rayleigh steals a glance at the papers. “Well would you look at that… the boys not completely hopeless after all.”

Boa Hancock - Receives the new posters

As all of the Kuja warriors suspected. Their beautiful loving Empress has been bedridden for weeks.

The wanted poster…

The description of Luffy’s marital status…

It was all far too much for the tender hearted empress.

But as soon as Gloriosa received the newest issue, she figuratively bolted to the empresses bed chamber. “I’ve come bearing great news!” Gloriosa announces, pulling the blanket off of the rotting figure that is Boa Hancock.

He matted hair remains tangled, her swollen eyes pinching together tighter at the exposure of light. “Leave at once you old hag! Leave me to my suffering!” Hancock wails, pulling weakly at the bedcovers.

“He isn’t married!” Gloriosa announces as Hancock sits up rapidly. “Luffy! He isn’t married- it was just a false report! They’re only childhood friends!” The angelic expression that follow was so blindingly beautiful, Gloriosa’s memory lapsed at the beauty that is her Empress.

“Luffy my love! I knew it! You shall be mine! No woman is qualified for his affections!” Hancock swoons.

Monkey D. Garp - Receives the new poster

“See Koby?! I knew it wasn’t true!” Helmeppo scrutinises the posters hung up on the wall.

‘Y/n Wanted Dead or Alive’

Koby shrugs indifferently. Whilst it might be true Luffy and Y/n aren’t married, is it really so crazy to believe Luffy has romantic interests? Well according to Helmeppo, such a statement is ridiculous.

“What are you two bickering about now?” Garp grumbles, shoving his hand into the bucket of popcorn and into his mouth by the fist fulls.

“Sir- you would know more than that Luffy couldn’t possibly be married.” Helmeppo guestures to Y/n’s new poster.

There was a moment of silence before Garp dropped his bucket of popcorn to the floor, snatching the poster as his eyes widen in horror. “Huh?! So that little brat went and became a pirate after all?! Does anyone listen to me?! First Ace, then my idiot grandson and now my angel?!” Storming to his desk, Garp continues to mutter to himself under his breath, riffling through the papers until he is able to extract a report pertaining to your bounty from the pile.

You were Garp’s one saving grace.

The one and only rambunctious child that didn’t go over to the dark side, but based off the report- it’s still his idiot grandsons fault.

If he didn’t become a pirate then you wouldn’t have gained a wanted poster defending his honour like the noble angel you are.

“Sir - you would know more than anyone. Is Luffy and Y/n married or not?” Koby asks, only for Garps eyes to remain dark and downcast in angst.

“Unofficially.” He mutters only for Helmeppo to cringe at the confirmation.

“So it’s true then?! Strawhat really does have a wife?!” Helmeppo shouts in horror, needing desperately for Garp to tell him the honest truth.

“Huh?” Garp picks his nose mindlessly as he thinks back. “That idiot has been claiming they’ve been married for years… guess he just finally wore her down.”

Bartolomeo - Receives the new poster

“And Y/n defended Sir Luffy by knocking that filthy marine out in one hard punch!” Bartolomeo praises, dabbing a moist tissue to his eyes. “It’s just so beautiful! Sir Luffy deserves nothing less than a devoted wife to defend his honour.” Bartolomeo throws himself onto the floor as he continues to sob hysterically. “And - to think- they’re childhood friends! Truely a romantic story for the ages!”

The crew begin to cry in unison. “How can people deny their marriage?!” Some sobbing crewman questions, blowing his nose into his own shirt.

“They don’t need no stink’in piece of paper! We will help sir Luffy by spreading their grand love story far and wide for all to hear!”

Y/n - Receives the new poster

“Hey have you guys seen Y/n?” Luffy questions, scratching his head absentmindedly.

Zoro points lazily towards the head of the Thousand Sunny where you appear to be sitting glumly. You begin to make the face you always do when you are sad.

“I’m sorry Luffy- I didn’t mean to upset her.” Chopper mutters sadly. But Zoro only drops his heavy hand on Choppers head. “Y/n’s bounty went up, I went to show her, but then she got really upset.“ Chopper holds up the newly issued Wanted poster of Y/n.

“Hey it’s not your fault, all you did was show her the new poster.” Zoro reassures but Choppers shoulders sink further.

Luffy snatches Nami’s pen from her hand and begins to scribble on the Wanted poster.

“Luffy! What the hell-“ Luffy tosses the pen back on the table and stalks back off towards his gloomy wife.

“Oi! Have you seen your new wanted poster? Looks like your bounty went up since you’re officially in my crew now.” Luffy announces ecstatically, shoving the wrinkly paper into your hands.

You begin to slouch into yourself. You knew it was silly but it was heart wrenching to finally have a family name only of it to be taken at a moments notice. ‘Monkey’ was not a last name you even earnt. But even so, it was nice to feeling like you belonged somewhere.

“Yeah, what about it?“ Your voice shrivels up on the spot.

Looking down at the wanted poster you see your name haphazardly scribbled ‘Monkey Y/n’

Tears threatened to well-up. Without you even admitting out loud - Luffy somehow knew exactly what upset you and how to fix it. “You’re so dumb sometimes ya’know?” Luffy states rhetorically, which only makes you begin to boom with laughter. “How many more times do I have to remind you? You’re my wife. You don’t need some piece of paper to give you a last name. Because I already gave you my last name.” You begin to grin at your sweet loveable doofus. “But if you need a piece of paper, then take that. I wrote it myself and everything- Kay?” He asks only for you to spring on top of Luffy, pulling him into a lethal tight hug.

554 notes · View notes

kyumisyumi · 11 months ago

Text

Tentacles and Tendrils

Shaking off the rust and giving monster smut(writing in general) a shot again.

Prompt: monster partner is in rut/heat and the partner has to deal with it

Rating: 18+

Monster type: M!Merfolk x F!Reader

Word count: 6k

~Taking requests~

You stare out at the unending, blue horizon. The cool ocean breeze preparing you for the temperatures of its water as you linger along the edge. You wore the company certified diving gear: a wetsuit, mask, BCD, the works. A spear weighed down one hand while a cylindrical container weighed on your shoulder. Hope and pessimism fought to be at the forefront of your mind as you scan the empty waters with heavy disappointment. This area was always relatively vacant, but not too far off you can spot a duo entering the water with matching gear. Their actions take you out of your haze, and with another gauge check you finally approach the water. Getting a feel for the sea's surge, you make your way in. And with practiced hands you slipped on your fins before turning to greet the seas with outstretched arms.

Beneath the blue your body instantly goes into autopilot. Swimming was as natural as walking and these seas might as well have been a second home; a wayward beauty that will switch it's mood at a moments notice but home nonetheless. You took it all in, familiar as it may be, the ocean never stopped being a sight to behold. A world beneath our own full of wonderful blues, outstretched greens and terrifying blacks. The current had a bit of force behind it but nothing near the cruelty you knew any large body of water could deal. Your darting eyes couldn't help but search around, scanning everywhere for even just a hint of... There! You moved with haste. As much as you could as a land dwelling animal in aquatic terrain. You didn't get far before the shape you eagerly chased revealed itself to be just a particularly thick and unruly swatch of seaweed. You sigh internally before resolving to begin your original task.

Nearing a gorgeous station of coral, you couldn't help but linger and watch the busyness. Schools of varicolored, itty bitty fish swimming through the equally colorful pseudo-flora. Despite your love for marine life, you never quite learnt the names of all the little guys much less how to differentiate between them, say for a handful that stick out. Your interest was usually for the larger lifeforms mother nature had to offer; you smiled as you watched a wary grey eel eye you with suspicion. Soon your eyes fell upon your reason for being here. It's bright red colors were slightly muted by the depths, with white tiger stripes outlined by black to break up the pattern. Its form was lined with spines and frills that flowed and fluttered with each graceful swish of it's body; an absolutely gorgeous creature. You readied your spear. The black strap trigger pressed into your skin as you carefully aimed, hoping not to hit anything but the target. It helped that the lionfish lingered in one spot before you speared it. You moved to put it in the container before opting to offer it to the eel you saw earlier. As gorgeous - and delicious - as they were, these guys were invasive here and the effects of their persistence was a constant strain to the native wildlife. They seemed highly concentrated around this sandy patch of substrate, driftwood and dead coral. It didn't take long after the first few kills for one of your friends to make their way over. Gently, you caressed the top of the nurse shark eyeing your spare eagerly, this one you named Lisa... or maybe it was Madeline. It was no surprise your face blindness extended to animals as well, even the cute ones that made your dives feel a little less lonely. The creature began gliding and swirling around you. You liked to believe the fondness was mutual but it was equally likely they were just in it for a meal. You speared another lionfish and offered it to the grey and white cutie.

The spot you were in. The shark. The scenario. It brought back the memory of the first time you saw him.

Back then you were collecting lionfish, same as now with a duo of nurse sharks tailing your every movement. At the time you were overly cautious, so you'd sit in one place, removing the venomous spines of the fish before handing them over. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, he'd been there for quite a while, watching you. From his position partially behind the rocks, you'd think he was hiding -or rather, on the defensive- but you just can't imagine something that big and powerful hiding from tiny 'ol you. Yes you had a spear but you doubt it would do you much good if he decided to attack. Merfolk. Given your job at the Aquatic Wildlife Center you were relatively familiar with them. Your company was more than welcoming when programs were made for them- as well as the other species- who showed interest in coexisting during the realm migration. The Merfolk you were familiar with, however, had to undergo numerous lessons on etiquette and culture to live among humans. The one near you now... The word 'feral' came to mind. You didn't quite like using such an animalistic term towards something that looked a little too human, someone that you knew had equivalent intelligence. His skin was primarily muted greens with a burst of parchment white down his chest and undersides of his arms. Unlike the fish tails merfolk were known for, this one's body ended in a myriad of tentacles, not unlike an octopus. Height wasn't exactly something you could measure but in terms of body mass he was more than twice your own. He seemed to tense any time you held direct eye contact so you settled on keeping him in your peripheral and keeping your movements slow and measured. You're not sure what he wanted but if he was content to just watch you, you didn't mind.

The next time you went out for a dive he'd made another appearance, this time resting on the rocks instead of behind them. Looking at the way his tentacles gently swayed against the current, you realise the way they'd writhed restlessly the day before may have been a sign of anxiety. It tickled you that somehow, in his mind, you were a threat to be worried about. You'd never even been in a proper fight. His relaxed demeanor gave you a bit of courage and you contemplated offering him one of the lionfish but ultimately chose not to. Doing so would feel as though you were treating him like an animal at the petting zoo. Then again, he was watching you like an animal at a regular zoo, keeping his distance as if he thought you'd lash out at any opportunity. You focused on the task at hand. Either the sharks had developed more patience or they were full from yesterday, this time they seemed more interested in dawdling around and getting pets than playing Russian roulette with your spear. You'd gotten into a rhythm of pull, aim, release as you moved slowly across the sandy substrate with him never too far behind.

On the third day he was almost as close as the sharks were. There was still a respectful distance but you'd only have to reach out your hand to touch him. Despite your determination to hold strong as he approached there was a hint of fear in your eyes when he first got closer. He wasn't threatening but the size difference was all to blatant up close, his chest so broad and arms so thick you didn't doubt they could snap you in half like an oatmeal cookie. In response he seemed to try to make himself look smaller, drifting at a lower level so that his head wasn't much higher than yours. This gave you a good look at his features, he had round pupils unlike the rectangular slits you associated with octopi, his sclera was a light grey and his irises a saffron yellow on downturned eyes. He didn't seem to have any patchwork of iridescent scales like your work colleagues. His eyes aside, everything about his face was sharp, from the hooked nose to the prominent chin and brow bone. As curious as you were, you tried not to look any lower than the slits along his neck; gills, in case your gaze made him uncomfortable. You briefly wondered if he'd try to say something once he got closer but he didn't, he just looked back with a gesture you interpreted as 'continue'. So you did.

There actually weren't anymore lionfish nearby so you decided to take a moment to clip the spines of the one on your spear, hoping to feed it to Joel the eel... or maybe this was Geoffrey. He took this lull in your movement as an opportunity to interact. You stared wide eyed as his hands reached out. It looked as though he was going to reach for your spear but thought better of it and reached out for your free hand instead. He took your smaller hand into his much larger ones. He inspected each finger, pulling them apart and tracing the curve in between, where his held a thin membrane. He ran a thumb over your blunt nails, where his held thick black claw. His movements were slow - cautious - and you get the feeling that it was more for your benefit than his. Wary as you were, you were equally enthused to learn more of the man... fish... octopus being before you. He inspected the sleeve of your wetsuit, running his fingers over the material. When it seemed like he was going to pinch the fabric between two claws you tugged your hand away, shaking your head in hopes the gesture was universal. Thankfully he understood. He then circled you to take in the rest of your form, a possible sign he understood touching anywhere else on your body might be unwelcomed.

Unsurprisingly, he took particular interest in your legs, watching the way they swayed to keep you afloat. He didn't touch you yet you somehow felt pressure over every inch his eyes laid upon. Was this how your coworker felt during those awkward introductory meetings where there would always be one person asking to touch their fins. The memory made you giggle and the merman suddenly shifted his focus from your legs to your face. Your breath caught as his eyes focused on yours, it was mesmerizing how they looked as fluid as the ocean; the colors swaying as the black center zeroed in on you. For a moment you wondered what did you look like through those eyes. He raised a hand to rest his knuckles against your cheek. His gaze then lowered to your lips. Your body -so ready to flee when he first approached- now froze. No matter how much you tried to reinforce that his actions were of innocent curiosity you couldn't stop thinking they weren't. Or maybe you just hoped they weren't. Oh dear. Before you could figure out where your head was at, he pressed a thumb against your lips. There was a subtle shift in his features as he stared at you intently. A question? Was he asking to kiss you? Your heart sprinted. He wanted to kiss you... and you- you were actually considering it. You must be insane; yes you thought he was gorgeous in a unnatural -captivating- way but you weren't going to kiss a creature you haven't known for more than a few hours. You hadn't even exchanged words with him. Words... Oh! That was it! You would've face palmed if your hands weren't occupied. He wished to speak, and prior knowledge reminded you that merfolk could adapt a language through lip contact. Well, that cleared your brain a bit. If that's the case surely you could spare your lips for a moment. It wouldn't have to be long, just the slightest peck was enough. A fraction of a second. He was patiently awaiting your answer, somewhat pulling back as if to tell you 'no' was a more than acceptable answer. With a tad more hesitation you finally nodded. You pulled out your mouth pieces, angling it downwards to prevent excess air loss. Trying to show some initiative you moved closer but you just couldn't bring yourself to close the kiss. Graciously he did and your lips met. Your rushing blood brought heat straight to your cheeks. It was such a minute amount of contact but your body responded as if he was already tongue deep inside. You felt... something. Like faint streams of electricity that moved from the corners of your lips to the center before vanishing. You figured it was the magic at work, now would be the time to move away but your body and brain can't seem to get on the same page. Or maybe they were on the same page and the voice telling you to move away was something foreign, something unwanted. You opened your eyes to see his, half lidded but looking at you with an intensity that couldn't be misconstrued. Neither of you wanted to break the contact. You're not sure where the confidence came from but just as you moved to press closer to him, your lungs reminded you where you were. They called for oxygen. It took more effort than you would like to admit to pull away from him and return your regulator to your mouth. You looked back at him to see his fingers pressed against his mouth, eyes swirling with mixed emotions. Maybe it was your eyes playing tricks on you but you swear he licked his lips. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he moved his lips as if testing the motions.

"Can you understand me?"

You nodded in the affirmative. And by Gods, the smile on his face could outshine the sun on a clear summer morning.

This opened up the pathway to your budding friendship. Underwater, you couldn't have full conversations but with the barrage of questions he had there was hardly a need to speak. It especially amused you that he had to confirm that you were indeed human. Do humans walk everywhere? Do we forms pods? Do we dream? Do humans fly was a weird one to answer under the limitations. It was an eye opener to the fact that you were as alien to him as he you.

At some point you remembered that you were on a timer and though there wasn't really a quota, resurfacing with only four lionfish would definitely not look good for you. You went back to spearing, trying to be quick while he asked about this and that. It only got better when you finally resurfaced. You perched on the old abandoned dock, it was barely more than a couple planks of wood hanging on for dear life. You were especially glad that this area remained as vacant as when you left so you didn't have to worry about worried/wondering gazes at the two of you.

Unfortunately diving was only something you could do 2 maybe 3 times a week, it was essentially a freebie session offered to break up the office work you dread. Still, even after you clocked out, you'd take a stroll to that same dock where he'd be waiting beneath the surface. You learnt that, though most merfolk would declare otherwise, his species wasn't rare. Just distant and reclusive. The only reason he was close enough to the shore to spot me was because he seeked a precious stone to complete a trade. Based on his description you believed it was Larimar or Blue calcite, which you may have in your personal collection. When you asked why he decided to approach you, his answer was a sideways glance and a shrug before quickly changing the subject. There were moments, you noticed, when he'd rest his arms along the wooden planks and caress your overhanging legs. The movements were slow and feather light, almost absent minded. It made your mind fuzzy, you wished to just close your eyes and focus on nothing but the feel of his skin against yours. Occasionally, he would gently rake a claw over your soft skin and you'd try your best not to trip over your words. In return, you'd run your fingers over the mix of tentacles and tendrils that sprouted from his head- similar to hair. The prehensile limbs would wrap around your fingers. The gestures were unmistakably intimate but neither of you spoke against it. Amongst the many questions and conversations would be these moments of content silence, these you treasured most. His hands on you, your hands on his, as you both enjoyed the world around you and each other.

Now those memories fill you with a hollow feeling in your chest. It's been almost a week with no sign of him. What had you expected, really? He has a life down below that he has to attend to after all. Even you have missed a day or two. What if he's hurt? The question gnawed at you many times these past few days; you despised the small part of you that preferred that outcome over having been left behind. But then the idea that somewhere down there he was facing unknown perils that you'd have no means to help him with would solidify in your mind. No, you'd rather the hurt of having been abandoned. Summoning your mental fortitude, you aimed to focus on the task at hand before you accidentally harm one of the sharks by being distracted. There was a new face this time... at least you thought they were new. They nuzzled your body as if sensing your distress and to your delight; it helped

Seconds dragged into minutes then hours before it was time for you to get out. You wished you could say you were strong enough to just go but instead you swam around for a bit; hoping. Praying. But there was nothing around except you, the water and your pitiful heartache.

Above land you safely shed the equipment. The smart thing to do would be to go home as soon as possible. To finish your day, change your clothes and curl up in blankets while playing some video games. However, you've always been a creature of habit so instead you sat at the old dock. Alone. The sun was so warm but the winds were relentless, they licked at your skin as if trying to shoo you away. Maybe this was Poseidon's way of telling you to get over it. It's not like there was anything between the two of you. You'd only known him for a handful of weeks after all, that's barely enough time to form a friendship much less... As if shutting down the thought, your brain replayed a memory of him pressing his face against the palm of your hand with pure bliss etched into his features. As if your touch alone could push away all his problems. Then there was the time you touched your forehead to his during a momentary spur of boldness. The look he gave you spoke so loud in the silence. You would've kissed him then if not for your shyness winning out. That was one of the last moments you'd shared before his disappearance. A treasure in your heart that now caused you pain. Packing up your things, you got up to leave, however something clutched your ankle. Something, rather, someone you recognized all too well.

You gasped violently as you were dragged down. Thank goodness you did because it was all the air you'd get to take with you in your rapid decent below. He shifted so instead of being pulled by his tentacles, you were fastened to his side by a firm arm. He stared straight forward as he swam, allowing you only to see the tendrils whipping around the back of his head. You could hardly process how fast you were going down the bottomless blue. The water shifted from a bright, comfortimg azure to ultramarine as you went deeper and deeper. Your panic rose the further he swam, which did your lungs no good. Was he trying to drown you!? You couldn't call out, couldn't scream so you tugged and pulled at his thick, unyielding arm, trying desperately to get him to stop. He turned to you then, there was a look of pained and haunted thoughts scribed into his face. The lovely grey of his sclera had darkened into a soulless black making the yellows of his eyes that more vibrant, almost glowing in the waters inky depth. The word 'feral' again came to mind as he blinked his second eyelids. He looked at you and looked at you and looked even more. As though his eyes processed one thing but his brain was stuck on something else. It took a moment but he finally said your name. Not said, growled it. His usually velvety deep voice was now strained through gravel. He pulled you closer to him and buried his face in your hair, your heart would be fluttering were it not currently banging in your chest wondering where the hell was the oxygen it ordered. You tried, you really did, to struggle against his hold. Hoping he'd wake up from whatever spell he was under and bring you back to solid ground. Hell, you'd make an attempt to swim for it, knowing how futile it would be. But once his long tongue was on your throat you became putty in his arms. You feel three distinct fingers rake against the other side of your neck as he nipped at you. You can't tell if your breath hitched or your lungs made another vain attempt to reach for air. You raised a trembling hand, trying to alert him to your situation but he seemed solely focused on tasting your skin.

"Breathe." He spoke in-between licks, his tongue venturing down to your clavicle, and you wondered if he'd actually gone mad. His hooded eyes met yours and he repeated the word.

It didn't matter anymore, the choice was no longer yours. You had held onto that final breath for dear life but it was time for that life to come to an end. A stream of bubbles left your horrified lips as you now fought not to breath in; that was a far shorter battle. You inhaled, preparing for the sting of water invading your airways in it's rush to your desperate lungs. For your body to heave and cough as the waters reminded you you were not it's friend but a guest who had overstayed their welcome. Would your body float up to be picked at by birds or sink to be fodder for the sea floor scavengers? You waited and waited. But... It never came. You, somehow, were breathing air. Opening your eyes in confusion, you looked around to see if you were suddenly back on land, if all this was some dream or hallucination spurred on by your guilt and heartbreak but no. You were still surrounded by the open seas and all it's inhabitants. Your breaths felt slightly strained but you weren't going to complain about life saving miracles. Especially when a giant tentacled man was tracing his finger down your spine. Now that your life was no longer at risk(mostly) you calmly rest your palm against his head, trying again to get answers out of him. He stilled, dissolving into your touch as he had many times before. You saw a bit of clarity in his eyes before he closed them.

"I'm sorry." He said after a moment, his voice was lustful and strained, like a warning sign dipped in want and desire. "It started; my heat. I tried to stay as far away as I could but when all sense had escaped my mind the only thing left were thoughts of you." He pulled you closer, his eyes remained closed as if one look at you would break the little control he had. "I thought I had overcome it when I began searching for... Methods for you to survive beneath the waters. But the moment I had my answers it overtook me. It possessed me. It still does. I want you...desperately but only if you'll have me."

You listened to his words, in confusion then understanding. Then you actually understood! Oh! Suddenly your body had forgotten all it's woes, focusing on your core instead. He wanted you. You bit your lip in thought, noticing that the water couldn't pass some unseen threshold of your mouth. You wanted him, you couldn't even pretend to deny that but... Was there a 'but'? You searched your tainted mind for excuses but your brain and your body were again in unison, the only outlier was you. You slid your hand up his face and caressed a cranial tendril, he opened his eyes and you felt his body vibrate. Purring.

You didn't have the courage to look him in the eye when you spoke. "I will." You consented.

He was on you instantly. His lips crashed into yours with reckless need. There was no slow build up, no questioning nor tentative tongue touches. His tongue snaked pass your lips and devoured you in kind. His large hands ran down either sides of your body, meeting when they both grabbed at your ass. There they lingered, kneading your flesh through the stretchy materiel, before one devious hand ventured even lower. You felt him slide a finger along the fabric covering your sex. Back and forth, his finger glided creating a nice little friction that almost touched your eager clit. Your hips moved on their own, seeking the contact. You craved more of his touch and suddenly the thin, synthetic rubber was a dense barrier. As if hearing your thoughts, there was the slightest pinch against the crook of your behind before a sudden coldness seeped in. You could feel him carefully swipe his claw to just above your clit, creating a opening in the fabric. The new sensation of cold wetness against you warm sex made you gasp but it was soon replaced by the warmth of his... hand? No, the texture was far different. Before you had a chance to investigate, the feeling of suction against your clit gave you all the answers you needed. Something between a gasp and a moan left your lips, the sound must've pleased him greatly because he tore himself away from your mouth to look into your eyes. The limb covered your whole sex, with the tip lightly teasing your entrance but it was that one suction cup upon your clit that was really putting in the work. It took a rhythm that was brain meltingly pleasant against the sensitive bud, thoroughly teased by his phantom touches prior. A sudden surge of pleasure began to build causing you to reflexively try to squeeze your thighs together. However, the action was impeded by two tentacles quickly wrapping around your legs to keep them parted. They squeezed as if to reaffirm their hold on you. He took your chin in his hand and watched you intensely as you came undone from the stimulation. His grip was light but unyielding when you tried to turn away. Closing your eyes would lead to him stopping completely until they fluttered open again to meet his. He would take in every dip in your throat, every curve in your lips, every crease beneath your eyes and flush upon your cheeks. He wouldn't miss a moment of your first orgasm at his hands. His gaze was dizzying, as if whatever possessed him was now reaching out for you. Having him inspect you with such cold fondness only made the experience that more salacious. The rising tide of pleasure finally crashed and you were left a buzzing, panting mess. With a look of gratification he released your chin, wrapping his arms around you once more to knit your body to his.

"You're so beautiful." He cooed before trailing off into words of his own language.

You didn't get a moment to say anything back before you felt something probe against your opening. One of his tentacles slid inside you fully, welcomed and aided by the slick lube of your still pulsing walls. You shuddered in his arms, thankful for the support. It was a comfortable fit and suddenly you're reminded that it's been ages since anyone has had you like this. It made the experience slightly more alien atop the fact that you were being intimate with a lust driven sea-beast. Rather than the expected thrusting, the appendage grazed along your insides. It twisted and pushed as if getting a feel for you, learning you before pulling back out. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, you looked at him, ready to beg if need be but it didn't come to that. You felt your entrance being prodded again. It was the familiar tip of a tentacle, ready to enter you once more. However, the more it pushed, the wider it got; so very much wider. And Gods, it held a bumpy texture that was absent before. Just as your mind went hazy you realised it was two of them, wrapped around each other. It finally gave you the thrusting motion you desired, it's ribbed texture grazing parts of you that remained untouched for too long. Your movements were limited but you attempted to grind against each wonderful thrust, moaning your delight with feather light whispers. This was all too good, soft and pliable enough that it writhed inside you but firm enough to press against your hungry womb.

Despite all senses seemingly being focused on your trembling hole you felt something press against your stomach, forcing it's way into the tiny space between your body and his. You peek downward to see the spearheaded tip of what you assumed was his cock. Suddenly, his preparation of your cunt made sense, you'd expected him to be big but geez. It was identical in color to his body, darkening at the tip in a similar fashion to his fingers. It throbbed and twitched as he began to grind against you. Even with two tentacles stretching your insides, your greedy eyes craved the feel of it. Craved the connection to him. You reached down and grasped it at the base, shock almost pulling you out of your haze when it wrapped around your hand. It tightened as if begging for more of your touch. You acquiesced and began running you hands up and down his massive length, taking great pleasure in the way his body vibrated with resonating groans. His thrusts inside you growing wilder, taking you further and further and you were determined to take him with you. His voice held a softer, pleading tone as it goaded you on, praising you between strained hisses. His cock swelled and hardened, his words devolving into senseless mumbles. The limbs inside you became more erratic as his pleasure grew. His grip on your body tightening to the point of leaving small tears in your suit and nicks in your skin. He released a long animalistic huff as he coated your arm in slimy white fluid, your body responded by coating his tentacles with your own. You rest your head against his chest, moving in time with his heavy breaths, counting them as you both recovered. You're not sure when he began moving you but suddenly you were face to face. He kissed you. Slowly. Gently. Tasting and savoring you.

"Do you think you could take me, my treasure, or do I need to stretch that greedy hole of yours even more?" He asked between kisses.

Words were beyond your tired brain so you just nodded. As spent as your body was, this moment would not feel complete until he was inside you. Slowly, as if moving you too much too quickly could break you, he turned you around so that your back was pressed against his chest. He snaked his hands around you -he really did seem to love having his arms on you-, one hand moving to grope your breast while the other traced a line down your stomach to caress your mound. You feel his lower half angle itself to bring his leaking member to your slick opening. Oh so slowly you feel him slide into you, spreading you wider with each inch. You couldn't help but try to squirm against him but his hands held you steady. He was only half way in when your body began to show resistance. He started pulling out slowly and thrusting into you, getting a little bit further each time.

"You're being so good for me." He whispered just above your ear, his voice held a lovely cadence. Singsong; as if haunted by a melody that compelled his body to move.

You couldn't hear it but you felt it, it rang through your body with each sway of your hips and out your lips with each whine. Down to the way he held you, like an instrument to be adored. Every moan a crescendo and every voice stopping bite at your neck a diminuendo. He was playing you and you were loving every moment of it. In and out, in and out like he was timing bars on sheet music. That was up until the flat, tapered tip hit the deepest part of you; he'd hilted. Then everything stopped. Fermata. You're only warning for what was to come were the tentacles that slithered around your legs to ground you. You hardly even felt him pull out, just the force as he thrust fully into you. The sound that left your mouth was a guttural whine of shock and pain. He kept going. Slamming. Pounding. Taking your body over and over. It hurt and yet you desired more. He fucked you like he was craving this moment his whole life. Your body eased and the pain slowly dissolved into pleasure, never quite leaving but become something more. Something better. Something wholy obscene. Your body was an inferno in the cold, dark water. Pleasure overtook you; you no longer felt like a person, just a mass of emotions and senses. You could hear his grunts and growls behind you, the sounds he made were truly animalistic. Wild. Primal. Savage. As though he couldn't fathom being anything but a creature of vulgarity. Couldn't fathom doing anything but driving himself into you. Desired nothing more in the world than to fill the emptiest parts of you. Your walls tightened around him, as if intending to learn every bulge and vein of his cock. Pulling and sucking him in with no desire to let him go, that was where all your strength went. You felt the recognizable build of another orgasm and judging by way his pliable member was now a hardened monolith, he wasn't far off. He no longer needed to lead, you danced with him as you both came together. His seed seeped out of him, filling every bit of (nonexistent)space inside of you before oozing out. He continued to thrust, making sure you milked his cock for everything he had. It's throbbing was like a heartbeat inside you.

You collapsed against him, laying your head flat against his chest, your cheek barely touching the flesh above his heart. After a moment you looked up to see him already staring down at you, the affection in his eyes fueled your already thrumming heart. A moment of tenderness as the tainted waters surrounding you both whisked your indecencies away. His sclera lightened to their usual soft grey. An eagerness popped up on his face as he seemingly wanted to ask you something then but thought better of it. A somber look taking over his features instead. Using what little strength remained in your body, you turned fully to him. He immediately took your head in both his hands and rest his forehead against yours.

"I- Did i hurt you?"

"Did-" You gave him a droll look. "Did you hurt me??" You flicked his head. Well, you tried but there was less than no force behind your fingers. "Of course you did. Lucky for you I enjoyed it."

"I'm so sorry, I'll be gentler next time." He sounded genuinely apologetic. "If you would allow for a 'next time'."

"There better be."

"And a time after that?"

"Don't push your luck, ocean boy."

You felt him smile against you. It may have been an innocent one but you couldn't help but wonder if he was already plotting.

He took you above land after that and you thanked the Gods above that your towel and pack was still waiting for you. At least you could walk(limp) to the company building without catching a charge for indecent exposure. He watched you from his usual spot on the dock. His downturned eyes hooded by his lashes had him looking like a distraught child watching their best friend board a plane to unknown lands. Did he think he scared you away? That you'd never return? Maybe as a bit of revenge you'd let him believe it.

((You also had to deal with the urge to sink into the floor at the knowing and amused looks on your merfolk coworker's face every time they saw the marks on your neck D:))

#monster boy #monster lover #monsterfucker #merfolk #monster x human #monster romance #monster smut #teratophillia #exophelia #kyumiwrites #monster writing #tentacles #tentaclesandtendrils

3K notes · View notes

moonbaby26 · 8 months ago

Text

Their Favorite Parts

*crossposted to AO3 here*

Prompt: One Piece men and the parts of your body that they fixate on most.

Reader Type: GN!Reader

Characters: Doflamingo, Kuzan/Aokiji, Crocodile, Smoker, Buggy, Mihawk, Shanks, Law

Warnings: language, references to sex, penetration, oral, and foreplay

Fic Masterlist

———————————

Doflamingo/Holes

He actually can be gentle with you. But you’ve found that level of care is always only a precursor to something else that he wants. And in the end, he can’t ever let you back to sleep until he’s been inside at least one of your holes and fully spent himself within it.

Whether this wretched man is pounding between your thighs, or probing you with those long fingers, or dampening you with that equally obscene tongue…he wants to be as deep inside of you as he can possibly be.

He loves you most when you’re trembling, thighs spread beneath him. Or on your knees looking up as your eyes water with your mouth full of his length. He’ll tell you what a good pet you are even as you plead or choke.

But it’s as if you were made perfectly for him. He’ll never feel this with another lover. You’re his favorite until he destroys it all. And even then, he may just pull you from the ash to start with you again. Because he would sincerely miss you in his next empire.

Kuzan/Aokiji/Chest

He loves to sleep with his head on your chest. He can hear your heartbeat then and know that you’re still really there. That this isn’t all some terrible illusion, as much as he still feels he doesn’t deserve you and can’t keep you.

His life has been too complicated. All the way from a respected, yet conflicted marine to whatever the hell people are calling him these days. But you never seem to judge him. You still believe in him, even now. He doesn’t understand your loyalty, but he loves you for it.

And when the two of you are awake and intimate, he’ll be behind you, hands holding your warm chest as his fingers massage it. The way you lean back into him as your chill bumps form is so trusting. You know that he could freeze your heart in an instant if he chose to. But of course he never would. He wants this to last forever. He needs you at his side.

Sir Crocodile/Hips

He is certain you do it on purpose by now. The way your ever tight clothing forms around your body. It feels like a specific challenge you’ve made against him. As if you are daring his eyes not to follow you across the room as your hips sway while you walk.

You’re his favorite assassin already. Though perhaps he can take some blame for letting this favoritism start to go to your head. And yet, even when he plans to punish you, he finds himself enjoying it too much. It’s hard to keep you humble when he’s still moaning your name as he fucks you over the top of his desk.

With his one hand he grabs into that fleshy hip, riding you to his release as his hook stays warningly against the side of your face. But while you smirk against that curved metal as he finally cums, he knows you haven’t learned your lesson at all. Yet he also realizes that there are still years of this game to come. You’re too efficient to get rid of you anytime soon.

Smoker/Lips

It was the first thing he ever noticed about you. Just how pouty your lips could look, even as you argued and bitched at him on the battlefield. You cursed him through those lips, always lamenting that he made your shared marine ship smell like an ashtray.

And by the time he’d found his way into your bunk one night, those same lips were about the only thing he would put his cigars down for. He’d wanted to kiss you for so long. By the time you finally let him, he never wanted to lose that high again.

It could be soft, it could be rough. Just like you and your ever changing moods. You acted like you hated him until your mouth was over his. Then you were thrusting against him soon enough and whimpering even as you both knew you couldn’t wake the rest of the ship.

He always started and ended sex with you with those damned lips. And every time he knew curses would be flying from them again tomorrow, even if his name would also be moaning out through them just as passionately each night.

Buggy/Butt

His life was a circus. And not just in the literal way he would have preferred. Somehow every move he made garnered new success, but equal terror. He never knew what tomorrow would bring. As Cross Guild’s infamy grew, so did his reputation along with it.

But his nerves were shot, and you could tell. When the others bullied him, you never added to it. He hadn’t a clue why you’d chosen him. But he wouldn’t take it for granted either as you’d come to sit in his lap, late at night in his room. You’d call him your captain, your emperor even, grinding that perfect ass into him as you tried to cheer him up.

And it always worked. As he’d a bit too desperately slide your pants from you, you always humored him. Letting his hands massage and hold that enticing rear. If he wanted to spank you, you let him do that too. It was just so soft and…comforting? He might not admit it, but you were his only remaining stability in this place. If he lost you, that would have been his breaking point. But he trusted you too when you promised that you were in it for the long haul. He was already your pirate king.

Mihawk/Eyes

It was the way you’d looked at him that first time the two of you had ever crossed paths. You weren’t afraid of his history, even as you’d seen him kill a lesser swordsman right in front of you.

By the time he got to know you better, he’d realized just how much he liked to gaze into those eyes. It was as if he could feel what you were thinking. And as your confidence grew, that ‘come hither’ look of yours became far more prominent as well.

Just with a glance, he knew exactly when you were craving to have those physical needs sated. And he certainly respected that need, finding it rather quickly a mutual one as he’d often carry you to his bed.

And even then as his hips would be pumping skillfully against your own, you’d be looking up at him in a haze of pleasure with those same beautiful eyes. A view for him alone, one he would cherish and protect forever more.

Shanks/Legs

It might have been a bit too crass on his part, that afternoon in the bar when he’d first noticed you from across the room. But his ship wouldn’t be in port for long. There wasn’t time to play this subtle. No, not at all as he’d whistled loudly, catcalling you while his crew had laughed.

He’d gotten the full view as well when those same lovely legs had carried you right back up to the bar to tell him to go fuck himself. And the way he’d smiled at you just pissed you off even further of course.

Your anger made you stay. And it was definitely a talent of his to inspire that, but he was persistent too. Soon enough you’d let him buy you a drink, and then a few more. By the time the two of you had been stumbling out of the bar, you were letting him know your room number at the nearby inn. You wanted to know if he was just all talk. He assured you that he was not.

And that night as he did get the privilege of those legs being wrapped around him as your bed creaked and shook in a marathon of lovemaking, he realized his crew probably could find more room on the ship. You had no ties to this town either.

By morning he was more than pleased when you agreed to board. Beck had protested a little, just at the sudden impracticality of yet another mouth to feed. But Shanks knew you would fit in fine, all of you and those legs laying in his bunk warm beside him for years to come on your way through the New World.

Law/Hands

With an epithet like the Surgeon of Death, he of course knew better than most on the importance of dexterity and skill with the hands. Without his own, he felt that he would have been useless.

But this appreciation for such talent had quickly extended to you once he’d finally given in. He’d ignored you for as long as he could, too logical in his understanding of how reckless it’d be to pursue a member of his own crew. But so many days and nights alone under the ocean’s surface had finally worn him down.

The night on the Polar Tang when those skillful fingers of yours had finally been in his hair, and finally unbuttoning his pants soon after was one that had been so long coming. You’d gotten to see that other side of him then as he unraveled almost shamefully beneath your stroking and assurances.

He’d taken care of everyone else for so long you told him, playing the part of their stoic leader. But you knew he was far from only that as your hands drew out all his pent up need.

You promised him that he was safe with you. That you were with him until the end. And it was all true. The captain of the Heart Pirates would remain within your capable hands for as long as he desired to. And that desire would prove to be unbreakable.

2K notes · View notes

mostlymihawk · 5 months ago

Text

Intimidation

Mihawk, Shanks, and Koby x GN reader

Prompt: How they react when they find out you're being threatened/held hostage.

CW: Threats, blood, abuse mentions

Mihawk:

You try to hide it from him at first.

Someone had come into Mihawk's castle, slit your throat, and told you to pass on the message that "my next cut won't be so shallow" if Mihawk didn't stop hunting him.

You're determined not to be Mihawk's weakness, so you force yourself to get it together.

You pull yourself off the floor, change the bloody carpet, stop the bleeding, and tell Mihawk you've suddenly developed a fascination with scarves.

It works for about an hour, if that.

Maybe it was your fidgeting, the way you jumped at shadows, your darting eyes, shaking hands...you had so many tells.

Finally he takes you by the hand, leads you to bedroom, sits you on the bed...and pins you down with his eyes as he gently tugs the scarf away and reveals the wound.

You break down immediately and tell him everything, including why you wanted to hide it.

He is utterly silent as the words flow out of you like a burst dam, until you have nothing left and you're sobbing brokenly in his arms from the pain.

Mihawk needs a minute to digest everything you've told him.

"...You are not my weakness, you are my greatest strength. You are the lifeblood that pulses in my veins, the fabric of my very soul, the deity before whose altar I kneel in reverence every hour of every day."

Being a warlord of the sea, he is often seen as a dog at the marines' beck and call, but the reverse is also true.

His delicate fingers bandage your would with near-surgical precision, and then Mihawk calls in a favour.

A few scant days later, the freshly-replaced carpet is bloodied anew with the blood of the correct victim.

Mihawk loathes blood on the carpets, but it does make a nice tapestry to serve as a warning to any others fool enough to attempt to harm his betrothed.

Shanks:

Mid-brawl, you're grabbed by the opposing captain.

It's all very cliché, but he won't let you go no matter how hard you struggle.

"Alright, stop. I surrender. My life for theirs."

The enemy captain is grinning ear to ear as you're roughly shoved aside and caught by Shanks' first mate, Benn Beckmann.

He shushes you and hides your face in his chest to muffle your pleas as Shanks steps right up to the barrel of the gun that had just been levelled at your temple.

The captain asks if Shanks has any final words.

"...I lied."

The half second's delay as they struggle for control of the gun is enough for Yasopp to end it.

You're inconsolable for the rest of the day, but Shanks is too glad you're alive to be terribly upset about the insults hurled his way or the bruises he'll have on his chest later.

Koby

He knows something is wrong right away.

He's the nervous wreck in this relationship, so when you've lost all your spark he asks what's wrong, and gets suspicious when you're scared to tell him.

Drags you straight to Garp's desk, no matter how much you beg him not to or how much you insist they'd kill him if you got the marines involved.

"Listen...I've been where you are. For two years I was held hostage on a pirate ship. If you let yourself be scared into silence...it'll never get better. We have to fight this, it's the only way."

That said, he has absolutely no idea how to fight an entire pirate crew.

Thus, Garp.

Garp reminds you both that, as Koby's significant other, a threat against you a threat against the marines, the world government, and, by extension, a threat against humanity.

The pirates extorting you are all swiftly captured, imprisoned, or brought to justice.

What did they really expect to do against the might of the marines, after all?

"You see? They wanted you not to get the marines involved because they knew they'd never stand a chance if you did."

#mihawk x reader #koby x reader #shanks x reader #opla imagine

422 notes · View notes

sunflowersandsapphires · 10 months ago

Text

Drunk on You

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: After losing a bet, Frank's drunk night turns into a nightmare when he accidentally leaves a VERY honest voicemail on your phone. (Prompt: "I need to see your phone.")

warnings: swearing, excessive drinking (do NOT do this.), Frank being affectionate

a/n: This wasn't requested by anyone, I just saw this prompt and immediately pictured Frank freaking out about a voicemail he left on someone's phone. A huge shout out to @gracethyomen and @madschiavelique who I forced into beta-ing this for me multiple times. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you!

w/c: 6k (Yah, i know. I got carried away.)

Frank liked to think that he was decently romantic—so it was almost embarrassing that your relationship happened by accident.

He didn’t possess a natural charm, like the one that Red always flaunted, but he could usually hold his own when he found someone attractive. Before…everything, his cocky attitude and unjustified youthful arrogance helped him flirt with Maria. Since the loss of his family, flirting was more of a pastime. Until you.

From the moment you both met, Frank had known that you were different—that you were never meant to be a casual fling. It terrified him, at first, but after many many lectures from Curtis, he was ready to try a relationship again.

Despite that fact, he could never seem to get the words out.

Flirting with you was as easy as pulling a trigger, but being honest and open about his feelings? Never his strong suit. He was just thankful that Curtis believed in boundaries and David was oblivious, otherwise you would’ve gotten the news through the grapevine weeks before he blurted it out.

It all started when David scolded him.

“Language, Castle. This is a family establishment.” His stern tone was completed with a pointed finger.

The two men were seated on opposite sides of the Lieberman’s sturdy dining room table, on the precipice of one of their classic “Family Dinner Spats”–a term Curtis had coined exasperatedly a few weekly meals ago. You, Sarah, and Curt were also currently at the table, nursing your wine while the kids played video games in the living room.

Smirking at David's tone, you raised a brow at the curly haired man. “Can you really call your suburban house an ‘establishment’?”

Frank chuckled at your attempt to defend him, his lips parting around the lip of his beer bottle in a smug smile.

“The house has been established, and there is a family present.” David snapped at you with a no-nonsense look. Looking at his wife incredulously, he threw his hands in a vague gesture. “C’mon Sarah, back me up!”

Sarah shrugged at him, grinning at his defeated groan. Shooting you and Frank a knowing look, she murmured, “We’ve all heard worse.“

Desperate for someone to agree with him, David glanced across the table pleadingly. “Curtis? C’mon man.”

Sighing, Curtis nodded, his lips twitching in a tiny smile. “You do have a foul mouth, Frank. There are children present.”

Frank scoffed, gesturing widely to the two teenagers in the other room.

Crinkling your nose as you stifled a laugh, you nodded solemnly. “They sort of have a point, Frank. Your vocabulary could make a sailor blush.”

Finally vindicated, David crowed, “You practically only speak in curses and grunts!”

The marine gaped. “Christ, I am not that bad.”

Smelling a game, David’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh yah? I bet you couldn’t go a week without swearing.

Sarah and Curtis took the vague challenge, and Frank’s responding bitter laugh, as their cue to leave the table, murmuring about cleaning up after dinner and chuckling to each other as they left. You, unfortunately, were far too intrigued to remove yourself from the conversation.

Good thing you were entertained, because David was far from finished with his accusations. “You know what? I don’t think you could even last a single day without that sinfully filthy language of yours, Castle.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his jaw was tense. “Ya gonna make me a swear jar, Lieberman? What are you, my ma?”

David shrugged, pleased at how easily he was able to get under the hulking man’s skin. “Someone has to teach you some manners.”

You tapped a finger on your chin, meeting David’s roguish gaze. “He’s right though, a swear jar would never compel him to change.”

David crossed his arms. “And you have a better suggestion?”

Frank glanced at you, brow raised in curiosity, lips pursed.

You grinned manically. “Maybe a drinking game? Every curse word he says within 24 hours means he takes a shot.”

The technician erupted in bellowing laughter. “YES!”

Ignoring him, Frank smirked at you. “Tryin’ to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You placed a hand over your heart in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken, Frankie.”

The large man bristled, straightening his posture as he shook his head. “Course not.”

David was glowing. “So you accept?”

“Uh—“ Frank’s hesitation was quickly settled by your adorable expression, your head tilted at him as you anticipated his next move. “Fuck, I guess.”

Practically screeching, David pointed a finger at the man, looking at you excitedly. “Oh my god, that counts right? That totally counts!”

Laughing as David practically began a victory dance, you raised your glass of wine. ”Let the game begin!”

What had he gotten himself into?

Unfortunately for his liver, the next 24 hours did not get easier.

With the combined efforts of you, Curtis, David, and the various CCTV systems of New York city, the tally landed at 52 curses in 24 hours.

“Holy shit, Frank,” You gaped at the final count, turning to him with wide eyes. “Were you even trying?”

Frank glowered, sinking further into the booth next to you. “Yes.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to change these rules a bit. Otherwise, you’ll need a transplant by next week.” You frowned, eyes glowing with the light of David’s computer screen.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now, doll.” Frank muttered, the corner of his lips lifting up against his will.

“I’m always soft on you, tough guy.”Your words were earnest, causing Frank's throat to constrict. You raised a hand to pinch his cheek, seemingly unperturbed by his furious blush.

As if knowing he was ruining the moment, David returned to the table with a tray of half a dozen shot glasses. “Who’s ready to get wasted?”

Groaning, Frank dropped his head into his hands—his stomach already churning.

“New rules:” You announced, “No more than 7 drinks an hour.”

“Woah woah woah, who died and made you referee?” David scoffed.

“Everyone who has ever taken 52 shots in one night.” You retorted, refusing to change your mind.

While David began placing a row of tiny glasses in front of him, you took one of Frank's calloused hands in your much more delicate one. He raised his head to meet your serious gaze. “Hey, you do not have to do this. It was a stupid bet.” You were chewing on your bottom lip, his hand itched to cup your face and smooth the furrow in your brow.

“Um, he does so have to do this! I already put my card down. Drink up, asshole!” As David shoved the alcohol towards him, your arm shot out, acting as a barricade.

Looking at him with an inquisitive concern, you stroked your thumb over his knuckles. With a sigh, Frank grasped one of the shots between two fingers, downing it with a grimace.

David cheered. “Thattaboy! Drink up!!”

Biting your lip, you slid a single shot towards yourself and one to David. “If he’s going to do this, he’s not doing it alone. Drink up, Lieberman.” You teased, parroting his words before downing your own shot with a grace that was shocking and incredibly attractive.

“Damn, that’s smooth. You shelled out for us.” You snorted, setting the shit glass back on the sticky table.

Pouting at the tiny cup of clear liquid, David groaned. “I haven’t had tequila since college.”

“Sounds like you made a poor choice of beverage then. Drink!” You grinned at him, face warming as Frank slid an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s gotta point, Lieberman. You’ve dug your own grave. I ain’t drinkin’ another drop until you take that.” Frank smirked, eyes dancing with a mirth that you’d been missing.

“C’mon David!” You encouraged, the curly-haired man across from you finally nodding and downing the drink with a gag.

You and Frank cheered, laughing as he coughed in the aftermath.

“Alright, it’s gone. Your turn.” David nodded to the three remaining shots, crossing his arms impatiently.

Huffing out a breath, Frank tossed all three back, chasing the acrid taste with a swig of the beer he’d purchased himself without thinking. “There, ya fuckin’ happy now?”

“Thrilled.” David laughed. “We’re going to wait…15 minutes, and then I’m going to hustle you in pool.” Setting a timer on his watch, the engineer missed Frank’s exaggerated eye roll.

“Doesn’t a hustle require one party to not know they’re being hustled?” You asked, settling into Frank’s side with a smile.

“I could kick your ass with my eyes closed, Lieberman.” Frank snorted.

“Oh please, it's all geometry–I'm a whiz at geometry.”

Listening to them bicker, you couldn't help but smile. Sipping your beer, you crossed your legs, excited for the upcoming show.

As Frank's inhibitions grew steadily lower, you were joined at the booth by Curtis and Karen–both of whom were humored by the giant man's state, but not free of their own worry.

“Y’all trying to kill him?” Curtis chuckled, eyes focused on Frank's uncharacteristically wide grin as he slid into the booth across from you, beer in hand.

“Trust me, I’ve been negotiating Lieberman down all night to spare his intestines.” You huffed, your own gaze fixated on Frank as he lined up his next shot at the pool table, muscles bulging against his tight shirt as he bent over.

“See something you like?” Karen asked gleefully, lips curled in a smirk.

“Shut up,” You hissed, squirming in your seat as your body was hit with a flash of warmth.

“He's not making this easy for you, is he?” Curtis chuckled, sending Karen a knowing look.

“Does he always get so…touchy when he’s drunk?” You asked quietly, trying not to salivate as you got a perfect view of Frank's ass, his back turned towards you as he played his next turn.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Curtis shook his head at you.

“Oh stop it,” You groused, ignoring your friends' giggles as you slid off of the vinyl bench and made straight for the bar.

“Um whiskey. Neat, please.” You stammered out your order to the bartender, trying not to cringe at how disjointed the words sounded. Your mind was entirely preoccupied by the feelings you harbored for the man currently guffawing behind you. The scraping of glass on wood startled you out of your daydream.

Taking the glass from the bartender, trying not to meet their gaze as they eyed you suspiciously, you nodded a thank you.

Before you could return to your seat, a thick arm wrapped around your shoulders--a sensation that would've been horrifying had it not been accompanied by a familiar voice.

“When did ya start drinkin’ whiskey?” Frank's deep rasp ignited a heat deep in your gut, stealing the words straight off your tongue.

”I-I, uh didn't,“ You squeaked out, shoving the glass to Frank's chest. “I figured you’d want something other than mid-shelf tequila.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, your breath caught in your throat as you met his stare.

Frank's lips were tilted in a small smile, the tension he normally carried in his jaw nowhere to be found. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed from running his hands through it throughout the night. Boring into you, his beautiful ochre eyes crinkled with a happiness you rarely saw from the man.

A rough knuckle tipped your jaw upwards, shutting your mouth, which had apparently been hanging open as you admired the figure before you. “Somethin' on my face, sweetheart?”

Tilting his head, his eyes twinkled, his smile growing wider as you remained silent. “No, Frankie.”

“Good. C'mon, I need someone to cheer for me when I whup Lieberman's ass for a third time.” Frank snorted, pressing a kiss to your crown before taking your hand and dragging you towards the pool table.

The rest of the night flew by, a symptom of the intense focus you held on Frank's relaxed drunken nature. He'd been tipsy with you before, so you'd caught glimpses of this behavior from the man previously, but it would always catch you off guard to see him so...easygoing.

It wasn't that Frank wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly sweet, he just wasn't usually so forthcoming with his emotions. Nor was he normally content snuggling with you in public.

Rubbing his nose against your hair, Frank gave a sleepy hum before pulling back to down the rest of the ice water you'd forced into his grasp. His hand was gently gripping your waist, thumb tracing lines over your hip as your friends chatted. Frank was much too tired to be paying any attention, and your ability to retain any conversation topic flew out the window the moment his hand landed on your side.

Watching as his free hand lifted to clumsily scrub at his face, you frowned. “Wanna call it a night, Frank? You look ready to drop.”

“'M fine.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, you'd hoped the water would stave off the impending headache for now.

“The kid's right.” David remarked, smirking at your offended scoff. “If I'm beat, you must be half dead. I'll go close the tab."

"Can the rest of you make it home ok if I handle this one?" You asked, kneading at Frank's neck as he dropped his head to your shoulder with a grumpy huff.

"Yah, we can get David home in one piece." Karen promised, squeezing Frank's arm as she passed. "Goodnight."

"Ok, tough guy. You gotta get out so I can get out," You murmured, nudging the marine as carefully as possible.

Grumbling under his breath, he slid out of the booth, grabbing the table as he listed sideways.

"Christ, Frankie. Hold on, I gotcha." You grunted as he leaned against you, his weight shifting you off balance. Wrapping an arm around his waist in a motion similar to the one he'd made mere minutes ago, you shuffled towards the door. "Ok, Castle, you gotta work with me a little bit here."

As the two of you neared the exit, you heard an indignant squawk from the bar. "I OWE HOW MUCH??"

Chuckling softly, Frank's skull knocked against yours. "We'd better get outta here, sweetheart."

The two of you made it back to Frank's tiny apartment without incident, though the man was stumbling all the way. When you reached his front door, he snatched his keys from his pocket, tossing them at you without a word.

Not expecting the projectile, the ring of keys hit you square in the chest, your chin following them as they crashed to the grimy carpet underneath your feet. Looking at Frank with narrowed eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

Frank chuckled quietly, his laugh as close to a giggle as it would probably ever get. His half-lidded eyes creased as he grinned at you. “Sorry,” The apology was undercut by the shit-eating expression on his face.

“Drag your ass all the way home, breaking my back doing so–mind you,” You complained halfheartedly, your chest swelling with fondness as Frank’s raspy laughs continued. “And you just throw your shit at me.”

Shaking your head, you let your smile betray you as he kissed your forehead. “You’re unbelievable, Castle.”

“Thanks for puttin’ up with me.” His stubble scratched your skin as he spoke, his lips still resting against your temple.

“Anytime, big guy.” Your eyes fell closed as his hand rubbed over your lower back.

After a minute, Frank spoke again. “Are ya gonna open the door, or am I gonna have to sleep in the hallway?”

“Jesus Christ.” You groused, breaking out of his hold to squat down and grab his keys.

Just like that, Frank was back in stitches, shifting his weight to the door frame as his body shook with near silent laughter.

Shoving the key in the lock, you opened the door and shoved at him gently. "Get in there, goofball."

Shuffling inside, Frank beelined for the couch, collapsing onto it with his boots still on. Rolling your eyes, you followed him in, crouching by his feet to start unlacing his shoes.

Wriggling on his stomach, he craned his neck to look at you. “Whattya doin'?”

“Taking your shoes off, Frankie.” You explained without stopping your actions.

Grumbling, he flapped an arm at you clumsily. “Leave 'em.”

Huffing with exasperated affection, you ignored him. "You'll be more comfortable if I take them off, Frank."

You received a disgruntled noise in response, but his arm stopped moving. Face squashed against a throw pillow, his eyes were closed and his pink lips were parted--soft breaths slipping in and out of them every so often.

Finally pulling his second boot off, you sat back on your heels with a satisfied sigh. Standing as quietly as you could, you strode to the tidy kitchen.

Given that you were well-acquainted with Frank's place, you moved around the apartment with ease, finding the sparse first aid kit that he possessed and making a mental note to bring some supplies by soon. Sure, Frank would manage—he was the most capable man you'd ever met—but you wanted to make his life easier in any way you could.

Which is why you grabbed a few individually wrapped pain pills and placed them on the coffee table, along with a glass of water. Now for the difficult part.

"Frank, I know you're comfy like this but you have to turn to your side for me." You spoke softly, running a hand up his arm and pushing in the direction he needed to turn.

"Hngh..." Frank protested sleepily. "Why?"

Stifling a smile at the grumpy face he made, you continued to push. "C'mon, you big baby. On your side, so you don't choke and die overnight."

Huffing frustratedly, Frank flopped onto his side, glaring at you.

“Thank you. Do you need a blanket?” You asked, laughing indignantly when he flipped you off. “That was an actual question, asshole.”

Standing up, you took a step towards the worn armchair on the other side of the coffee table, nearly tumbling over when a force tugged on your wrist. Eyes closed again, Frank was poorly hiding a smile as he yanked your arm towards him with more strength than his inebriated self should have been capable of.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you feeling nice now?” You grumbled, balancing your weight over him precariously as you tried to escape his hold.

Tugging your arm again, Frank muttered a jumble of grouchy nonsense.

“Christ, Frank.” You snorted, rolling your eyes to the ceiling before sliding your palms underneath his shoulders to shift him over. Squishing onto the couch next to his head, you found yourself smiling as he wriggled towards you, settling his head into your lap with a relieved exhale. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a piece of work when you’re drunk?”

Your murmur was more for yourself than for him, but he responded nonetheless. “M’ria.”

It was far from the first time he’d spoken to you about his late wife, but hearing her name fall from his lips when he was in such a vulnerable state felt like a swift punch to the gut. Regaining your composure, you threaded your fingers into his hair. “Go to sleep, Frankie.”

As your nails softly scratched at his scalp, darkness crept into the corners of his vision, his eyes fluttering closed again.

The next few hours passed like fractions of a dream. A warm pliant surface beneath his cheek, a cool hand running through his hair. A whispered conversation and hushed groans. A loss of contact.

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol-induced fatigue, Curtis appeared, taking over your role as his babysitter. Curt was good at taking care of him...he was a lot less pretty than you were, though.

“Christ, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Curtis griped, insulted by comment Frank hadn't intended to share, shoving a bottle of some form of sports drink at him. “Drink this.”

Scowling, Frank took a long swig. As he was gulping down the sugary liquid, his eyes locked on a piece of fabric draped over the back of the couch. Setting the drink down, and nearly spilling it all over himself in the process, he grabbed clumsily for the coat, clutching it to his chest when his fingers finally landed around it. ”She forgot it.“

”What?“ Curtis, rubbing a knuckle between his brows, looked unamused.

”Her coat, Curt.“ Frank whispered, holding it out to show the other man. ”We gotta find her. She forgot it. It's winter.“

Shaking his head with a huff, Curtis dropped his head into his hands. ”I'm sure she'll be fine without it for a night. Go to sleep, Frank.“

Frank frowned, still focused on the piece of plastic in his hands.

Grappling his pocket, he eventually pulled out his phone and flipped it open, squinting at the bright screen as it powered on. Scrolling through the list of contacts, he found the one he wanted and dialed.

”Frank,“ Curtis sighed, but didn't stop him from calling you.

Receiving your voicemail, Frank groaned. “Sweetheart, you better not be frozen to death out there somewhere. You left your coat here. You gotta come and get it, ok? I don't want you to be cold.”

”Hang up and sleep, Castle.“ Called the medic from Frank's bedroom. When had he gone in there?

Ignoring his friend's explicit instructions, Frank sighed. “Please come back. I like having you here. You just...you take such good care of me, and I really don't deserve it, but you do it anyways, and--” The phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Frank says goodnight.” Curtis snapped into the phone before ending the call.

“Hey!” Frank glowered, fumbling for Curtis's hand to take the device back.

“Go to sleep, Frank. You can talk to her tomorrow. Trust me, you'll be grateful I took this away when you've sobered up. You don't need to be spilling your secrets to her over voicemail.“ Spreading a blanket over Frank, Curtis glared at him. ”Close your eyes, Marine. I am not playing games with you tonight.“

Rolling to his other side so that Curtis couldn't see him, he smirked at the other man's final snort. ”Real mature, Frank. I'm taking your bed. I'll be out to check on you every once in a while.“

As Curtis retreated into the other room, Frank waited impatiently, staring at the back of the couch until he heard a door close. Grinning in satisfaction, he withdrew his burner phone from his other pocket, opening it up and inputting your number.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone. I wasn't done talking to ya. I like talkin' to ya, it makes me feel...god, I'm bad at this. I dunno, sweetheart, you make me feel good...special. I haven't felt that way in a long damn time. But you just make it seem so easy. You make everything seem so easy...”

The intense rolling of his stomach is what ruptured his unconsciousness, igniting a spark of adrenaline powerful enough to carry him to the bathroom so he could collapse in front of the toilet.

God, he felt fucking awful. His head was pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine, his throat burned with acid as he emptied his stomach repeatedly. Moaning with regret, he slapped the lever to flush the toilet, sinking back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub behind him.

“Was wondering when that would happen. David owes me 20 bucks.” Curtis leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom with his arms crossed, smirking at Frank's evident misery.

“Glad I could help.” Frank muttered, digging the heel of his hand into one of his eyes in an attempt to offset some of the building pressure in his skull.

“You look like shit.” Curtis chuckled, passing him a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, rinsing out his mouth before throwing back a few pills.

“Well, clearly you're feeling more like yourself. Christ.” Curtis snorted.

“God, Curt, what happened last night?” Frank grimaced.

“Besides you drinking enough to kill a racehorse? Not much. Unless you count me discovering your collection of burner phones as ‘interesting’.”

Curtis’s words were innocuous, but Frank felt a wave of dread crash over him at the implications.

“What collection?“ He asked mournfully, hoping fiercely that Curt didn’t mean–

“The one you were using to call your girl.” Fuck. “Every time I turned around, there was a new phone in your hands. Can't say I didn't try to stop you from making an ass of yourself, you just managed to do it anyway.”

“Fuck!” Frank cursed. That was exactly what he was hoping to avoid. “Please tell me you're jokin'.”

“Unfortunately not, Frank.“ The other man laughed, but his brow pinched in sympathy. “You're gonna have some explaining to do, I expect.”

“Fuck me. What did I say?” He looked to his friend pleadingly, feeling like his impending doom was perched just over his shoulders.

“I didn't catch all of it, but the parts I heard were pretty damning.” Curtis rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Frank’s intense eyes.

Mustering the dwindling energy he had, Frank lurched to his feet, stumbling towards the door. Thankfully, Curtis caught him when his balance faltered after a few steps.

“Woah, shit, Frank! Where are you goin'?” Curtis chastised preemptively, letting Frank lean against him as he ambled to the foyer.

“To apologize, or delete that message. Whatever needs to be done.” Frank’s jaw was stiff, his voice gruff with fear and discomfort. Undraping his arm from Curt’s shoulders, Frank bent down to grab his boots, halting as the motion caused a spike of pain to shoot through his brain. Clenching his fingers around his thighs, he bit his tongue to keep from hurling again.

“Jesus, Frank. This isn't a goddamn military operation.” Curt scoffed, kicking Frank’s shoes closer to him with a grunt.

Frank huffed a bitter laugh. “You're right, that would be easier.” Squatting down, Frank shoved his boots on and laced them up.

“You need serious help, you know that?” Curtis sighed, only waiting a moment before slipping his own shoes on. “C'mon. I'll drive you.”

Tipping your chin up, you let the final dregs of your latte trickle across your tongue, silently begging for those few drops to contain the caffeine you'd need for the rest of the day. You were practically giddy with lack of sleep and the immense amount of sugar you'd dumped into the coffee to make it palatable–you weren't used to so many extra espresso shots.

After looking out for Frank at the bar, wrangling him on the journey home, leaving abruptly to accompany your distraught roommate and her accident-prone boyfriend to the hospital, and then staying with said roommate all night while her boyfriend got a cast put over his broken arm–you were understandably exhausted. And, if you were honest with yourself, a bit aggravated that you'd been ripped away from Frank when he was so unusually receptive to your affection.

It wasn't as if you could just call Curtis and ask to switch roles again, it was almost noon. Frank would probably be up and hungover by now–far grouchier than the cuddly lump he'd become last night when he passed out on your lap. No use to mourn that loss any further, you supposed. It wouldn't be that hard to make him agree to another bet, after all.

Lounging on the couch, your eyes slipped shut for a moment, flying open in shock when you heard a knock at the door. Of course someone would show up right after you sat down. Inhaling deeply to keep from groaning, you dragged yourself off of the couch and to the door. Huh, speak of the devil.

Unlatching the door, you rested a hand on your hip as you took in the posture of the man before you. Frank looked awful, a perfect example of the saying “green around the gills”. He was slouched forward, barely meeting your gaze, and his complexion was so alarmingly pale that it was more translucent. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on your doorstep, he spoke.

“I need to see your phone.” His tone was pained and especially gravelly, which made sense given how hungover he must be right now.

“Damn, Castle. Hello to you too.” You laughed, the humor of it not fully reaching your eyes as concern churned in your gut. Stepping out of the way, you allowed him to stride past you into the apartment.

Looking over his shoulder at you sheepishly, he cringed. “Sorry, hi. Your phone?”

Well he’s clearly on a mission. You had to admit, you were curious what he was so riled up about.

Your eyes narrowing, you gestured to where it sat on the counter, anchored by its designated cord. “It's charging. It died while I was running around last night and I just got home, so.” Frowning in confusion, you picked it up to show him.

“Thank god.” Frank let his face fall into his palms, collapsing onto your couch.

“Why do you need my phone, Frank?” Intrigue still piqued, you flicked a thumb across the screen to activate your phone.

Realizing he’d made a fatal error in his anguished haze, Frank swiveling in his seat, craning his neck just in time to see a massive grin break out across your face. “Shit wait–”

“Jesus Frank, are you ok? Why did you call me so many times?” You laughed, scrolling through the myriad of notifications you’d apparently missed from him.

“Sweetheart I'm begging you–” Standing on his wobbly legs, he hurried to remove the device from your hands, but it was too late.

“You left multiple voicemails?” You looked at him with an almost pompous smile, clearly taking satisfaction in his downfall.

“Please don’t–” He made for your phone, but his reflexes were lacking. Spinning just out of his reach, you raised the phone above your head victoriously.

“Voicemail number one!” You announced proudly, pressing play on the recording.

Frank’s voice sounded tinny through the small speakers, or maybe it was just being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. “You forgot your coat…”

“Aw, Frank, that's so sweet!” You spoke over the short message, your lip sticking out slightly as you looked at him with gratitude.

Stepping towards you with his palms displayed, he tried for a placating tone. “Yup. That was all, no need to listen to any more of–”

“Voicemail number 2!” You crowed, darting out of the kitchen as he grabbed wildly for the offending phone once more.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone...”

“This ain't funny.” Frank growled, scurrying after you into the living room “Turn those off!”

“You left them for me!” You giggled, holding the phone to your ear and squealing with delight at his first confession.

“You make everything seem so easy–”

“Aw, Frank–”

“It's so hard for me to focus when you're around–”

By the grace of some higher power, his drunk rambling cut off. Nearly keeling over, he leaned heavily against the back of your couch. “Thank Christ.”

“VOICEMAIL NUMBER 3!” You said gleefully, practically dancing with joy as Frank resumed chasing you.

“Goddamn it.” He muttered. He should have known he wasn’t that lucky.

“I can't stop thinkin' about ya–”

His words were coming back to him now, and it was crystal clear that he had very limited time to retrieve the phone before your relationship with him was irreparably damaged. Nearly bowling your coffee table over, he managed to snatch the hem of your sweatshirt, but you simply slipped out of it and resumed your lap of the space.

“I can never stop thinkin about ya–”

You leapt onto the couch and over the arm, making for your bedroom. How on earth were you this agile after last night? He was pretty sure this would be the last thing he ever did.

“I hope you made it home safe–”

You stumbled around your bed frame and Frank saw an opening.

“You shoulda stayed here with me–”

His eyes narrowed, vision tunneling like a predator’s. Frank bounded forward and your eyes widened as you realized he had you cornered.

“I'll always keep you safe–”

Finally, he arrived within the distance he needed, snatching you by the waist and spinning you into him. Your chests were pressed together, quivering with the force of labored breaths, but before he could hit the power button–

“Cause, I dunno, I just love ya, sweetheart. I'd never let anythin' happen to ya.”

His world blurred, his heart pounding so aggressively it felt like it was creeping out of his rib cage. It was done. It was over.

Panting, you looked up at him with a furrowed brow. His heart sank as he watched the realization crawl across your face.

“You...you love me?” You asked meekly as Frank took a step away from you.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, he couldn’t decide whether he needed to scream or be sick. An apology roosted on his tongue, but his mouth was too dry for the words to come out.

“You love me.” You murmured, looking at the phone as if it would explain his words for you.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinkin'–” He choked out, scrambling backwards sloppily so that he wouldn’t witness your pity.

“Frank–” You spoke softly, the sympathetic edge to your words cutting his composure like a blade.

“Christ, I'll just go, I'm sorry–” He whispered, his throat tightening with immense regret.

“Frank” Your fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, turning him back to face you. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the rejection and subsequent loss of connection that he’d stupidly caused. But it never came.

Instead, your free hand cupped his neck, pulling his lips to meet yours. His knees wavered, nearly giving out as your soft lips met his. He was bombarded with surprise and affection and relief. Pulling back from him, you rubbed a finger over his nape and smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

“You–” He was too shocked to even ask a full question. His knees finally gave out and he fell against you.

“Woah, careful there, tough guy.” You chuckled, nudging him backwards so that he crumbled onto your mattress instead of taking you both to the ground.

Listing sideways onto your mattress, he let you prod at his limbs until he was fully seated. Bile was swiftly rising in his throat, but whether it was from the chase or the resulting emotions, he was unsure. Swallowing roughly, he grimaced.

Biting your lip, you let go of his wrist to stroke your blissfully cool fingers along his cheek. “Let me get you some water, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Eyes falling closed, Frank took a handful of measured breaths, lips twitching with a small smile despite his current agony. You loved him too. He had a feeling that he should be skeptical, but he was experiencing too much to consider that at the moment. For now, he would just accept this outcome, however miraculous it might seem.

Hearing your soft footsteps back into the room, he opened his eyes–immediately regretting it when his head convulsed with a renewed stab of pain. Moaning softly, he scrunched his eyes shut, bringing his thumbs up to his brows to knead them in the hope it would lessen the ache.

“Head bothering you?” Your voice was impossibly soft as you knelt by his side, gently prying one of his hands away from his face and pressed a cold glass into it.

“Yah. Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to crash here.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I already texted Curt and told him you’d be staying here for a bit.” Pulling back your sheets on the other side of the bed, you propped yourself up next to him. “Tired?”

Grumbling affirmatively, Frank tilted his head into your shoulder, rolling as far into you as he could stomach. “But we should probably–”

“We got all the time in the world, sweetheart.” You stroked his stubbled chin languidly, smirking as his expression relaxed beneath your touch. “Just sleep. After last night, we both need it.”

“God, I love you.” He murmured, throwing an arm over your hips and letting you nestle in close.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Frank.”

Frank made a mental reminder to buy Lieberman a beer the next time they went out. He’d never admit it to David, but he was beyond grateful that his uninhibited self had finally made a move.

Feeling more content than he had in months, he let himself drift off to the sound of your soft breathing.

Thanks for reading!!

#frank castle #my writing #frank castle x reader #the punisher #marvel #nmcu #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fc

1K notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

Remember Me

This was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt.

Word Count: 6,600+

Masterlist Here

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

------------------

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

-----------------

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

----------------

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

1K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 1 year ago

Text

prompt: you keep seeing apparitions of a dead special forces operative who's been haunting the barracks. (light angst; nsfw) (actual ghost simon riley)

War dogs chewed up and spat out by the machinery of war.

It is an incalculable blow to learn of his death. Worse still that you learn of it by happenstance, one officer talking to another, only listening in because it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him and their voices go hushed in that way that makes your ears prick up. You’re sitting at a nearby table in the canteen when someone says the single most devastating words that have ever been spoken near you.

“They weren’t able to recover the whole body, just some of it. Pretty gruesome. Don’t know if you ever met him, but he was an alright guy—pretty quiet. Scary, yeah, but—I don’t know. He was fair. Got the job done though. Soap’s taking it pretty hard.”

You barely breathe at the news. Something is squeezing your heart until it overfills on the other side.

You walk around base in a daze after that. It’s not anyone’s fault that you aren’t notified—no one was supposed to know. Your whole arrangement with Simon was predicated on the knowledge that it would never be revealed to your commanding officers or the rest of the infantry. Made sense at the time. Makes less sense now when your world is falling apart and you have no way of even requesting Ghost’s dog tags.

Pain holds you upright like a splint while it also tries to smother you. You crawl back to your barracks after training the recruits, voice a hoarse whisper in your throat. Showers are an optimal place to cry, when maybe you won’t be heard. Grief is not grief when there’s nowhere for it to go.

Maybe Soap was privy enough to Ghost’s life to know. He doesn’t spend time with you, but you see him once from across the tarmac on a flight out and his gaze lingers on you. There are deep troughs under his eyes, dark even with the distance between you. His posture is still, rigid; despite his uniform being pressed and his hair being cut and gelled into place, there is something singularly heavy weighing him down.

He nods from across the way to you. You grit your jaw and nod back.

It’s the only time you’ll ever acknowledge it. Soap never seeks you out after that—maybe it’s too painful. Maybe shared pain isn’t always enough.

The worst is only finding out weeks later that Ghost has been buried. That’s your closure. An offhand comment from an operations officer on a smoke break. Your numb hand flicking a lighter. Rain breaking in the early twilight hours and you stand in it so long that you shiver and shake on your way back to your room.

Lightning that crackles in the storm clouds, illuminating the place where you just stood outside while you stare from your window. Illuminating someone standing where you just were. You squint, but they round the bend to one of the other buildings before you can make them out.

Every soldier has a story. Conducting barracks checks on staff duty only to find a soldier with half their jaw missing asking for a cigarette. A marine approaching a soldier asking for his rifle, garbed in a ripped vest from early Iraq. Squad bays known for apparitions, known for hauntings. Figures seen from the trees, the half-shadowed remains of old tanks, burned and hollowed out, suddenly upright and mobile.

In certain barracks, soldiers won’t even leave their rooms at night to use the washroom. They’d rather piss in old bottles or hold off until morning light altogether. It’s common enough to be joked about, for soldiers to trade stories in the mess over supper, trying to spook each other with the things they’ve seen or claimed to see.

You can tell the ones who’ve actually seen things from those who haven’t though. The ones who have are often quieter, often only laugh a little. The truth is buried in their inability to fully commit to the bit. It’s the knowing that does that.

Knowing that there are things that death cannot hide.

The first time you see Simon again, it’s not a homecoming. You know there’s something very wrong.

It’s 3am and someone’s standing in front of your door. You feel it before you see them, feel something like every single hair on your body standing on end and the sudden lucid thought in the middle of a dream that you need to wake up. That you need to wake up right now.

Heart racing when your eyes snap open. Sweat already slicking the backs of your knees. You’re lying on your side, hands curled close to your face, and you feel its gaze on you like the heaviest dread you’ve ever felt in your life. You stare at the wall that your bed is pushed up against until you find the courage to roll over.

Just a shape in the dark. A dark shape. Distinct from the rest of the darkness in your room. Tall as it is wide. The slightest motion to it, like breathing or the gentle swaying of the human body when it’s allowed to be loose.

There’s a lamp on your end table. You flick it on without tearing your eyes away from the dark shape looming by the door, but when light unveils your room, it flickers away like a bad illusion. Just a jacket hung up on the back of the door. Your heart races still.

When the light goes off, the shadow doesn’t reappear.

It might not be him, but something’s haunting you. You spoon cereal into your mouth in the morning with a shaking hand. It’s the massive shape of a body behind the shower curtain in your private bathroom that has you certain—certain—that someone’s there until you whip it to the side and see only tile wall. You know what you saw though, and you know from the way the top of it peeked over the curtain that it was blond.

Weeks go by. You’re in a bivy sack and a voice you recognize wakes you up for watch. It’s the same voice that used to rumble low in your ear when you let him into your bed on leave (you always used to take them at the same time, no one the wiser). You’re back on base in your room and something leans its full weight onto your bed. You wake up to him sitting on the edge of your bed, blood dripping from an old wound. Him though, skull mask and all. Eyes shadowed always, black staring at you seeing and unseeing.

You don’t need to ask what he wants from you. He lumbers around the barracks like a wraith that only you can see. Never truer to his old moniker than he is in death. A civilian worker flirts with you one day and he winds up in the infirmary. Fell down the stairs, another sergeant tells you when you ask. You smile tight, brittle. If only.

He slips into your bed at night when the lights are shut and you’ve turned over onto your side. You can’t see him, but the bed compresses under his weight like it did when he was alive. He’s still for a minute, stare heavy on you while you lie there motionless, waiting him out. When he finally lays a hand on your hip, you flinch at how normal it feels. Like he didn’t go out and die one day. Like it’s really him at your back dragging a hand down the curve of your hip and over your thigh.

He divests you of your pyjamas the same way he used to in motel rooms, your apartment off-base, his cabin up north that you still have the key to but can’t bring yourself to visit. You let him. Shorts pulled down and kicked to the bottom of the bed, then your underwear. Shirt rucked up so he can fit a big, rough hand over your tit. His hands are solid where they touch you, nothing ghostly about them. He squeezes like the memory of your flesh is half-gone, like he needs to sink himself into you again.

“Missed…you…” His voice comes like a deep rumble, tectonic plates shifting over the asthenosphere.

The hand on your breast slides up, over the delicate skin of your throat, over where your pulse goes mad and you dry swallow because there’s nothing in your mouth. Over and up the curve of your cheek, thumb pressing against your lips, curling your top lip up until you’re almost kissing it. Then he lets go, hand coming back down to your hip.

“Simon, are you—” you start, cut off on a gasp when he lifts your leg over his hip and something presses against your opening. Notches there, sinks in hot inch after hot inch. Head spinning and breath wild when he spears you on his thick length, half-tumbling over you until you’re lying prone on your bed. Simon’s as heavy as you remember, the full weight of him keeping you trapped there. You can only take. You can only draw in a deep breath and let out the softest sounds while he presses in,

“Had to…come back,” the ghost of your old lover says, growling into your ear. “Couldn’t…leave you here…alone.”

You wonder what’s really behind the mask this time. His hands and dick feel flesh enough, but fear still quivers in your belly because you know that whatever it is pressing you down with a firm hand on your shoulder blade, it’s not fully him.

You’ve heard of ghosts haunting places but never people. There’s something achingly loyal about the way he fucks you though. It’s dark and hot under him, and he mouths where he can, mask pulled up finally. Not that you can see. Better that you can’t, maybe. Pulsing in and out of your cunt, silent but for his shallow intakes of breath. He feels enormous and terrifying at your back.

A big arm still clad in his old uniform jacket is braced beside your head. Simon whispers apologies into your hair; that he pulled himself out of a grave for a second time because he couldn’t untangle his soul from yours, but he got it wrong this time around. He didn’t make it in time.

“I won’t leave you though, love,” he says around kisses laid tender on the nape of your neck. He bites the meat of your shoulder hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth. “Never gonna leave you.” His words make you slicker, hotter; tightening around him until he snarls and fucks more viciously. A promise you thought he couldn’t keep.

In the morning, you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You take off your shirt and turn around. There’s a red bite mark on your upper left shoulder and it aches when you touch it.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you

1K notes · View notes

grandline-fics · 8 days ago

Text

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo, he's his own warning. Descriptions of illness and slight angst. Enemies to Lovers!, Soulmate!AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2, 903

A/N: I'm still not feeling great and managing to get requests written that I'm happy with has been a struggle but I was able to keep up the momentum from the last chapter to get this done. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all for your positive response to this series.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

——————

Your fall from such a height would have meant almost certain death had it been anyone else. Luckily and unknowingly for you, Doflamingo had issued an order to one of his elite officers after your less than pleasant encounter with the three pirates in your bathroom. ‘From now on you stay with them when they’re on their own.’ It was a simple order and one Pica took with absolute severity even though there was no danger to you from the Doflamingo pirates. He was going to obey his orders loyally, never leaving anything to chance. Even when you slept he remained close by in the Palace stonework, close enough to protect you and sense your movements but also giving you the privacy you needed.

When you stumbled out onto the balcony Pica was alerted and knew something was wrong. Through the day he’d been checking on you, noticing a difference in your behaviour. Thinking it was a small cold or flu he didn’t think to alert Doffy while he was away, besides he never stayed away for long when called away by the Marines. But then you fell over the railing and Pica acted immediately. His body pushed out from the stone and his large hands held out to catch you but then your limp body disappeared when it was a hair’s breadth from his reach and a familiar flash of pink registered in his sight. Blinking, Pica looked up and felt a wash of relief overcome him to see Doflamingo had returned and you were safely in his arms as he sat on the balcony you’d fallen over. He met the gaze of his leader and when Doffy nodded, Pica retreated back into the stone.

Doflamingo watched you carefully as he controlled his breathing to its usual calm; dismissing the adrenaline rush, shake in his limbs and quickened breath to just pushing himself a little harder than usual. Travelling vast distances wasn’t anything new to him but this was the first time in a long while he ensured he broke his personal best to return home. He hadn’t known what he was expecting to find when he was nearing the Palace but seeing you fall hadn’t been on his list. Blearily your eyes opened, your usual bright and sharp gaze was hazy and dulled with pain and confusion as you managed to focus on his face. “Back early…” Your voice was so weak and exhausted that even speaking those two words left your breathing tight and rapid. “M-miss me?”

Wordlessly Doflamingo rose from the balcony and carried you back to your bed. In the short distance you were incapable of keeping your focus on anything. Your vision blurred and although your eyes stung and felt so heavy you couldn’t keep them closed for long before they were slowly opening again. You barely registered Doflamingo had you back in your bed and settled against your pillows until the intense wave of pain slammed against your skull. It was so sudden and caught you off guard that you curled in on your side, hand pressed against your head. The shock had also forced you to take a sharper breath than your distressed lungs were capable of and brought on a coughing fit, sending more and more pain through your body as you struggled to calm yourself and find your breath again. When it finally subsided your body slumped against the bed. Distantly you heard the muffled sound of your door opening and a yelp of surprise coming from outside.

“Yo-young master!” the servant squeaked as they recovered from their initial shock at the abrupt opening of the door and seeing their King appear. While his return hadn’t been anticipated until the next day it was even more shocking that he appeared from his soulmate’s bedroom. “Welcome back!”

“Shut up.” Doflamingo snapped sharply, the cold intensity rolling from his body enough to make the servant fear for their life and scramble to bow lowly. “Get the palace doctors here now.”

“A-all the-”

“Did I stutter?” The low eerie calm of Doflamingo’s deep voice caused the servant’s blood to drain from their face as pure fear caused their body to grow rigid. They didn’t want to disobey his order when he was in a good mood and they certainly didn’t want to go against him now when he was like this but they just couldn’t force their body to move. The servant flinched when Doflamingo’s hand flexed, knuckles cracking in agitation. “Maybe I need to give you the right incentive since my orders aren’t enough. Are you wanting to go to them in one piece or bloodied and broken?”

“Behave…Doffy.” At the sound of your trembling, feeble voice from the doorway, Doflamingo’s hand twisted and ready to attack dropped to his side and his head snapped to look at you leaning weakly against the doorway. You already looked worse than you had in the short amount of time since he’d caught you. Your skin looked waxy and held the sickly sheen from the effort and strain coughing and struggling out of bed had caused. Swallowing harshly you looked to the servant, managing to pant out a quick. “Go.”

Your appearance snapping Doflamingo’s overbearing aura away from the servant was enough to make the poor soul snap back to reality. Rambling out apologies, the servant turned on their heel and hurried through the corridors to the doctor’s quarters. Not caring about the time or if they were sleeping they were going to frantically bang on their doors, reporting to them all that Doflamingo needed them immediately. While the servant was gone Doflamingo strode to your side as you gripped the doorframe tightly to remain standing. He saw how much you were struggling, your fingers trembled as they bit into the wood and your legs looked like they could give out at any moment. A sour taste filled Doflamingo’s mouth as he took in the sight and considered what he was to do. Instead he focused only on his anger, that he was able to handle. “Why did you get out of bed and interfere with how I deal with my servants?”

“Like being…difficult.” You managed out before tensing as another harsh cough rose in your agonised lungs and forced itself from your lips even though the pain was so great you wished to give your lungs a break. Your breath hitched in the final harsh cough and Doflamingo tensed when blood splattered agains the white marble floor. Shakily you released the doorframe to wipe your mouth but even that was too much and your legs buckled only to stop when Doflamingo’s arm caught your waist. Weakly your hand dropped to his wrist and your head fell against his chest. Immediately Doflamingo’s body tensed, feeling how high your temperature was. “Don’t you want a better look?”

“Look at what?” Doflamingo asked tightly, his frustration mounting as the seconds went by with still no sign of his doctors.

“Me.” You sighed, lifting your head to look at Doflamingo. Everything had ebbed back enough and you felt slightly more aware but the exhaustion was getting worse. “Does it match…your dreams? Me in pain.” Doflamingo ground his teeth together, refusing to answer. Not knowing how to answer, not even sure he knew the answer. Thankfully you were too ill to notice as your eyes had already slid closed just as he heard the sound of hurried footsteps drawing closer.

The doctors appeared, fighting off their sleep and disorientation with the sharp clarity of fear of failing Doflamingo. They slid to a stop in front of him and took in the sight of your weakened form and the blood on the floor. You winced at the throbbing pain the sound of their approach brought and cracked your eyes open enough to see you were in bed again, not even aware or having felt being moved. You managed to make out the outline of Doflamingo talking to the newcomers to your room but everything was muffled. Unable to stay awake any longer you finally fell unconscious.

Even sleeping it was evident to everyone you were suffering. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and with a struggling, weak rattle. Your body trembled with the shakes and tremors of chills and a fever fluctuating through you, your eyebrows knit together and expression twisted into distress. Doflamingo sat in his usual seat by the window usually reserved for when the two of you shared meals together as he let the doctors conduct their examinations over you. He’d relayed to them what he’d heard at the Marine base of the illness hitting the island. The doctors under his command had already heard of the mass infection from the papers and knew what symptoms to look for with you.

A low broken whimper sounded from you and Doflamingo’s strings unleashed instantly, connecting to the doctor who held a needle against your arm and kept him firmly in place before it could break your skin. At that the other doctors froze, out of fear of making the wrong move. “Explain yourself.” Doflamingo ordered, fingers arching to tighten the strings just enough for emphasis. “Now.”

“Their body is in pain… my King.” The doctor explained. “We can’t examine them without causing some form of discomfort no matter how gently we act. It’s part of what makes this illness difficult to treat. We need to take some blood to test how far it's progressed.”

“Can’t it be treated without the test or any needles?” Doflamingo asked sparing a glance at your pained features briefly.

“It’ll make an already difficult illness more complicated to treat.” Another doctor spoke carefully. “But between us all we could manage without needles.”

“So do it.” Saying nothing more on the subject, Doflamingo dropped the strings and let the Doctors finish their examination of you while being even more conscientious of how lightly they touched you. The last thing they wanted to risk was another close call with their King’s temper and fearsome ability. Finishing quickly the group managed to work together to quickly administer something to help your pain without waking you or bringing Doflamingo’s wrath on them. Knowing time wasn’t on their side, most of the doctors hurried to begin working on your treatment in their offices while one remained behind, hovering by the door. “What do you want?”

“Do you wish to retire to your own room?” The doctor asked unable to keep the nervousness from their voice. “Myself and the others can rotate and care as needed. You don’t need to be here.” Doflamingo remained in his seat and looked towards your sleeping form. Whatever you’d been given had helped slightly. While you still looked pained and distressed but not to the extent you had been. A rattling wheeze slipped from your mouth and the vein in his head throbbed. He recalled your weak question, asking if seeing you in pain matched his dreams, what he’d hoped for. The answer was no, nothing matched the real thing. Seeing you like this was more visceral now that he’d gotten to feel the tremor in your body and hear the struggle in your breath and see your usually strong and calm features crumpled into this kind of distress. Doflamingo turned his head away and waved at the doctor. “Just get to work.”

At the sound of the door shutting, Doflamingo rolled his neck to let it crack audibly and release the built tension before lightly knocking the wall. “Pica.” The elite officer’s form appeared slowly from the floor until he stood loyally in front of his commander. His steely gaze remained on Doflamingo who continued to look out the window, his gaze on the balcony. “Good work earlier.” He eventually spoke his praise for the usually silent officer.

While Doflamingo didn’t specify, it was clear that had Doflamingo not been there and had Pica not been there, you wouldn’t be lying safely in your bed and the need for doctors wouldn’t have been necessary. He was reluctant to feel relief and look deeper into the feeling it brought that you still lived but still he had to commend his officer for their obedience. “Tell the others that if they need me I’ll be here for the time being.”

Left alone once more, Doflamingo reluctantly looked towards you before dropping his gaze again. Slowly he worked through the information he’d already gathered. His own doctors had told him the illness was difficult to treat. From what he gathered due to the physical pain you were in that even a needle grazing your skin caused you to react, getting treatment would be just as arduous as going through the symptoms and ailments harming you. The conversation he’d overheard with the Marines confirmed many had already died regardless. Which meant even with his doctors there was a chance you would die.

Now begged the question why was he even bothering with letting them treat you? Wasn’t you dying what he wanted? Yes it had to be by his hand but wouldn’t it still count if he ordered those duty bound to help the sick and dying to stop? Wouldn’t that count as your death on his hands? Possibly. Immediately and unwillingly the image of his mother on her deathbed flashed into his mind. She’d suffered for so long, getting weaker and weaker until she had no energy left in her to recover and all because his father was powerless. Doflamingo gnashed his teeth together, refusing to be anything like the man. He wasn’t powerless, he refused to be and you at least deserved a better end than this.

———

“Our main focus is the heart and lungs at present.” You slowly drifted from unconsciousness to the sound of a trembling voice. Whatever you’d been given had dulled the pain slightly but you could feel it already wearing off. “They’re taking the most strain from the illness at the moment but trying to keep things from escalating is difficult. Finding a balance is-”

“Just spit it out already.” Doflamingo’s voice was cold and sharp, his impatience palpable.

“We can’t just force medicine down their throat and expect it to take. In order to get to our main concern there’s other steps we have to take first to ensure the treatment isn’t rejected immediately and worsen their condition while risking further deterioration. This illness makes the body fight against itself. They need to sleep and eat to keep their body strong enough to stomach the medication we need to give them but between the intense physical pain, fever, and inability to swallow it’s difficult and puts them in a vicious cycle that leads to our main concern; the heart and lungs. The stress will mount and increase the pressure and strain.”

“Is there a way to keep them asleep and give them the nutrients from food without forcing them to eat?”

“S-sir…you um instructed us to avoid needles.” The doctor’s voice grew even more frightened and meek. You couldn’t see Doflamingo’s expression but could only imagine what the doctor was facing. “Th-that limits our options considerably.”

“Doc you’re really not helping yourself here. Maybe your negative attitude is having a poor effect on your peers, hm?” Doflamingo mused. “Perhaps I should-”

Doflamingo’s threat was cut off at the sound of your pained groan. Turning sharply he saw you struggling to push yourself up with what looked like the intention of getting out of the bed, your breathing laboured and arms shaking. You blinked when you were being pulled upwards and settled against the pillows propped up behind you. You scowled at Doflamingo as he now sat on your bed, a hand firmly on your shoulder to keep you lying back. “Do I have to tie you to the bed?”

“Not tonight dear, I have a headache.” You quipped back, your voice thick with exhaustion. You took a long breath, pushed his hand away before pressing your fingers against your temple trying to relieve the blinding pain that was rushing back and through your body as the painkillers in your system finally left but it only made it worse. Groaning you dropped your hand and tried to move again, everything was just too much that you felt the desperate urge to try and get away from your own body even though you knew it was impossible. You just wanted to stop feeling so pained and ill and weak. It was just a survival instinct to protect yourself despite your own body being the issue.

Doflamingo saw the distress overcome you and when he saw you try to get out of the bed again he acted without thinking. He pulled you close and moved so your body was against him while settling his hand against your head, moving his fingers against the spot you’d been trying to relieve. Instantly a sigh broke from you and your eyes slid closed. Stronger than the painkillers you’d been given, this removed the agony assaulting you and you fell straight to sleep, your features relaxing. Doflamingo watched the change in you with silent surprise, and released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Finally aware he was being watched his head snapped up to see the dumbstruck doctor standing there and staring with widened eyes. “My King, I think I can confidently say we’ve found our balance.”

———————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @anicega , @splicer13vex , @19yearoldjstryingtolivelife , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu

156 notes · View notes

cloveroctobers · 2 months ago

Text

I CAME HOME LATE — Terry Richmond [September Prompts] 🩶

A/N: listen…I’ve been wanted to write for this man since he was Mid-sized Sedan 😆 but he definitely wasn’t being talked about enough then. This isn’t anything big but I’m here to feed the tag a little with this thing so I hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: ²¹⁾ steaming cups of sake + ²²⁾ an airport terminal at midnight.

WARNINGS: language and some angst?

<- check out my previous anthology prompt here.

☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘

Being a night owl wasn’t foreign for you.

You were born when the twilight hit the evening sky and your mother always had a hard time getting you down for the night as a baby. For as long as Terry’s known you—since high school—it was no surprise to learn that night shifts were where you thrived best.

He’s at the airport terminal, not knowing your schedule but taking the risk to show up where you worked. He had the urge to be near you again once it was set in motion that he was selling his food truck to head east to start over with his cousin, Mike. Terry had no issue adjusting to change as long as it has substance in the end. He couldn’t leave without seeing you and although it’s been a minute since you both spoke, he didn’t take it personally.

You were his ex-wife after all but that didn’t mean that the utmost respect for you vanished. Ever. Terry made himself comfortable in the crisp cool of the quiet pale blue airport, sticking to the front of the large building but couldn’t help his eyes searching the area every so often for you. He had a feeling that you would be coming around sooner than later and exactly at 12:03am, he spots you being led to the revolving doors with a man who was dressed in security attire.

Your light laughter is almost childlike, a little raspy and airy as the both of you squeeze each other’s shoulders lightly in farewell for the night before you turn to face Terry’s direction.

“Terry,” your voice is hushed with a hint of croaking in it, which is unusual since you were normally upbeat once the moon shined but from the sound of it, the day at the airport must have been a long one.

Terry says your name with a dip of his head, eye contact always on lock, which you held before slowly closing your eyes, not knowing what to expect of this appearance.

“Everything good?” The security guard asks based on your reaction and you raise a hand up with a nod of your head, informing him that it was.

Terry briefly stared at the security guard underneath his lashes, who must have been a good friend of yours—not that good if he was letting you walk out into the night to your car on your own—sure you could handle yourself if it ever came down to it but it was the right thing to do.

“Y’all take care.” The security guard states as he realizes that Terry is no danger to you.

Terry gives a crooked smile, “you as well, man.”

You step to him, fixing the strap to your backpack on your left shoulder—your better shoulder that didn’t suffer from a extreme tear that took two surgeries to fix—, “what’s happening?”

“Hm…I thought it was a nice night so I took a ride.” Terry smirks at you while you roll your eyes and begin walking towards the automatic doors.

Throwing your head back as you stood on the sidewalk you glance at Terry and begin to walk backwards, “A nice night to throw my mind for a loop? You never did have good timing.”

He would have thought that was a jab, considering that the papers he sent your way two weeks before he got honorable discharge arrived in your shared mailbox the same day your elderly dog died. It’s not like the papers were a shock, it’s been discussed over many video chats but like you said, Terry Richmond didn’t have the best timing when it came to certain things.

He was a marine after all so timing kind of came with the profession…perhaps if you were looking for something to blame it would be that.

“Now we both know that isn’t a hundred percent true,” Terry lightly points, head downwards and a sly smile playing on the corner of his lips, “is it a crime to come see my favorite girl?”

Letting out an exaggerated yawn, you give him an expressionless face afterwards before spinning back around to head to the parking lot, with Terry following you into the foggy low sixty degree night. He’s holding the car door open for you after you unlocked it with your clicker and you’re shoving your things into the passenger side before taking a seat in the driver’s side.

You peer up at him, “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” Terry starts, “come with me to Liu’s…just to talk.”

Raising your brows you say, “Why now?”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” Terry questions.

Lifting your once slumped shoulders, you stare back at Terry and he’s never known you to be a liar.

“Should he have?” You press, “He’s never gotten into our shit before so why would he? If you wanted your business told, you should have said something to Ken.”

Terry snorts at the mention of Mr. Liu’s nephew.

He was a good guy but he was crap at secrets and excellent at taking direction.

“You’re not wrong,” The man with the goatee inhales, “look I won’t hold you…yet I’m leaving in the morning and i don’t know when I’ll be back. I just thought I should come by.”

He thought of you in the moment and there’s neber been a day where you didn’t think about Terry, all bright eyed and imagining the what if’s. The divorce had to happen, it was the right decision but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him.

Terry gave you the space you needed, he couldn’t keep coming around as if the whole trajectory of your relationship wasn’t altered. It never got disrespectful however you were very vocal once you returned home from work, finding every trace of him erased from the home except for pictures. A conversation was eventually had over dinner, a passionate night was shared and just like that he was gone in the morning. You feared that you would run into him in town often, since Mr. Liu’s was pretty popular and Terry’s truck was more lowkey and out the way with a good amount of locals— just how he preferred it.

You did the best staying away from that side of town for a while before you realized how silly you were being. Life didn’t have to stop because Terry was no longer in it. That was your choice. You were never the type of person to be so dependent on anybody before.

So you thought.

Being surrounded by family constantly…you never had to feel alone. Terry was the opposite, an only child raised by a single mother who was a pediatric nurse and worked nights. He found a bonus home with your family and became part of it, no questions asked.

“You’re leaving?” You quiz, “for how long?”

Terry can see you visibly flinch after the words slipped through your lips. You were trying to put up a shield or maybe even a boundary for not caring as much. Like a concerned wife should. Just like he said before, just because you’re no longer romantically involved didn’t mean he didn’t value your friendship.

“Don’t know. Heading out to Shelby Springs for Mike and a fresh start.” Terry states and it’s not like you can feel a way about that.

Inhaling air through your teeth you say, “that bama ass place?”

Terry tells, “I know. It’s a in and out type of thing. Getting a pick up and starting a business from as far as we can get from there.”

You don’t say anything but the look on your face says enough.

“…Don’t worry.” He starts.

Scoffing you reply, “who’s worried?”

“That pretty little face is.” Terry even pokes your cheek with his free hand that’s not holding the door open but you slap his hand away, leaving him smiling softly, “so…are you coming with me?”

“To Shelby springs? Hell no!” You jest with a wink, “I can go for a vegetable spring roll though.”

There’s amusement in Terry’s eyes as he nods, “that’s it?”

“I don’t like to eat heavy at night, remember?” You defend.

A hearty breakfast was always more your speed.

“Yin and Yang,” Terry smiles at a memory you don’t push for him to share because you’ve probably thought about it plenty times before whenever you had breakfast alone, “You’ll lead?”

“Course.” You give a small smile and Terry makes sure you’re all the way in before shutting the door behind you.

He follows behind you on his bike and the airport is a good distance from downtown. It’s not long before you’re trying to pull over but Terry just zooms past you, grinning back at you over his shoulder while you’re shaking your head in disbelief behind the wheel.

This was a challenge for Terry, a norm to not only test himself but you and you never backed down from a competition.

Letting out a low-whistle you comment, “Moving like that and you’re traveling to Shelby in the morning?” You say as you walk up to the doors where Terry is waiting, “you might be taking a long nap instead.”

The both of you were hardly sleepers, you with your hint of OCD and mind racing always finding something to do and Terry was always on military time even before he went into the field. He was the earliest riser and believed in that old saying, “the early bird catches the worm.” Your rest time together involved pillow talk, just breathing the same air either facing each other or you being the little spoon, and of course there were times where you both didn’t mind helping the other go to sleep.

After locking up his bike, he shifts the keys around on the ring to unlock the restaurant holding the door open, “Nah, I’ve got the best stamina in the world.”

Spinning to face Terry after he locks the door behind you two, you’re pushing your lips out with a tilt of your head once his eyes settle back on you. It’s a teasing smile and he’s leans towards you on his way by, “get your head outta the gutter.”

Laughing in between the stools, you turn to rest your elbows on the counter which Terry is behind now. He asks, “You down for some of Ken’s sake?”

“Ah…now I see.” You sigh dramatically, “you brought me here to get me drunk.”

Terry laughs, “no. I just remembered that you enjoyed it a lot back in Japan and Ken’s been experimenting thanks to his dad’s recipe all while offending Mr. Liu.”

Where you got married.

“I can’t even tell you the last time—fuck it! It’s your going away night and you should be honored that I’m here so why not?”

“How did this turn into praising yourself?” Terry jokes as he gets ready to prepare the warm beverage.

You grumble, “Somebody besides myself needs to.”

Terry flicks his spring green hues to you, “so you’re not seeing anyone?”

“It’s not the security guard.”

Terry frowns, “funny how I didn’t even mention him.”

Wagging your finger at him you respond, “I saw the way you were analyzing my friend with that high opacity setting that you call eyes.”

He pauses and snickers, “oh yeah? And what did they say?”

“You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt because that’s just how you are but…you were curious about us.”

“That was a thing then?” He quirks up a brow while you press your cheek into your fist.

“Nope!” You answer as you move to sit up on one of the chairs, “That gorgeous chocolate man is happily taken with four kids, with three of them being triplets.”

“Damn!”

“Terry.”

He laughs and then shrugs, “what? I’m only kidding…kids are blessings.”

You hummed as you watched him work for a while before he’s placing steaming sake in front of you.

“What should we toast to?” You ask, pinching at the glass before finding a safe spot of the cup to hold up, “Goodbye’s?”

Terry immediately furrows his brows, “come on now…you know that’s what I’m actually not good at. Look at this as more of an…until next time.”

Clinking your cup against his as a response, you both slowly sip at the hot sake and its sweetness is felt with its warmth. “Not bad, Ken. Not bad.”

You both share a laugh, letting the silence hit while the sake cools off some. The silence doesn’t last long before you’re both poking fun at each other and falling into more conversation. It flows even when it gets tense, blood burning as your feelings come to the surface with Terry listening to you intently and speaks to you calmly.

“When I brought up divorce the first time it was never to be manipulative…it was to save us both the heartache of this ongoing distance.”

You open your mouth to interupt but Terry stared at you from underneath your eyelashes, which makes you deeply sigh, “We grew apart but we tried. You know it and I know it. No matter how long you would have held me down it happened and I felt like you deserved better than that. I thought you felt the same way when you agreed and signed.”

It’s not like you signed right away! You actually took your sweet ass time, even when he pulled what he pulled.

“I mainly signed because you pissed me off, sneaking through the house to get your things like a thief in the night while I was at work. I should ask how you managed to do it all but then I remembered who you are.” You exhale, “I’ve got to get some hobbies besides working myself to the bone and constantly thinking about you. I should be over this already. It’s been months.”

“We did put in a solid five years of marriage though.”

Dated since senior year just for him to go off to the military three years later. The love and the effort was there but you been around a lot of military significant others at group meetings and their stories were much worse. So you tried to be thankful of the time shared but that didn’t mean you didn’t have your own sorrow too.

‘It’s not something you can just get over.’ Terry thinks.

“That we did.”

And it’s back to the eye game again and it makes your stomach feel like flipped flapjacks.

You can’t stand Terry Richmond.

He intertwined your fingers once you’re both outside. This was happening, he was leaving again and you chose to be numb about it on the outside but slightly achy on the inside. It was weird really, how you could both live in the same town and never run into each other but it still felt comforting to know that you were both out there carrying on—even if it wasn’t beside one another.

You wish he would hold you instead of your hand but Terry didn’t want to cross that line. Not when you revealed that your heart wasn’t really in it to sign the papers in the first place.

Squeezing his rough hand back before letting go, you’re aware that he’s crashing at the restaurant tonight so it’s closer in the direction he’ll be heading in the morning. Yet there’s still a part of you that wishes he would come home.

It’s early when your eyes peel open to focus on your block out curtains. They were the best investment you made (from a cousin you didn’t like—but no one can say you were never supportive) since it’s always sunny in this town and the only time you preferred light was in your kitchen and living room but you still have a feeling that it’s early morning. You sit up in bed, ears searching for any sound in your bungalow.

Your feet are sliding into your slippers, knuckles rubbing into your eyes as you peek at the clock on the nightstand to see it’s another 5am. As you’re handling your business in the bathroom across the hall from your bedroom, you can’t help that pull in your gut that brings you to the front of your home.

Flicking on the lights, you yelp at the sight of Terry sitting in the dark of the living room staring off in space.

It’s been days since you last saw him.

You pushed him to the back of your mind like you trained yourself to do. Putting your attention elsewhere and even picked up a hobby to keep yourself preoccupied besides just those long double shifts at the airport.

Now he was back and something shifted within him again that didn’t sit well to you. You carefully took a step towards him and his eyes followed you but much slower this time.

“Terry,” breathe his name, “…what’s wrong?”

He simply flips the palm of his hand over that’s resting on his knee and you reach out to place yours right in his while you move to sit next to him. Terry squeezes your hand like his life depends on it and it makes your heart rate spike, it doesn’t hurt—he’d never purposely do so—but it’s strong enough to let you know that he needs you.

“Can I get you something? Water? Those shady over easy eggs you like so much?”

That gets a snicker to escape his lips, always finding your issue with eggs to be humorous. You were not an egg person and commonly called it, “the devil’s snot,” which let Terry know you might have been spending too much time with your granny and great-aunties.

“Maybe later,” he says, “can you just be here with me?”

You don’t hesitate to cup his face once he turns his gaze to you and not this daze he seems to be in. He slowly blinks at your touch, head moving to press a kiss into the palm of your hand. You nod and he moved again to lay in you lap, hands wrapping around your hips tight that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Something was wrong and you were determined to fix it—if he would let you. You didn’t push him and let Terry rest as you squeezed one of his shoulders being trailing your fingers across his back to the other.

That’s when you felt it underneath his shirt, a bandage of some sorts. You kept it to yourself for now, knowing he would tell you as you continued rubbing circles across his back to soothe him.

It had to have been a half hour when Terry dozed off and your legs were aching. You forgot to put a pillow down for extra cushion but Terry never had any problems using your body as his personal pillow. Some things never change.

Your attempt to weasel out of his hold was a challenge before you realized he was holding onto you on purpose. It was good to still see some humor in him due to whatever happened once he left this town.

“Be for real,” you tell him as he looks back at you, “I’m trying to get up and make breakfast and this is what we’re doing?”

Terry sits up, always the light sleeper but there’s a weight in his chest that won’t ever subside, “wanted to see if you still had it in you to get out of my hold…you need some more work.”

“I lug baggage at the airport that’s heavier.” You sass pushing yourself off the couch, “I didn’t get my stretches in yet so excuuuse me, Mr. Richmond.”

Terry mutters playfully, “sounds like excuses to me.”

“You know what? It’s too early for your irritation so why don’t you take another nap?”

Terry shakes his head as you make your way over to the fridge, “nah, I much rather watch your face while you mentally fuss over the eggs.”

“Ah so I’m your source of entertainment for you this morning am I?” You place your hands on your hips as Terry places his elbows into his knees, “let me go find my flapper dress.”

“…I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a dress again.” He admits, eyes burning into you from across the room.

Rolling your eyes you turn right back around so he couldn’t see how much of an effect that had on you. It shouldn’t by any means but here your insides were acting up!

When you turn around with the carton in your hands, you’re met with Terry’s chest that catches you by surprise. His arms lock over your shoulders as you carefully hold onto the eggs and feel him relax against you. He always smelled like leather and pine and that also hasn’t changed. Slowly you snake a free arm across his waist and lean your ear into his chest, finding his heartbeat. It’s always the most soothing thing, equivalent to your hands on his back.

You’re not sure how long you’re holding onto each other but you don’t question what this is all about or what this is for. You didn’t need to, you knew Terry Richmond and you knew when something was up, regardless of the distance that was between the two of you. He came to you in the middle of night at your job and again in the early morning. The pull was still there and perhaps it would always be that way.

He wants to help you make breakfast, after he lets go of you and you almost tell him to sit his big behind down, sensing that he was injured in more than one way but he’s not exactly a guest in this home. So he puts in the work beside you, just like old times and begins to open up about his time in Shelby springs much to your own heartache for him.

Terry arrived back home after all this time and as you sat from across each other just listening, you realized him being here was better late than never.

☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎ ☾˚ ༘

Continue with my September anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #queued #aaron pierre #rebel ridge #rebel ridge netflix #terry richmond #Terry Richmond x reader #Aaron Pierre x reader #september prompts

341 notes · View notes

blueiscoool · 4 months ago

Text

Archaeologists Discover Ancient Roman Mosaic in Sea off Italy

Researchers studying an underwater city in Italy say they have found an ancient mosaic floor that was once the base of a Roman villa, a discovery that the local mayor called "stupendous."

The discovery was made in Bay Sommersa, a marine-protected area and UNESCO World Heritage Site off the northern coast of the Gulf of Naples. The area was once the Roman city of Baia, but it has become submerged over the centuries thanks to volcanic activity in the area. The underwater structures remain somewhat intact, allowing researchers to make discoveries like the mosaic floor

The Campi Flegrei Archaeological Park announced the latest discovery, which includes "thousands of marble slabs" in "hundreds of different shapes," on social media.

"This marble floor has been at the center of the largest underwater restoration work," the park said, calling the research "a new challenge" and made "very complicated due to the extreme fragment of the remains and their large expansion."

The marble floor is made of recovered, second-hand marble that had previously been used to decorate other floors or walls, the park said. Each piece of marble was sharpened into a square and inscribed with circles. The floor is likely from the third century A.D., the park said in another post, citing the style of the room and the repurposing of the materials as practices that were common during that time.

Researchers are working carefully to extract the marble pieces from the site, the park said. The recovery work will require careful digging around collapsed walls and other fragmented slabs, but researchers hope to "be able to save some of the geometries."

Once recovered, the slabs are being brought to land and cleaned in freshwater tanks. The marble pieces are then being studied "slab by slab" to try to recreate the former mosaic, the park said.

"The work is still long and complex, but we are sure that it will offer many prompts and great satisfactions," the park said.

By Kerry Breen

#Archaeologists Discover Ancient Roman Mosaic in Sea off Italy #Bay Sommersa #Roman city of Baia #The Campi Flegrei Archaeological Park #mosaic #ancient mosaic #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art #ancient art

301 notes · View notes

lukolabrainrot · 1 month ago

Note

Calm theory anon here!!! We are going to start off strong with a how do actors shut down dating rumors? What are some of the ways you have seen actors shut down rumors before? Most of the time it's with a he is just my friend or with a oh we are just friends. And those that are blunt will say we don't see each other like that. They are direct and want to kill the rumors before they start flying. Nicola didn't have to mention Luke at all. The fact that she did speaks volumes. She mention her relationship with her costar when she discussing a bunch of serious topics. If they were just friends why is he even in her head as a discussion topic. My friends I don't think about like that meaning they don't occupy space in my thoughts for them to be a regular conversation. The only time I will talk on someone is if they are more than friends. If it's a man I have a crush on I will go on and on about him. He's in my head so naturally he's who I discuss. This article was time to kill the rumors and we are just good friends would have killed the rumors. Yet we got how she always called them and she has called him friends before in other interviews. She played the same card she been playing. Talking about her relationship with him as special while calling him a friend. Why doesn't she just tell us they are just friends? Because that would be a lie they are more. So she skirts around the truth. Also no fan pages I have seen is anyone saying marriage we say we want them together or they are together. I haven't seen anyone mention marriage 👀. Interesting that's how she phrased the fans wants. Guys we are getting closer and closer to a reveal. Truth always has a way of coming out and their love they wont be able to hide forever.

💯

Y'all, she didn't have to mention L... AT ALL. And the marriage comment (DEFINITELY intentional). EVERYTHING she talked about in that article was intentional and approved of before it was released. She was never going to announce their relationship in the article, but she also can't totally shut down the rumors because they aren't "just friends". So she makes sure people know in this very important article (that really is about her accomplishments and really wasn't focusing on any type of Bridgerton promo) that L and her have a lot of love for each other and a "gorgeous friendship"... and mentions that a lot of people want her to marry LUKE. SHE. DID. NOT. HAVE. TO. SAY. THIS. I can't stress that enough. This interview was apparently done before the Emmy's in early September... A LOT has seemed to change publicly since then for L/N. The RINGS being one of the major ones 👀

This article is likely going to live "forever" and in it's original form. And she very intentionally mentioned TWO people in her personal life that she wanted to live in this article (ON TIME MAGAZINE). Her father, who was VERY important to her and a huge influence on her life, and... LUKEEEE. Like, y'all, just marinate on that for a few minutes. This doesn't read as my work bestie. This reads as someone who will likely be in her life for a LONG TIME.

She mentioned she is VERY aware that people ship the two of them. And when prompted to talk about her relationship with L (which she definitely agreed to in advance), she not only doesn't totally shut down rumors, she says a lot of "people" want her to marry L. I think that goes beyond just fans. And then in early October we see her move the claddagh on her left hand, and L just sort of randomly shows up in this pic at her house while she's getting ready for an event with a ring on his ring finger. And then they went to NY together on a vacation (and work for N at least). Like this just isn't subtle. And some people just refuse to look at the evidence/information that is being presented to us on this topic. And there is still some "secret" shoot she teased about where she was wearing a dress she wore multiple times on the tour with her claddagh rings on full display (and no other jewelry). Idk y'all, I have this feeling that when L/N publicly announce their relationship, they are going to have some BIG news to announce.

Side note: I just wanted to add... N is SOOO cool!! I like legit want to be like her when I'm 37 😍

#lukola theories #just some thoughts #calm theory anon

149 notes · View notes

minhosimthings · 2 months ago

Note

imagine … feeding jake grapes while on a picnic together … or maybe just watching a movie, snuggled up at home… you bring up smth about how you used to peel grapes with your teeth growing up and challenge him to see who can do it the best. but someway somehow, things get heated, and he starts teasing abt you having an oral fixation after you peeled the grape better than him, ofc ;), and he decides to prove you wrong by showing you just how skilled his mouth can really be- 🧎‍♀️

This has been marinating in my asks for so long istg (i think since 2023), so i wrote this extremely quickly, and im so sorry i couldnt make it a full fic annonie! But, as always, enjoy this quick dumb blurb on mine (i know its really short BUT BEAR WITH ME)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, oral (f receiving), mention of food (grapes), swearing, use of nickname 'doll' NOT PROOFREAD (forgive me)

“Now that—” Jake slumped back against the tree, “—is definitely something you learnt at Hogwarts, you beautiful witch.”

You threw your head back as your entire body convulsed with laughter, bringing a goofy smile to Jake’s face as he realized how stupid his silly joke was. The sun was still peeking out from the horizon, bathing the skies in a shampoo of oranges and pinks. The soft spring breeze pushed Jake's hair back, prompting his body to relax into the soft grass which he sat upon. The checkered blanket which you had brought was sitting peacefully on a side, as you had decided that the grass was far more comfy. In front of you lay a basket filled with cotton-candy grapes.

“How are you even getting them to stay in your hands?” Jake whined, picking up a grape which happily slipped out his finger. You stifled a giggle.

“Just watch and learn babe.” You said with the air of a sensei, “watch and learn.”

You picked up a nicely rounded grape from the basket, pretending to observe its dimensions like a professor before you brought it to your mouth. Jake watched in pure awe as your teeth easily managed to pull off the slimy green outer layer, leaving the fresh fruit behind. You peeled one end, then the other, and the last strip went onto your tongue as you proudly showed off the skin-less grape to your boyfriend.

“Yep.” Jake sighed, “Witch material.”

“But the hot kind right?” You laughed, popping the grape into your mouth, “You’re just jealous I could peel more grapes than you could.”

“Well, you practice it throughout your childhood!” Jake defended himself. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“It’s alright baby.” You put on a cheeky smile, before checking your watch. The sun was now fully below the horizon and nighttime was falling, “Some of us just weren't born for grape peeling.” You laughed at Jake's scowl.

“Home then?” You said, picking up the basket.

“Yep.” Jake replied with a pop of his lips, before helping you pack up.

……………………………………………………………………

"Ohh Jake, more–please I need you," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have his tongue buried as deep as possible. Apparently, the bragging rights of the grape-peeling competition didn't sit well with him, especially when you looked so sexy, peeling them. He had you pushed against the bedroom door as soon as you had changed into your pajamas, and now—he was devouring you like a starved man.

He took his time, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your body responding to his touch. His hands slid under your hips, pulling you closer, his tongue delving deeper into your depths. Your fingers tightened on his hair and his lips stopped coordinating with your pulsing cunt. Jake pulled away to look up at you and smirk.

He was glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, the buttons of his shirt—once done up to near his neck, now trailing open to the middle of his chest, exposing the warm glow of his skin underneath.

“Do I win the competition now, doll?” The lowered tone of voice Jake was using sent you swimming in a pool of insanity. And it wasn't like it was any different for him. Your willing pussy throbbing for his tongue and touch were driving him to the limits of his self-control.

Before you could respond to his words however, his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn't take the tension anymore and you threw your head back with a moan. Just the feeling of his breath and the knowledge of how close he was to your pussy was driving you crazy.

You couldn’t help but rithe under his touch, bucking your hips at his face–on instinct, overwhelmed by the way Jake was relentlessly drinking you up, his fingers gripping tighter to the meat of your thighs to hold you in place as you could feel the tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine, your back arching in desperate anticipation.

A sort of whimpering scream escaped you as you began to gasp for air, far too fucked out, just by Jake’s persistent tongue. Everything was getting hazy, and soon, your eyes were rolling to the back of your skull. Instinctively, you clenched your fists tightly on the sheets and tried to move your hips out of his reach, but his hands on your waist effectively stopped your movements.

“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Jake, I’m so close oh f-fuck, I’m–” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high. His lips completely wrapped as he suckles and continues to flick where you’re most sensitive, working you through your orgasm.

More arousal poured from you, and Jake was quick to lap it up. You grabbed his hair tighter, driving your hips into his face at a ravenous pace—practically fucking his face—and then it hit you again. Eyes rolled to the back of your head as your back arched in an awkward angle, your orgasm hits you hard. It’s without warning, heart-pounding, with a certain addiction—as sweet as cotton candy grapes.

Dividers by the talented @drizztdohurtin

306 notes · View notes

withonly-sweetheart · 3 months ago

Text

Your Hero

Friendly neighborhood Spiderman, huh? You wouldn’t have expected your new dorky nerd best friend to be passing in the shadows of the charming hero behind the mask, hanging upside down and staring at you with odd interest. Why does he seem oddly familiar?

a/n: @candlekiss THIS HAS BEEN FORMULATING FOR QUITE A WHILE... ITS JUST BEEN MARINATING... TRUST ME THE BEST FOOD GETS MARINATED FOR LIKE THREE YEARS 😭😭😭

UR ART INSPIRES ME SM !! NEVER GIVE UP ON UR DREAMS BECAUSE THIS IS A REALLY GOOD SCENARIO WITHOUT YOUR ART I WOULDNT HAVE "to keep an angel" OR THIS FIC!! ILYSM MARI <3

college leon art omg mari u are such a queen (bt dubs college leon is literally this hes a dorky nerd 🤓💗) nerd!leon art here

tw: fluff from college leon and spiderman leon because they've both been swirling in my mind fr !!

wc: 3.3k

To be fair, you didn’t pay much attention to Leon at the beginning of the semester. You kept to your separate corners of the world; his being the potted plant near the doorway, where he stood with a bag slung over his shoulder every day, eyes narrowing at the watch on his left wrist, and…

Maybe you have paid attention to him.

It was a dance you had forgotten you’d learned, talking with him. He’s not the same guy you remember from high school, the one who always stuttered through answers and pushed his glasses up when the class mocked him.

The only person being mocked seems to be you now, three weeks into the semester, and the dip of your already fluctuating grades is enough to spur you to find a tutor. Your professor doesn’t seem to be much help, offers you a weak smile and a shrug and tells you to find resources elsewhere.

And you find it in the once, now self-assured straighten of his back as you snake around the crowd to tap his shoulder, grinning broadly.

“Heard you’re pretty good at this stuff,” you offer vaguely. Leon cocks a brow and you don’t expect the amused smile on his face to cause you to feel flustered.

“Guess I am,” he replies, and it seems that not only has his personality and appearance changed, but his voice is at least an octave deeper. It resonates through your entire body in a way that's difficult to describe. “Why? Need help?”

An awkward silence stretches between you as the implications of his altered tone sink in. Clearing your throat, you shuffle your feet and continue, "So, uh, when are you free?"

Leon taps his chin thoughtfully. "Is lunch okay for you?"

You consider it for a moment. “Wow, are you asking me out?”

He winks and you just about buckle to the ground. “Didn’t you come up to me first?”

<><><><>

The chair makes an absurdly loud sound when Leon scoots closer, hands clenched around the base of his seat, a bashful smile on his face as he waves his apologies to all the wandering, hesitant eyes that meet you.

It’s been about a month, and there seems to be no progress with your grades. You would consider dropping him altogether if it weren’t for the strange fact that you enjoy his company, cherish that he takes time from his evidently busy schedule to tutor you.

“Go on,” he prompts when you snap back to attention, startling from his fingers waving in front of you, brushing your nose. “What else did you notice?”

“There was definitely a lot of conflict in the last few scenes,” you mutter, trying to recall last night’s frantic reading that he had assigned three weeks ago.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t really say death is conflicting, would you?” he replies dryly, dropping his head to glance up at you from under his glasses, and therefore, his long, wispy eyelashes. They reflect the dim lights of the library, seeming to sparkle and illuminate his eyes.

“... yes?”

“No one dies,” he says, stirring from his position once again to stretch his arms against the table, lying his cheek onto the muscle of his bicep, staring up at you with a puffier face. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

“... no?”

“I can’t be here forever,” he whispers, quietly, only for your ears. “You know how many things I have to be doing. Put the effort in. For me, please?”

And something about his tone is so sincere, so genuine that it makes you want to try harder, push yourself, do the homework on time and actually do something about your grades.

<><><><>

You’ve grown to consider him a friend. Your grades have lifted, as has the burden from your shoulders, head high when you stroll out of the lecture hall, and spot Leon fumbling with the vending machine nearby.

It’s a habit to startle him whenever you see him outside of classes, yet you don’t understand the strange looks you get. In any case, he is infinitely a better person than you had expected, better than everyone you had tried to get with initially.

He flinches at your touch, fingers creeping between his arm and torso, wiggling to spark a surprisingly tired laugh.

“What kept you up all night?” you tease. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing of the sort,” he responds gruffly, eyes softening in exhaustion. “That would be better than what’s going on right now.”

Leon is a reserved man. He trusts you to some extent, where, on the other hand, you’re ready to give your life for him. You get attached quickly, what can you say?

<><><><>

You’ve grown used to barging into your shared rooms, not announcing your arrival, often catching Leon off guard, staring down at something on his phone before he shoves it away, that same embarrassed expression slipping off his face when you ask what’s wrong.

You arrive back at your dorm after a long day of classes, exhausted and looking forward to relaxing. But what’s past that door is everything that you would think not to expect.

"Oh- hey, you're back!" Leon says with a grin. But that's not all that catches your attention - your roommate has a bizarre outfit on; a brown, crinkled leather jacket, cargo pants, something that looks horrifyingly bland on him. And is that a splash of blue you see peeking out from underneath everything?

"Uh, Leon..." you reply, taken aback. "Didn't realize you were into cosplay. Something you need to tell me?"

"It’s, uhm, complicated," Leon replies vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s just say I have some important work to take care of."

"Right, because you're secretly the city’s hero," you deadpan, still not sure whether to believe this outrageous claim. “Well, come back soon, alright? I need help decoding chapters 18 and 24.”

“Of course,” he says with a wink. “I’ll just be a minute.”

But a minute goes by, which you expect, but then that minute morphs into a hour, and then two, then four, and eventually you’re worriedly pacing your dorm floor, awaiting a phone call, text message, anything to just know-

The phone vibrates a moment later as you rush to fish it out of your baggy pockets, jamming your finger against the notification.

Of course its not him. An unknown number, something fairly recognizable but you can’t quite put your finger on it. The hometown seems to be somewhere far away, starting digits something you don’t have the time to search up when the next text pops up.

Come outside? :)

who is this?

I just have your notes. Hurry up.

oh, thanks! gimme a sec

You remember requesting notes to study from Leon, but he gave your number to his friend, without your consent, might you add, so this must be him. He deemed this friend was far more outgoing, far more entertaining, a better person to hang out with.

You don’t expect Spiderman to be this friend of his.

<><><><>

“I’m starting to think you like me,” he jests, months later, on one of his patrols of the city. He always swings by your window, conveniently always timing his visits when Leon’s out with duties at the police station. You want to deny the accusation, but can't bring yourself to lie to the webslinger perched outside your window.

Not when those masked eyes peer at you with such care and familiarity. Like they see straight into your conflicted soul.

Not when you don’t want them to hang out. Of course not. The problem is your heart is pulling you in two different ways, down two paths that never intersect, and navigating these tangled feelings seems impossible without hurting one of them. They're so alike, yet fate keeps your two dimensions apart. You don't know how much longer your heart can take the strain.

But you bottle it all up, every little bit of you that screams to be adored, cherished in the way they both look at you, one through a mask and the other through glasses, both doing little to nothing to hide their emotions, the expressive raises of their eyebrows.

They’re definitely like each other, a little too much, you suspect.

A sigh escapes your lips. "It's not that simple. You both..." You shake your head, not wanting to put either in an awkward position. Some walls are better left unbreached. "Just focus on helping people, okay? That's what's really important."

He crouches silently beside you for a while, sensing your troubled thoughts without needing to be told. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle.

"You seem really down. What do you say I take you around the city for a bit? Might do you some good to get some air." He nods toward the skyline glowing in the dusk. "No better view than from up high, if you're up for it."

You eye him hesitantly, unsure if facing your feelings while swinging between skyscrapers is the best idea. But it has been so long since his invitation stirred your spirit rather than your heart. And you could really use a distraction.

Gripping his offered hand, you nod. "Sure. Why not? I definitely might not die from this."

Spiderman chuckles, pulling you firmly against his side. "You better hang on tight then."

A spray of webbing shoots forth and you're jolted into the air, wind whipping around you both. Your uncertain thoughts fade against the euphoria of flight.

For now, it's just you and the freefall through flooded lights.

And the handsome, mysterious, masked hero you’re wrapped around.

<><><><>

“I can’t see you anymore,” your hero mutters one night as you push the window open, eagerly awaiting his tranquil presence, the idea that he takes the burden, the pressure of school off your shoulders, sharing the weight of the sky with you.

“What?” You stare up at him and he stretches, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Can we talk?” He gestures down at the alley between your dorm building and the conveniently close laundromat, however loud the broken washing machines get.

“Yeah.” Your lips form a purse, behind them, your thoughts are clumsy and tie themselves in a bow around your tongue, presented to Spiderman as broken sentences as you approach his state.

He’s hanging upside down, face tilted curiously, in a crouching position, held by only the thinning strand of web, and you wonder how that small thing is able to carry such a physique.

“I’m putting you in danger,” he protests a few minutes later, standing in front of you, back turned away as you lean against the brick wall, crossing your arms with a stubborn huff.

“Have I died?” You shake our head like a little kid. “No!”

"What's your endgame, huh?" he asks in desperation, wildly turning to confront you. "Why do you insist on being friends with me?"

"Are you saying you've got an issue with that?" you retort flippantly, the tiniest hint of something like pain flickering in your eyes. "Am I bothering you or something?"

“They’re all after me," he frantically explains, words spilling out of your mouth like water from a broken dam. "I’m literally the most wanted man right now!"

"But you seem to be handling it well," you counter.

"Can't you see?!" he shrieks, voice bordering on the hysterical, and you can see the prayer in his expression, that the fear in his eyes will send you packing. "Stay with me, and you're signing your death warrant!"

“How can you be so sure?” you ask, disbelief coating your words, unable to determine whether or not he’s weaving tales to get you off his back.

“Because,” he hisses, a tight whisper, “I’ve lost too many people. Too many people I love.”

“Love?” You scoff. “You wouldn’t be this ecstatic to get me away from you if you really loved me?”

Spiderman looks at you, confusion etched on his face. “You… think I don’t love you?”

“Obviously not.”

“How can I prove it?” he asks, stepping closer, face softening, closing the agonizing distance between you with a few steps. “I can’t promise your safety. I love you too much to let you die.”

“Of course you do,” you say, waving off his words.

“How do I prove it?” he repeats, more pressing, urgent, like he needs a response before he does anything. His hands are right there, so close to your waist, and you find yourself itching to throw yourself into his arms.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “And I’ll know.”

You see him grin. You think he’ll take the whole mask off, but that was proving too much to hope for, but your heart still flutters when you see the bottom half of his face, faintly recognizable, but the hazy feeling in your mind that sparks from his lips only serves to cloud your thoughts even more.

His mouth presses harder against yours, hand curling around your hip, slotting in perfectly like it’s meant to be there, for what feels like another second before he pulls away roughly.

All too briefly, he tears his lips away to yank down his mask, chest heaving. "Shit, I shouldn't have..."

But the words die when you reach up to caress his cheek, seeing the flush that spreads underneath the mask. "It's okay. I wanted this too."

Leon's eyes - no, Spiderman's eyes - drop shut like he's in physical pain. "You don't know what you're asking. I can't… we can't..."

You try to reassure him but he backs away each time, out of reach, like he’s further away than you can see, deserts and oceans, miles and miles between you, even though just a moment ago he was closer than you’d ever imagined.

And you yearn to know who he is.

You suspect you’ve known all along.

How silly is it?

"When you're ready to stop running," you call softly, "you know where to find me."

And you’ll know where to find him.

<><><><>

The first piece of evidence to support your claim comes the afternoon following that night, with your squinted eyes trailing Leon everywhere, drawing a chuckle from that beautiful mouth, the mouth that, you suspect, had been pressed furiously against yours last night.

Not only that, something seems off with his shoulder. It’s held stiff at his side, and everytime you decide to be lazy and ask him to fetch something from the kitchen, he winces, grumbles something under his breath, rolls his shoulder and stalks away.

After a few days of waiting for your ‘beloved dormmate’ to open up to you, you take matters into your own hands. He hasn’t even fumbled to grab his keys from his pocket before you spring up from the couch, swing the door open and steer him over to where you were just sitting.

You peel away his shirt before he can protest, leaving him bare chested and stammering, skin burning into crimson.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs as you press the area.

“I may not know how to read,” you reply, prodding his shoulder blade, “but I know how to treat injuries just fine.”

“Why not become a doctor?”

You shrug. “Too much work.”

He smiles, and the curve of his lip, so similar to the smart mouth and remarks you looked forward to every night is the second piece you need.

<><><><>

The third, and final, you hope, piece comes when you sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face as you enter your dorm room. Safe to say that without Leon’s tutoring due to his more and more frequent absences, occasionally showing up only to be slumped at his table, snoring softly.

Without him listening, you knew you were doomed. So you’re about to scream your ass off, chastising him, telling him to get to class quicker, that whatever he does in his free time can wait.

But Leon stands by the window in a way that gives you pause. His back is turned, shoulders hunched as if lost in thought. What really catches your eye, though, is the bit of red fabric dangling from his fingers.

"Everything okay?" you ask slowly, shutting the door behind you. Leon whips around at the sound, hastily stuffing the fabric - no, his mask - into his pocket. But not before you notice the familiar webbed pattern.

"Fine!" he replies, a little too cheerfully to be real. "Just, uh, thinking. Hey, did you see that video of the guy backflipping off a building? Crazy stunts people pull these days."

You raise a brow. "Sure, but it looks like you've got something else on your mind. Or should I say under your clothes?" Leon pales. Without a word, you stride over and pluck the mask from his pocket, giving it a wave.

"Want to explain this?" Your tone is light, but inside your heart hammers. Finally, after weeks of prancing around the bush, he’ll give it to you straight, setting things right.

Leon stares at the mask like a deer in headlights, at a total loss for words. You've never seen him so unsettled.

"Look, I can explain," he says anxiously. "Just, hear me out before you freak, alright?"

You arch an eyebrow, pretending to be intrigued. "I'm listening."

Leon launches into a tale - the spider bite, the powers, how he's used them these past months to protect the city from the shadows. By the end, you’re hanging onto each word - you didn’t know your friend was quite the storyteller.

"So you're really him, huh?" you say, still processing that your suspicions had indeed been correct. "My secretive roommate is the one and only Spiderman."

Leon runs a hand through his hair. "I know it's a lot to take in.”

“Not really,” you say with a shrug.

He stares at you blankly. “What?”

“You think I couldn’t tell from that night in the alley?” you muse. “I’m not as dense as you think, Spidey.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, relief washing over your face at the fact he isn’t mad about that. "Spidey? How cute.”

You match his grin. "Now you're talking." You hand the mask back to him, crossing your arms with a stern look. “Now, I don't need your protection, Leon," you insist, softening as he flinches at your use of his real name. "We're in this together, like it or not. No more secrets, deal?"

Leon sighs, gripping the mask tighter. Slowly, he nods, relaxing his expression. "No more secrets. And you can call me Spidey, if you want."

You pretend to mull it over. "Hmm… well, now I’m not so sure it has the same ring to it as Spider-man." But saying it makes Leon's entire face light up like a kid on Christmas. You can't help but return his infectious grin.

“Alright then,” you say, unable to stop cheesing. “Now get back out there! There’s a city calling your name!”

Leon quirks a brow, and you tilt your head to question the gesture.

“Can I count on the next person calling my name being you?” he says sweetly, batting his eyelashes at you.

“You can count on your nose being broken if you don’t get out of here in the next five seconds,” you joke and Leon seems to visibly lose the blood in his cheeks.

You find it adorable that he takes you seriously.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, clambering through the window, as if he’s suddenly in a rush.

“Yeah?” you reply, humming to yourself as you stroll over to him, pondering what your life will be like from now on, having a superhero as your best friend- no, you realize, looking into his iridescent eyes. Boyfriend.

“Remember to read chapter 37,” he says dotingly. Then he leans down to capture your lips and words in a quick kiss. Then he’s grinning and gone.

Vanished into the night, a shadow slung across the bright city lights.

Your hero.

#mari <3 #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy re2 #re2 leon kennedy #re2 leon #spiderman leon #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #re2r leon kennedy fluff

230 notes · View notes