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ourlady-ofsorrows · 2 years

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Eight Years

Summary: You run into someone from your past. Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Word Count: 1,649 Warnings: language Square Filled: Eight years since I’ve been seeing your face. A/N: My first fic in what feels like forever and my first entry for @bandombingo! I hope you guys enjoy it :) Feedback is cool! If you want to be tagged in any of my writing just let me know!

You heard the news that he was coming back from so many people that you were starting to believe it was too good to be true. A rumor designed to lure you into a false sense of happiness only for it to be ripped away at the last possible second. So instead of getting excited and joining in on the plans for the welcome home party you kept your distance, not even bothering to offer your opinion when asked how he would feel about certain things — you knew him best after all. Sure, that used to be true, back when he was around and the two of you were inseparable; back before he moved across the country and you heard from him maybe once. No, you didn’t know him best at all. In fact, you were pretty sure the strangers all across the world knew him better than you did now. So you didn’t let yourself think about the party or the planning or him. You were much better off pretending that he didn’t exist at all.

You walked into the bar, exhausted from a long day of meetings, wanting nothing more than to start your weekend with a glass of wine. The crowd in the bar was larger than any other Friday night and you frowned a little as you took a seat on the last available stool. It wasn’t until you looked around the bar and noticed the decorations, complete with a welcome home sign, that you realized why the bar was so crowded. Your efforts in distancing yourself from this particular event had clearly paid off because you genuinely forgot about it. Maybe it was due to all the stress at work or maybe it was because you really didn’t want to see him but you’d forgotten about the party nonetheless.

Not wanting to be there when he arrived you got off the stool and made your way toward the entrance. You made it half-way before the door opened and he walked in. You stopped dead in your tracks and stared. You took in his appearance as his eyes scanned the room. He looked good and you hated to admit that. His hair had gotten a little longer and he was considerably more tattooed than when he left, noticeably he’d removed all of his piercings too, but he was still very clearly the same Frank you remembered.

His eyes landed on you just as you were about to turn around and leave through the secondary entrance at the back of the bar and he smiled. You couldn’t help but smile in return and give a small wave. All of the resolve you’d built up about leaving the bar and not being around him had completely crumbled the second his eyes met yours and you were now completely rooted to the spot as he made his way through the crowd toward you. He shook a couple of hands and gave a few hugs as he encountered the party goers but each encounter was brief. It was clear the only person he wanted to see was you.

“Y/N/N, hey,” he said when he finally reached you, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t think you were coming. Everyone I talked to said you couldn’t make it.”

“Well, I hadn’t really planned on it,” you admitted. “I mean it’s been eight years since I’ve been seeing your face and I haven’t heard a word from you since you moved out to LA so I kind of figured you didn’t really want me here. It is good seeing you again though, Frankie, but there are a lot of people here who came out to welcome you home. I’m gonna head out, go make your rounds.”

You gave him another small wave and a sad smile, turned around, and walked out of the back entrance of the bar. Your lip began to tremble as you walked over toward your car and you willed yourself not to cry. You didn’t think seeing him again would affect you quite this much and you were angry with yourself for it. It had been eight years, you were so sure there were no feelings left for him but apparently you were very, very wrong.

You finally made it to your car and started to open the door when a hand came from behind you and pushed the door shut. You turned around and came face to face with Frank again, his eyes searching your face for any reason as to why you left the way you did. He noticed your eyes brimming with tears and let out a sigh, running his hand down his face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N,” he said. “When I left I just thought it would be easier on both of us if I cut off all contact.”

“Why would that be easier, Frank?” you asked, hating the fact that the tears started spilling down your face. “I loved you. I thought what we had going was great and then you told me the band was moving to LA and that was fine, I wasn’t going to tell you not to go, but I figured we would work through the distance and then you went radio silent. And it wasn’t just a couple of months while you recorded the album, no, it was eight fucking years of radio silence! And now you come home and just expect everything to go back to normal?”

“I never said I expected things to go back to normal, Y/N/N,” he said, leaning against your car. “I know it can’t go back to normal but I want to try. I can’t live my life without you in it. I spent the last eight years that way and it was fucking miserable.”

“If you can’t live your life without me then why did you shut me out?” You asked, wiping the tears from your face.

“I was worried that the distance would be too hard and you would leave me,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if the move was going to be for a couple of months or a couple of years and I didn’t want you to uproot your life. You had just gotten that promotion and I wasn’t going to take that away from you by asking you to follow me and the distance scared me. I know people do it all the time and make it work all the time and I knew we made it work when I was touring before the move but it just felt bigger this time around. The distance felt bigger. I wanted you to be able to have the life you wanted without having to worry about where I was going to be.”

“Did you really think I wanted a future if it didn’t involve you?” You asked, leaning against the car next to him. “I didn’t care where you were, Frankie, I just wanted to be with you. And if you had asked me to follow you, I would have. My boss was willing to relocate me to LA if necessary. I had planned for the big moves but I stayed here because you didn’t make it known that you wanted me with you.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I really am.”

“I know, Frank,” you sighed, pushing yourself off the car. “I forgive you for what happened, it was so long ago there’s no sense in being upset about it anymore but I’m not sure I can do this with you again.”

Frank nodded, pushing himself off the car as well, and shoving his hands into his front pockets once again.

“I need to get home. It’s been a long week. Have fun in there and maybe I’ll see you around,” you said, getting into the car and pulling out of the parking space.

By the time you made it home you were even more exhausted than when you’d gotten to the bar. Your mind was running a mile a minute, however, and you knew that sleep wasn’t going to be on the horizon for you any time soon. After changing into more comfortable clothes, taking your makeup off and throwing your hair up into a messy bun, you poured yourself a large glass of wine and sat down on the couch – fully prepared to watch a marathon of your favorite cheesy movies and forget your encounter with Frank had even happened.

You spent a majority of the first movie replaying your conversation with Frank over and over in your mind. By the time you were half way finished with the second movie you were ready to call it quits and head to bed, even if you weren’t all that tired. You figured if you were just going to think about Frank and not pay attention to the movie you were watching there was no sense in sitting on the couch and driving up the electricity bill.

You had just locked the front door and were about to turn off the porch light when you saw someone jogging up your front steps. It didn’t take you longer than a second to recognize that it was Frank. With a sigh you unlocked the door and opened it just as he was about to knock.

“What are you doing here, Frankie?”

He didn’t say anything, instead he closed the gap between the two of you, grabbed your face and kissed you. When he pulled away he set his forehead against yours.

“It’s ok that you’re not sure about doing this again because I’m sure enough for the both of us,” he said. “I don’t want to do life without you ever again, Y/N.”

“Ok,” you said, giving him a small smile, before pressing your lips to his once more.

@ohprettyweeper

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clownhyde · 1 year

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monster high g3 redesign wips (no pictures)

for starters I like the current designs this isn’t because I dislike the current designs because I like them a lot! I understand why they toned down the alternative factor because, while these are fashion dolls, they seem to be made to be more relatable to actual teens, and the honest fact is... not a lot of kids have access to alt fashion! Either due to money, strict parents, or lack of understanding of where to start, it’s pretty fair to say that relatable teen characters might have more mainstream, tiktok-ish clothing than characters that are just meant to look as edgy and cool as possible.

That said, I’m going off of my own preferences, so there is definitely alt fashion in these wips

Draculaura: SO the thing is. the thing is. her g3 design is clearly goth-inspired. Her goreganizer doll is so clearly pastel goth her animated design looks like a nu goth influencer’s casual outfits I’ve seen critics of g3 complaining that she wears more black now!! She is NOT a normie even in the official design. That said, I see why people who aren’t familiar with goth subtypes wouldn’t recognize them when they’re covered in pink, so we’re building off of that

Needs more black, or colors like white, to offset all the pink in the core doll design. Like, it’s cute, but people have complained it all blends together

Mixing of cutesy styles (frills, puff sleeves, cute skirts, bows) with more edgy elements (fishnets, spiked chokers, dark colors, more clearly “vampiric” elements)

Mary-Jane style heels and platforms are the ideal shoes.

The huge sunhat needs to stay. But in outfits where that doesn’t go with it, a parasol would also look cute

I like the split dye, vampire/v bangs, and the hair down! That’s part of why it’s so recognizable as goth inspired. However, I can see why people find it hard to recognize as Draculaura. Pigtails, at least for some of the outfits, might make the look more playful and cute.

The little bat wing boots that do exist and are popular (multiple of them exist, actually!!) need to happen in one of her outfits

I actually... don’t like the capelet. I think if it were longer, more like a poncho type thing, and less wizardy and more batty, would be cuter. Especially with shorts or a frilly skirt and long socks and cute boots? That’d be so cute!!!

I don’t like the headband either because it’s too bulky! But that’s moreso a problem with the doll than the actual design of the headband. I do think I’d prefer, like... idk, a lacey headband instead of that? I’m not sure what they’re called, but I have a specific style in mind.

Clawdeen: I like the moon motif, it’s more modern than the animal print (astrology and other such things are apparently VERY popular with teen/young adult stores). I like the glasses. I have no real opinion on the personality change. Let’s go

Pants. Please. I know she wore skirts a lot in the original doll line but I also think she wore pants and shorts more often than many of the others, and I also think it looks good with these new elements?

Ripped darkwash jeans with wallet chains and grommet belts? Maybe? Adds some of the edge back into this design while still being reasonably casual

Big fluffy fur-lined jackets... not practical for a character who is already covered in fur but oh boy is it fashionable. I think the outside shouldn’t be fluffy unless it’s like a big high-fashion outfit though

So... the glasses. I’m pretty picky about glasses and I know little about face shape but those should be a PERMANENT accessory. They always come with her outfits, no ifs or buts. The gold round ones seem fine, although plain - maybe purple frames would make more sense for her age, but there is already a bit too much purple in the design.

I.. think her hair should be dark brown again. The purple streaks can stay but only if the hair is dark. And I don’t know if I’d prefer just brown or brown and purple, to be honest.

Frankie: I don’t really think they’re a normie either considering some of their dolls look inspired by Dorian Electra (which, if that’s true... based). That said, I do miss some of the old design elements, where they’re a bit preppy but in a cool edgy punk way

So they already have a lot of the prep going on they just need to make the color scheme a bit darker, or more limited maybe? Like, stick to a few bright colored items per outfit, not the whole outfit

I disagree with the idea that they should be more androgynous-looking but I DO think short hair would look cute. And a sort of thing where some of their designs are masculine and some are feminine, also, would be a good balance (because, no, not every nonbinary person is androgynous, but this is also a bunch of 4th graders’ first introduction to being nonbinary)

shorts and long shirts and plaid skirts and sweater vests and button up shirts etc

THOSE PANTS. IN SCREENSHOTS OF THE LIVE ACTION. THE SPLIT HALF-BLACK HALF-STRIPE PANTS. THAT’S IT THAT’S THE VIBE

they need huge stompy platforms so they look like Herman Munster. Like just towering over everyone w/ a big bulky sillouhette

Lagoona: I’m torn because I like g3 Lagoona’s rainbow look and I love pink but I also do think she looked a little better when she was blue

Maybe she could be blue and rainbow at the same time, but with cooler colors? G3 Lagoona’s color scheme is very bright and warm but cool colors would look better with a primarily blue color scheme. Maybe blue skin, green eyes, and green + purple + blue + silver/white hair?

Her outfit now IS more sporty. It’s good. But it doesn’t actually scream “swimmer”, nor does it scream “fish”. I think Lagoona’s jacket from the old design, a new undershirt, and that with the rest of new Lagoona’s outfit would be perfect. That said, she should be able to be cutesy and feminine while also being sporty!

With G3 happening to have the sharp teeth and the urge to bite bite attack etc etc I think maybe she should be anglerfish inspired? Like maybe the freckles could glow in the dark, and she could have some sort of accessory inspired by the little lure anglerfish have? :3c I understand it makes no sense how a deep sea fish would be on the surface, but it’d be cool looking, and it’d give the designers a LOT of inspiration for future outfits! (also, isn’t her pet an anglerfish?)

Scrunchies. She needs some

Cleo: Very few changes here, as you’ll see - I like her new design a lot

So, this is a criticism with any and all of the designs: it should be more clear what kind of monster she is. More bandages and bandage-inspired accessories - NOT just striped dresses.

I actually prefer the lack of bangs on this design. It looks more modern and, frankly, less... bulky? Artificial? The old design looked like she had a cheap wig, not actual hair. Maybe if she could have bangs without that issue, it would look cute?

I don’t have much else to say!

Ghoulia: this is the only one I don’t like. don’t HATE it either but I’m not ecstatic

I’ve seen people draw her emo but I’ve also seen doll collectors point out that her Thing is vintage fashion. I think the emo part is more popular with teens currently but also works better with her skateboarding hobby

PANTS OR SHORTS. SKIRTS ARE NOT AN OPTION HERE.

- Okay, well, it’s allowed on some outfits. But certainly not her core doll’s outfit. She is skating more often than she is walking due to her mobility issues, and apparently she has trouble stopping, so having pants and shorts are better for casual clothes. I don’t mind skirts for more specific scenarios, like haunt couture, where it’s not really SUPPOSED to be casual. That said, we can survive if we give less characters skirts. I promise.

Clothes are red/white/black, with cherry motifs

While I think the cat eye glasses are objectively more fashionable I do think the big bulky “hipster” glasses are more easily read as emo/scene. I’ll have to think about that.

Boots with no heel or platform (because of the skateboard) or converse-style sneakers, probably covered in doodles

Toralei (? how to spell?): You see I have no comment on the personality change but the animated design is much cuter. not so much the doll but we’ll discuss that

So... see. The long hair wouldn’t be too objectionable if it weren’t so... plain? non-edgy? It makes her look unusually soft, and not in the cat way.

Some long-haired Torelai designs I’ve liked have had, like.. bangs! And a ponytail, in particular! Even just slightly messy/fluffy hair would help a lot.

That said? The animated design has PERFECT hair. It’s so cute it’s just the right amount of edgy

I don’t have much opinion on the design besides that it could be a bit less “pure poser punk” and more “this is a cat. This is a cat we are making cat-inspired clothes”

like the spiked choker could have a bell or a charm, like a cat collar. there could also be a fur element. the jacket could have a patch or design based around cats!

THE FINGERLESS GLOVES COULD HAVE PAW PADS !!!!!!

Other?:

I don’t imagine Kieran will come back but I want him to come back and be very clearly emo like EMO like he’s not wearing Black Parade-esque clothes he’s not dressed fancily he’s a teen and you must accept this fact. G3 Kieran Valentine and Draculaura buy their clothes from Vampire Freaks and they recognize what the other is wearing immediately but they look so different that people don’t suspect a thing

No ideas for Cupid but I also want her back. She could maybe have the vintage fashion stuff? I’m all for the glasses revolution it’d be funny to give more and more characters considered fashionable and pretty glasses just bc people get so mad about it (because the cateye glasses tie into the vintage look. BUT ALSO?? HEART SHAPED GLASSES)

Heath.... would be okay, I think, if his hoodie wasn’t blue. It looks bad and, also, makes me confuse him with Holt. But he does seem like a hoodie and jeans kinda guy. ALSO if Satan is his dad he should have horns because it makes him look more interesting

Jackson and Holt are fine the way they were in G1 but if they change it it’d be so fun if they also gave Jackson a split dye because that’s the big thing now. Like just brown and blond, nothing different from his old design, he just looks a bit more eboy-ish now

don’t try to tell me Deuce’s snakes are the seven deadly sins that’s all I ask of you. it’s a bad idea it puts you in an uncomfortable situation with One Of Them (😒) and trying to portray that one in a kids’ show and also, mixing Greek mythology with christian theology is stupid on multiple levels

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anubislover · 5 years

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 3: Meet the Crew

The submarine’s grey steel walls, despite their immense size, felt claustrophobic and oppressive to Nami as Law led her towards the galley. Each step resulted in an echoing clank, the portholes peered out into the dark ocean, and the bright overhead lights felt artificial and stifling. It was nothing like the Thousand Sunny’s cheery design, with wide windows letting in sunlight, comfortingly creaking wooden floors, and lamps that gave off a warm glow.

Her discomfort wasn’t helped by the fact that Law’s rough hand was still on her back, despite her not-so-subtle attempts to dislodge it. It should have been easy; his palm was simply resting between her shoulder blades, not even gripping her, yet every time she shifted, squirmed, or tried to shake him off, he matched her movements precisely so he never lost contact for more than a second. It was almost irrational how much it bothered her. It was just a hand, but the way he’d gone from touching her no more than was professionally required to lingering physical contact had completely thrown her for a loop, and she didn’t like it. She prided herself for being able to read people and get a handle on anyone’s intentions, but the surgeon’s erratic shifts kept her guessing.

On top of that, his hand was just so warm. The heat seemed to seep into her spine and travel through her nervous system, flooding her with awareness of just how close he was. She was beginning to notice other things, too—the sharp tang of whatever soap he used, the fact that he was a full head taller than her despite her heels, the sharp lines of his profile, the way the gold hoops in his ears caught the light…

It was all very distracting, and Nami had to force herself to face forward so he wouldn’t catch her staring.

Calm and collected as anything, Law strolled through the hall at a leisurely pace, explaining, “My crew is twenty-strong—twenty-one if we include you—and they’ll all be eager to show you the ropes. They’re a lively bunch, and admirably loyal, so I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.”

“Hm,” she replied, tensing further at the number. Twenty men under the command of a dangerous Supernova sounded horrible. Sure, it wasn’t a massive number—Arlong’s crew had been larger than that—but she had no idea what kind of powers they had, their temperament, or what they’d think of sailing with a woman from a rival crew. Words like “lively” and “loyal” weren’t as comforting as he might think, either. Blackbeard was pretty lively, and his crew was certainly loyal to him—that didn’t make them any less a group of vicious monsters responsible for Whitebeard and Ace’s deaths.

Though they probably weren’t as bad as those bastards, the Heart Pirates still willingly followed a sadistic madman with his own list of sins. At Law’s command they killed, raided ships and islands, sold human organs on the black market, and more. For all she knew they would cheer him on if the surgeon decided to slice her to bits for his own amusement. On top of that, twenty men who spent their days at sea, stuck in close quarters with little female company might have…urges.

Swallowing hard, she refused to think like that; she and the Surgeon of Death had agreed to work together, and sexual services were definitely not part of the deal. Still, it was hard not to assume the worst—in the past she’d had the displeasure of witnessing a pirate crew mistreating female prisoners. It had been one of the very few times she’d been grateful to be part of the Fishman Pirates, as none of them even considered using her in such a manner, and Arlong had refused to prostitute her, despite his criminal contacts’ numerous suggestions once she started developing her womanly figure. Nami’s heart quickened as she vividly remembered the way the saw-nosed shark had ripped apart a crime lord who had insinuated she was the crew’s sex slave.

Crimson blood, hot and sticky, dripped from Arlong’s hand as the man’s mangled corpse collapsed at his feet, his skull brutally crushed by the Fishman’s monstrous strength.

“Wh—why did you do that?” she asked, trembling slightly. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever seen her captain do, but such a violent explosion of temper was rare. She wasn’t upset that the crime lord was dead; even at fourteen she knew what his leers and innuendos had meant. It was just…startling.

Turning towards his cartographer, Arlong gave her a sharp-toothed grin. “You didn’t think I’d let that scum disrespect you like that, did you?” With a strange gentleness, he patted her head like a kitten, chuckling when her orange hair stuck to the splotches of blood. “You may be part of an inferior species, but you’re my talented cartographer—not some whore to be passed around. I’ve seen the way men look at you, and I can promise, I’ll kill anyone who thinks about touching you.”

She swallowed hard. “Anyone?”

His piercing eyes gleamed as he playfully patted her cheek just hard enough to sting, the stench of blood making Nami’s stomach churn in disgust. “Of course! You’ve got a whole world’s worth of ocean charts to draw. I can’t let you get distracted by a lover. He might get some foolish idea about taking you away, and then who would raise the money to buy your village?” His grin was cruel and cheerful as he spoke, his voice amiable as he insistently led her back to her chart room. “I’m just looking out for your best interests. After all, we’re shipmates.”

Likely feeling just how taut her back muscles had become, Law’s molten palm retreated slightly, fingers instead rubbing small circles against her spine. “I don’t blame you for being distrustful, but you have nothing to fear from my men; for the next year, you’re one of us, remember?”

Fists clenched at her sides at his words, polished nails digging into her palms. “We may be working together, but I’m still a Straw Hat, so don’t get all chummy,” she replied tersely.

“I’ll tolerate that answer for now, Nami-ya, but I’m expecting a change in tone once you’ve settled in. We have a deal—”

Her voice was pure sass as she stated, “Pretty sure my exact words were ‘I work with your crew for one year; not a day more.’ I never said anything about actually joining the Heart Pirates.”

Upon realizing she spoke the truth, he scowled. “Sneaky minx,” he grumbled, halting their progress so he could grab her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to meet his arctic stare. “Then let’s clarify things; you work with my crew and for me. Even if you don’t call us shipmates, it’s in your best interest to banish any thoughts of betrayal or manipulation. If I think you’re plotting against me and mine, I’ll deliver you to the nearest Marine base in pieces. Your bounty’s not much, and you’re more useful to me as a partner than a prisoner, but I won’t hesitate if you bring any harm to my crew. Are we clear?”

Pulse thundering in her ears, she swallowed harshly. His tone had been even and soft, but those eyes promised unimaginable pain should she cross him. “Crystal.”

Releasing her chin, he resumed leading her down the hall. “Good. That being said, so long as you cooperate, you can count on our protection. We look after our own here, and whether you like it or not, they’ll probably see you as one of us quickly enough.”

But I don’t want to be one of you, she thought sourly. What right did Law even have to call her part of his crew? Luffy’d had to earn that loyalty by defeating the terror of the East Blue and saving her village. Then again, he’d declared her his nakama long before she’d officially joined, despite her protestations. It was startling to think that he and Law had anything in common personality-wise, but perhaps that blind stubbornness was a necessary trait for a Supernova.

Arriving at the galley, Nami knew she had no choice but to put on a brave face and hope she could worm her way out of trouble. Stomach twisting, she could easily imagine a band of gruff, ugly men in identical jumpsuits leering at her like she was a piece of meat ready to be devoured. Her feet itched to run away, but the hand on her back made it clear there was no way to go but forward. Taking a deep breath, the navigator braced herself for whatever monsters she was about to encounter as Law opened the steel door.

The pair froze as they entered the mess hall, gob smacked at the huge, hanging banner proclaiming “Welcome Cat Thief Nami!” in bold, orange letters, cute little cartoon cats drawn in each corner. Sparkly streamers dangled from the ceiling while black and yellow balloons floated about the room. Colorful confetti fluttered through the air as the whole crew struck elaborate poses. Some stood on tables, others were sprawled across the floor, and one was even hanging upside down from a ceiling lamp.

“Welcome to the crew!” they shouted in unison, ecstatic grins splitting their cheerful faces.

Law facepalmed. “They always go overboard,” he muttered, though there was an undertone of begrudging affection in his voice.

“When did they even have time to plan this?” Nami asked, utterly flabbergasted at the joyous, energetic greeting. It felt like something Luffy and Franky would set up, not the murderous followers of the Surgeon of Death. Really, they seemed less like pirates and more like a band of goofy dorks. It was…kind of a relief, if she were honest. She could feel the cold dread from before dissolving, gradually being replaced by mild amusement. “Lively” was definitely an apt word for them.

“I’m guessing during your check-up. Word of you joining traveled fast. Not every day we get a defector from another crew.”

She glared at him. “I’m not—”

Ignoring her anger, he slung a lanky arm around her shoulders. “Everyone, though you clearly already know, I’d like to formally introduce you to Nami-ya. She’ll be sailing with us for the next year, so you should all start keeping a closer eye on your wallets.”

The thief continued to scowl at the captain, who merely glanced down at her with a smug smirk.

All at once, his crew began shouting.

“This is awesome!”

“Why’s she only with us for a year?”

“Thank the gods, we’ve finally got a woman aboard!”

“Oi, what am I, chopped liver?!” an angry, feminine voice responded.

“Man, Captain got the Cat Thief Nami to join our crew! Talk about amazing!”

“That’s Captain Law for you!”

“Think she’ll sign her wanted poster for me?”

“Is she single?!”

Mentally rolling her eyes at that last question, Nami shrugged off Law’s arm and gave them all her most charming grin, clasping her hands together in a way she knew artfully enhanced her cleavage. Their joyful greeting made her feel less wary, and she decided to test the waters with her feminine wiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all! Please take care of me,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes demurely.

Instantly, she could see several of the men blush and swoon, a few muttering about how pretty she was. One even had hearts in his eyes, and it reminded her so much of Sanji her chest clenched. Annoying as the cook’s fawning could sometimes be, it was also something she’d come to find comfortably familiar, and she knew the affection was genuine—as it was with every woman he laid eyes on.

Two years, she reminded herself. I’ll see them all again in just two years.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned for find Law slowly shaking his head. “It’s like Amazon Lily all over again,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Nami cocked her eyebrow at that. Of course she’d heard of Amazon Lily; it was one of the few charted islands in the Calm Belt, the home of the infamous Pirate Empress, and, admittedly, a place she’d once imagined running away to as a little girl. Belle-mere fascinated her and Nojiko with tales of the women-only island, sometimes even joining in their games when they’d pretended to be those fierce and beautiful warriors. After her death, it had seemed like a good place to escape the Fishmen, but the knowledge that Cocoyashi would suffer for the young navigator’s selfishness had quickly halted such thoughts.

The implication that the Heart Pirates had actually been to the island and lived definitely caught her interest, though. From what she’d heard about Boa Handcock, the shikibukai would never allow a man to so much as set foot on the beach. Even the Marines were said to only send female officers to deliver orders and negotiations.

Feeling her gaze, Law’s gold eyes flicked to her face, a lazy, confident grin once again settling on his lips. “Let’s sit you down and get you acclimated, Nami-ya.”

The mess hall was a decent size, with a large, rectangular table in the middle surrounded by four smaller round ones. All the furniture was metal, probably to avoid decay from the damp conditions, but the chairs sported black and yellow vinyl padding. At the head of the main table was a more elaborate seat, clearly the captain’s, the arms, back, and seat upholstered in black, studded leather. In the back was a shiny, chrome kitchen, the oven, refrigerator, and other appliances gleaming. Sitting prominently on the counter was a frankly enormous coffee machine, and Nami got the feeling it was the most-revered appliance in the room.

A large, white bear immediately rushed over to the offer her the spot to the left of the captain’s chair. Despite his intimidating size, his black button eyes, round, twitching ears, and bright orange jumpsuit made him look more like a giant stuffed animal than a dangerous arctic predator. He stuck out a huge, fuzzy paw, giving a shy smile. “My name’s Bepo; I’m the ship’s navigator.”

The orange-haired thief stared in shock. “A talking polar bear?”

“I’m sorry,” he said gloomily, hanging his head.

“Wha—no! I mean, it’s nice to meet you, Bepo!” Quickly, she grabbed his paw, shaking it firmly, careful to avoid scratching herself on his long claws. So easily defeated! Nami thought, a drop of sweat dripping down her brow. “I’m the navigator on my ship, so I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about!”

He perked up a bit at that, taking the seat next to hers. “I’d like that. If you’re really staying a while, maybe I can show you the equipment we use for underwater surveillance. That is, if the captain is okay with it,” he said, nervously looking at Law as he twiddled his claws.

He waved his hand carelessly as he reclined in his chair. “I promised she’d get to study underwater currents, so consider it an order.”

Thrilled that he had permission, the bear grinned at Nami. “Then I’ll teach you to use it once you’re settled in.”

“Hey, quit hogging her, Bepo!” a man with “Penguin” printed across his hat scolded, sitting across from them. As if the word wasn’t enough, there was even what looked like a little plush penguin sewn on top of the hat, almost like a pom-pom.

“Yeah!” said the guy with ginger hair and a floppy pink and green hat. The sleeves of his jumpsuit were rolled up, revealing some scrollwork on his wrists, plus cross tattoos identical to Law’s. “The rest of us want to meet her, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

The first man grinned brightly at Nami. “I’m Penguin, and this is Shachi. I’m the first mate, so if you need anything, come right to me.”

“And I’m the second mate! I know this ship like the back of my hand, so if you’re looking for something, I’m your man!” said Shachi eagerly.

“She’d ask for my help before yours!”

“Like hell she would!”

The argument was quickly settled when a dark-haired woman marched up behind them, smacking them both upside the head. “Shut up, both of you!” she snapped, glaring down at the pair. “You keep bothering her and I’ll make sure you both wake up with ‘idiot’ tattooed across your foreheads.”

“Sorry, Ikkaku,” they grumbled.

Pleased at their submission, she gave Nami a winning smile. “Knowing the Captain, I’m guessing we’re going to be bunkmates, so it’s nice to meet you, Nami! I’m sure we’re going to get along great!”

Instantly, Nami knew she liked Ikkaku. Aside from being able to appreciate how the curly-haired woman managed to look stunning in that normally ugly boiler suit, so far, she was a kindred spirit; ready, willing, and able to smack some sense into the men around her. “The pleasure’s all mine. It’s good to know there’s an island or two of sanity in this sea of testosterone.”

“Ha! Feel free to join me and Bepo in the Don’t Lose It Over A Pretty Face Club. Captain’s a member, too, so you’re in good company.”

Nami was proud of herself for not wincing at the thought of being in any sort of club with the Surgeon of Death. “Are there regular meetings, or do we just sit in the corner and judge the guys whenever they talk about women?”

Letting out a boisterous laugh, Ikkaku winked. “Mostly judging at bars, but I wouldn’t say no to weekly sessions, especially if a bottle of wine’s involved.”

“Then count me in.”

As they spoke, a few of the crew set about serving the evening’s meal. The savory smell of stew tickled her nose, and her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since mid-morning. Blowing gently on the spoon before taking a tentative sip, she could admit it was good and hearty, but paled in comparison to Sanji’s cooking. It was amazing just how easily she could pick out the differences; he probably would have added more black pepper and gone easier on the garlic, plus added a half-cup of red wine to the broth for extra body.

Memories of the love-sick cook’s specially prepared dishes, full of nutrients and flavor and designed to not let a single scrap of food go to waste, danced across her mind. She suddenly missed the evening meals with her crew, hectic as they were; watching Zoro and Sanji’s offhanded jibes evolve into an all-out fight, guarding her plate from Luffy’s greedy hands, listening to Franky argue with Chopper that Cola was perfectly nutritious while Brooke and Robin quietly observed the chaos with amusement.

“Is it not to your taste?” a man with a bandana around the bottom half of his face asked.

Startled from her thoughts, she realized she’d been frowning at the bowl. Her time in Luffy’s crew really had changed her; she used to be so much harder to read. “Oh! No, it’s fine! Sorry, I was…thinking of something else.” Eyes darting around, her gaze landed on a basket of rolls. “Could you pass me those? Stew’s just not the same without some bread to dip in it,” she said, plastering on a disarming smile.

“Here,” Shachi said, quickly passing her the basket. “Just keep them away from the captain.”

Glancing at him in confusion, she could have laughed at the way Law’s face twisted in disgust. “I hate bread,” he grumbled, glaring at the rolls as if they were personally responsible for every disease, war, and disaster the world had ever faced.

A tiny giggle did escape her lips. Who would have thought the big, bad Supernova could be so childish? Honestly, how could someone hate bread?

Noticing her expression, the captain gave her an annoyed look. “What? Are you saying there aren’t any foods you find absolutely repulsive, Nami-ya?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a fan of orangettes. If I wanted fruit, I’d just eat plain fruit.”

A devious smirk lifted the corners of his lips. “Good to know.”

“Careful; Captain’s pretty mean when it comes to punishments,” Bepo whispered softly in her ear. “If you piss him off, you might find yourself only eating orangettes for a week.”

Unpleasant as that prospect sounded, she was mostly surprised that he wasn’t more inclined to dismemberment as a form of discipline. Maybe he just didn’t want to risk his crew losing efficiency due to being in pieces. Or maybe it was hard to stay mad at a bunch of goofballs like them.

Amazingly, dinner continued to go smoothly. Not a single person gave her untoward looks or so much as hinted that they planned to harm or mistreat her. Shachi and Penguin made an embarrassing spectacle of themselves with their clumsy attempts to flirt, while Ikkaku loudly mocked them from her own table. Bepo told her more about the ship’s state-of-the-art navigational equipment, Nami listening with rapt attention as she imagined all the charts she’d be able to draw. Around her, the crew chatted and joked and shared stories of their adventures, more than a few of them ending with Law saving the day with one of his brilliant plans and incredible powers. Oddly, the thief didn’t get the impression that they were just trying to talk up their captain—the praise seemed genuine. The Dark Doctor, for his part, ate quietly, adding in the occasional comment or correction, but otherwise was a pillar of calm among his rambunctious crew. A ghost of a smile even tugged at his lips a few times, and she wouldn’t lie and say that the way his features had softened didn’t make him look a little less creepy.

Towards the end of the meal, a ridiculously large man approached, and Nami was honestly surprised anyone could have made a jumpsuit in his size. She was more impressed by the fact that, despite being twice Law’s height and wider than two Frankys, she’d barely even noticed him, as he’d been sitting quietly in the back of the mess hall. “Nami-san, my name’s Jean Bart.”

Recognition dawned on her, the man’s forehead tattoos and wild hair finally lining up in her memory. “Wait, you were one of the Celestial Dragons’ slaves, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. The Captain here freed me and took me on as his helmsman.”

Law gave a shrug as he took another bite of stew, once more indifferent to his subordinates’ praise. “I told you, half the credit goes to Mugiwara-ya.”

“That it does,” he wholeheartedly agreed. “None of it would have happened if Straw Hat hadn’t been gutsy enough to punch Saint Charlos and cause all that chaos at the auction house. I wanted to make sure you knew that you can count on me to keep you safe, Nami-san. It’s the least I can do to repay him,” the big man said with a deep, respectful bow.

The thief had to smile. Once again, that idiot makes a friend in the strangest way, she thought fondly. “I appreciate it, and when I see him, I’ll pass your thanks on to Luffy.” The man might have the face of a thug, but if he owed a debt to her captain, she was willing to put a little bit of faith in Jean Bart’s promise. The pleased smile he gave further reassured her of his good intentions.

Really, Nami had to admit she was beginning to enjoy herself. As much as their energy and enthusiasm threw her off guard and made her miss her nakama, they were clearly doing their best to make her feel welcome. Sure, it could all be some elaborate setup, but what would be the point? If they held ill intentions, she was basically trapped underwater with them, leaving no reason to play nice. Either they were planning some really long con, or they were as sweet and goofy as they appeared.

As dinner started to wind down, the beautiful navigator let out a startled shriek as the room was engulfed in a strange blue light, her empty bowl vanishing before her eyes, a wet cleaning rag falling before her with a splat. The Heart Pirates, particularly the captain, seemed amused by her reaction.

“Damn, Law, you should warn the poor girl before you show off your powers!” Penguin sniggered.

“And you could have put our bowls in the sink, too, while you were at it,” Shachi added jokingly.

The surgeon merely smirked. “What, and deny her the traditional Heart Pirate initiation?”

Bepo turned to the bemused woman between them, who was frantically looking around, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Captain always likes to scare new recruits with his powers. You’re lucky he switching it with a dishrag—the last guy got his coffee switched with a still-moving hand.”

Recalling Law’s explanation in the infirmary, she nodded in understanding, even as she shuddered at the image. “So, is my ‘initiation’ over with, or should I brace myself for worse?” she asked suspiciously.

The Dark Doctor’s grin widened, a mischievous gleam in his amber eyes. “Where’s the fun in telling?” Getting up from his seat, he held a hand out to Nami. “I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

A chorus of disappointed comments filled the room as she waved him off. “I’m sure one of your crew can do it. You’ve spent enough time playing tour guide today.”

“They could, but they’re all going to be a bit busy cleaning up the damn confetti they blasted all over the galley,” he said, giving the group a stern look. “And god help you all if I find even a crumb of bread on my end of the table.”

“Yes, Captain,” they replied sadly.

Realizing she’d get no rescue from her fate, Nami stood up with a sigh, ignoring Law’s extended hand. Admittedly, she was a bit more comfortable with the man after seeing him interact with his crew. Yes, he was certainly still a sadist and undeniably creepy, but his men clearly adored him, and she suspected he returned that affection in his own, more subtle way—kind of like how Zoro treated Luffy.

That didn’t mean she was going to let him have his way so easily. He still wasn’t her captain, and even Luffy knew not to try and boss her around. “Fine, but if you pull anything else in the name of ‘initiation,’ I’m charging you for the emotional distress.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Nami-ya?”

“I never needed one—Luffy’s was enough for the whole crew.”

“Fair enough, but out of curiosity, how much would you charge me if I, say, started juggling severed heads in front of you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

“Hey, Nami, once I’m finished here, we’ll see about getting you some clothes,” Ikkaku called out, looking quite entertained at the way the navigator sassed her captain. “I’ve at least got a nightshirt or two you can borrow.”

Giving a nod of thanks and a wave goodbye to the rest of the crew, she strolled out of the galley, full of food and infinitely more relaxed as the men bid her a good night. They were definitely not what she’d anticipated. Part of her felt she shouldn’t be surprised; nothing had been turning out as expected that day. Why should her assumption that the Heart Pirates were a bunch of vicious psychopaths ready to watch her be raped and mutilated be correct?

Mostly, she was relieved. For the most part, they seemed like decent people, despite being pirates. The upcoming year was beginning to look a bit less daunting.

“Didn’t I say they’d take to you quickly?” Law asked, unable to keep the self-satisfied amusement out of his voice. This time, he didn’t lead her around, hands instead shoved deeply into his jean pockets as he strolled along beside her.

Maybe she was just tired, but his smirk wasn’t as infuriating as it was earlier. “Well, you’d know your crew better than I would,” she conceded with a slight shrug. “They’re certainly as lively and loyal as you promised.”

“It’s exhausting sometimes, but I couldn’t ask for a better team. They’re suckers for a pretty face, so I expect at least half of them are already wrapped around your little finger.”

Nami sniggered. “Only half? I’m out of practice, then.”

“Just do me a favor and let them down easy; some of them get mopey when they’re rejected.”

“Does that include yourself?” she teased. An hour ago, she wouldn’t have even considered making such a joke, but she wanted to get some sort of read on him, especially in regards to her. The man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and she needed to know how to navigate the so far unpredictable waters of his personality.

His smirk morphed into a sultry grin, amber eyes nearly glowing in the artificial light. “No, mainly because I don’t rush in like an idiot after every pretty face I see. When I’m truly interested in a woman, I assess the situation, devise a plan, and take my time making her want me.”

The low, husky timbre of his voice mixed with his smoky, hooded gaze made a faint blush rise to her cheeks. Something inside made her absolutely believe the man had the patience and skills to do precisely what he said. A vision of Law caging her against the wall, whispering promises of dark pleasure in her ear while his hands danced across her exposed skin popped into the forefront of her mind. Nami forced it back, though; whether or not he was referring to her, she wouldn’t take the bait. For the next year, this man was supposed to be her ally, and after that, her enemy. Getting involved, physically or emotionally, would only complicate matters.

So instead of acknowledging the spike of heat that shot between her legs or the way her pulse quickened, she replied breezily, “Well, at least I won’t walk in on you sobbing into a tub of ice cream, moaning about a broken heart. By the way, what are my actual duties?”

He seemed more amused at her description than annoyed at her casual brush-off. “Oh, I plan on keeping you busy. Off-ship, I’ll bring you along for the occasional con or burglary. Maybe you can help me negotiate better prices for my wares. While we’re at sea, you’ll have a fair share of chores and help navigate the ship, particularly when we’re above water. I also hear you can sense when a storm or natural calamity is coming, so of course you’ll be our early warning system. Most of all, I want you to help Bepo with his map-making skills. He’s a fine navigator, and his understanding of sea charts is excellent, but he’s not as skilled with more traditional, land-focused maps.”

Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, she nodded. “Fair enough, although first you’re going to have to apologize.”

“For what?”

An orange eyebrow arched high. “Mocking me earlier. A reindeer doctor is crazy, but a polar bear navigator isn’t?”

“Bepo’s more than just a bear—he’s a Mink. Also, I can’t imagine any creature with hooves instead of hands performing a medical examination.”

“Well, Chopper does a damn good job—”

“Chopper? Isn’t that your ship’s pet?”

“The wanted poster’s misleading. He’s a brilliant doctor trained by Dr. Kureha herself.”

“You’re telling me Dr. Kureha trained a Tanuki?”

“He’s a reindeer!” she insisted, hands fisting on her hips.

He snorted in disbelief. “I’m from the North Blue. I’ve seen reindeer. That’s a Tanuki.”

“He’ll tell you himself that he’s a reindeer!”

“A talking Tanuki will tell me he’s a reindeer? Now I know you’re crazy.”

She wanted to scream in frustration, but the gleam in his eye kept her from giving into the urge. That, and the shocking realization that the Surgeon of Death was messing with her. Whether or not he really believed Chopper was a Tanuki, he was only pushing the matter because he thought pissing her off was funny.

Upon arriving at the women’s quarters, he leaned against the doorframe, once more smirking lazily. “So, do you have any other questions for me?”

Several, but none that matter right now, she thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Then I’ll leave you to get some rest. If you need anything, Ikkaku should be able to help, and my quarters are just down the hall. Do your best to get a good night’s rest—I plan on making the most of having the Cat Thief on my crew.” He chuckled then, reaching forward to pluck a small piece of sparkly confetti from her mikan locks. A shiver rocked through her when his warm fingertips brushed her sensitive scalp and ear. “Sweet dreams, Nami-ya.”

Uncomfortable with how effortlessly he made her body react, she darted into her room, barely managing to hold herself back from slamming the door in his face.

Forcing her breathing to slow, she scanned the room. It was spartan but not oppressively so. Each side had a bed raised high enough to fit a dresser underneath, a small metal desk set at the foot of each. Between the beds was a small vanity with some basic makeup strewn about, the rectangular mirror simple but large enough for two people to share.

It was easy to tell Ikkaku’s was the left side; engine manuals and sketchbooks were piled on her desk, along with a toolbox that hadn’t been fully closed. The bed was a bit messy, the pale green comforter slightly wrinkled, as if it were thrown together in a hurry for the sake of neatening up for company. Above it was a poster with an assortment of designs and symbols, much like what one would find in a tattoo parlor.

On the right side of the room, someone had taken the time to make up Nami’s bed with a sunny yellow comforter, the white sheets beneath tucked in with sharp hospital corners. On top of the pillow was a little paper card proclaiming “Welcome, Nami!” with the ship’s Jolly Roger stamped on the bottom right corner. The desk and bureau were bare, and it struck her just how little she had to her name right now. Her clothes, books, equipment, maps, and treasure were all on board the Sunny, and she could only hope they weren’t ruined or stolen when she got back.

Hoisting herself onto the cot, Nami pulled her knees to her chest and let out a deep sigh. What should have been a simple settling of a debt had become so much more complicated. She couldn’t get a clear read on Law. The crew was disarmingly friendly. The ship wasn’t home, but it didn’t feel like a prison, either. Most troubling was that, despite her head constantly reminding her that the Dark Doctor was dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted, he still managed to invoke hot, physical reactions with little more than a slight touch.

She was just…confused, and she doubted that was going to change anytime soon.

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haztory · 6 years

Text

forgiveness.

Summary: It’s high time you both swallowed your pride and ripped the band-aid off.

Word count: 4112

A/N: im back in action and am sincerely pleading for forgiveness for my absence. life sucks. but i am planning to make a smooth recovery and an ever more prevalent appearance on this platform. and in the frank tag. also pls comment and tell me how much of a shit writer i am lmao

Pain blossoms along the bones of his hands like a blooming flower, traveling along each nerve and neuron, setting them alight with a burning fire in each movement he takes. The fragile skin on his knuckles splits beneath each brute punch, but he remains unconcerned with the decimating pain—instead, reveling in the feeling alone. He takes it as a sign to continue, fixated under the belief that if he didn't feel the pain in this moment, he wouldn't remember what it was like to be alive. If he couldn’t feel the blood pumping through his veins and his heart thrusting out of his chest, he would never remember the brief instance of humanity surging through his body.

The pain served as the only tether he had to reality; The only reminder that he wasn’t just a ghost of a shell walking through the streets of the burning city.

The gym sat empty and dark, save for him in his corner towards the back of the establishment, enjoying the equipment way past the set closing time. The owner—an older man who claims he is forever indebted to Frank for saving him from a potentially lethal mugging—left the back door open for Frank in the event that, should he need it, he could access the tools necessary to release any stress he could have accumulated.

Frank insisted to the man that he didn't need to do that, that Frank was more than happy to keep paying his membership like everyone else, but the man refused to hear it. He placed a spare key in Frank’s palm with a wrinkly smile, saying, "She's all yours after closing. Just remember to lock the door."

It was a kind gesture, a particularly uplifting one, that left Frank in a better mood than he had been in before. He kept the key close to him, safe inside the pocket of his worn-down gym bag he took to the gym.

He doesn't remember what time he got in or how long he's been there, but he assumes a considerable amount of time has passed since the entirety of his back is covered in sweat and his hands ache beyond belief, but he refuses to stop.

While his muscles ache and burn with each jab he places against the punching bag, screaming in desperation for Frank to just take a break, the haunting images that seem to be incredibly popular this evening drive him to work harder and faster than before. And he won’t stop.

Jab. Jab. Upper cut. Left hook. Jab. Jab.

He won't stop until he can no longer feel anything. Until he can no longer see his kids. Until he can no longer see Maria's face. Until hollow eyes and bloodied skin no longer taunt him. Until--

"Prepping for an upcoming match, Rocky?"

The phrase echoes around the empty gym, the acoustics bouncing the sound around the room, that momentarily stuns him into stillness. He halts his onslaught of punches, outstretching his previously curled fingers to catch the swinging bag he that was flying towards his head. He steadies the piece of equipment, catching it with the tips of his fingers, steadying his panting breaths.

He gently closes his eyes, leaning his head against the bag as he listens to the owner of the familiar voice come out of the shadows of the gym and step closer towards him. The echoes of the shoes resonate throughout the vacant gym. Once the loud clunking of shoes stops, he exhales a deep breath, swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in his throat, more than symbolic of the current situation he was put in.

He didn't need to look to know who was standing before him, nor did he want to look. Looking would only force a resurfacing of memories that Frank would much rather keep hidden.

There was a reason things ended when they did.

There was a reason he never tried to contact you.

Swallowing whatever pride, he lifted his head from the bag, opening his eyes and shifting his head towards the intruder.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting to see; Some twisted part of him wanted to see you looking damaged beyond repair, in a pain deeper than he ever was. The brutal, vengeful part of him wanted to see you on your hands and knees, begging and pleading for his help, as though that would be some sort of step towards mending the deep wound between you two. (It certainly wouldn’t be a great situation for you, but it would definitely be the first thing to be put a smile on Frank’s face.)

But of course, that would never happen. You were always smart enough to know when to jump out of a burning plane, both metaphorically and literally. Something that felt like a brand on his skin; A present reminder of the mark you left.

You stand in front of him, hands deep in the pockets of your pants—which Frank rightly assumes are some luxury brand from a designer whose name he would never remember—standing tall and healthy and clean, in your professional ensemble, leaning against a structural beam with a small smirk on your face. Amusement plays in your eyes as you scan his very taught and sweaty body.

He can feel the anger building up inside of him and the desire to punch something comes back full force.

He doesn't like it.

Frank tears his eyes away from you, his jaw clenching and teeth gritting as he returns his attention back to the blue punching bag in front of him.

"You followin’ me now?" he spits at you, the question drenched in acid, very clearly warning you not to take any step closer as though you were a predator preying on a poisonous animal. It paints a funny picture in your head, one where you were some type of bird and him a poisonous dart frog, circling one another in the undergrowth of a forest.

It wasn't an ill-fitting picture as it represented your current relationship perfectly with little to no exaggerations.

You wished it didn't.

You release a breath of amusement through your nose, shrugging off his cold shoulder with ease, focusing on him as he resumes his reign of anger on the bag, "Don't need to. I'm always keeping tabs on you, Frankie. I've got eyes everywhere."

His eyes narrow in disdain, and if there was any possibility of civility between you two it was out the window now.

He was making it very clear he did not like that idea.

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly at him, trying to hold an unfazed facade in front of him. His punches continue, only this time with much more force and you know he's imagining your face on the bag. "Don't act surprised. I'm an Avenger, I have that kind of power."

"Don't mean you gotta use it," he pants.

"On you? Oh, yes I do. You tend to get in a lot of shit Frankie."

"Yeah?" Jab. Jab. Left hook, "Well that's my business, not yours."

"I'm just making sure you're okay," you tell him, voice gentler than the previous teasing tone. He spares you a glance of uncertainty, his eyes darting from your eyes back to the bag in front of him, then back to you, the second time holding your gaze. He takes a step away from the bag, narrowly missing being hit by the bag when it swings forward at him.

His gloved hands hang at his side and his chest heaves with breaths, the sweat forcing his shirt to stick to his skin and glisten in the fluorescent lights.

It's the first time he's actually looked at you. Not even just the first time tonight, but the first time in years. It feels like he’s staring through you and it brings back a whole wave of feelings that you thought you could handle, but were very wrong. His hollow eyes stare into yours, an angry vengeance deep in his brown irises that sends chills down your spine.

He makes you feel a deep insecurity in the joints of your bones and you couldn’t feel like more of a bad guy than you did at that moment. His fixed look makes you crave for something as sweet as torture. You try to maintain a neutral face under his scrutinizing gaze only for your body to release the awkwardness of the intensity through fidgeting and shifting of your body.

"That so?" he asks, his stare rock solid and unwavering accompanying a deep gruff of his voice that sends shivers down the entirety of your spine. Suddenly, it all makes sense; You now understand the fear that comes with being the enemy of Frank Castle.

You had heard rumors in passing of the type of trepidation Frank could produce in even the hardest of men—the kind of fear that scares people for life, forcing them to constantly look over their shoulders, even when they've moved miles away from him. He instills a distress into his victims that haunts them for years to come, wondering if he remembers them, if he will finally come back and finish the job he started. Frank Castle’s name became synonymous with the Devil.

If anything, he was scarier.

It stirs up a sweat in your body that beads at the top of your forehead and wets your palms. Once upon a time, you had been able to say with confidence that Frank Castle would never hurt you. He would hurt anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. Now, you weren't so sure. If given the chance, you’re pretty sure he would pay a good fortune to have someone do more than that.

You take a thick swallow, working quickly to compose yourself in front of him. You returned his intimidating gaze as best as you could, his stone-cold eyes overpowering your sincere ones by a long shot.

"We've had our problems, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you," your voice shakes a bit as you say it, and you curse at yourself. You've faced men three times your size and aliens more dangerous than Frank Castle could ever dream to be and you never batted an eye. Yet, standing in front of him, you feel all confidence and pride leaving your body in one, quick breath. You were not a long-time friend of Frank Castle that could reminisce with him about the good old days in the military. You were not a long-time friend that could happily ask about his family in passing and receive a pleasant answer. You were not who you were five or six years ago. And neither was he.

You didn't know this man—not anymore. He made it damn clear he doesn’t want to know you.

Frank scoffs, and it sounds like one of amusement but his face makes no change to convey that feeling. It stays steady and unwelcoming, with his lips pulled in tight and his eyebrows furrowed.

"What, you think I don't care about you?" your voice raises a few octaves.

His silence answers your question, and you feel offended at the insinuation. How shallow does he think you are?

"What're you doin’ here?" he says rather impatiently. He finally breaks the fixation on you, looking down at the gloves on his hand and ripping the Velcro off. He backtracks towards the back wall and places the gloves on top of his gym bag seated there. You watch him intently, all desire to defend yourself dying at the tip of your tongue. Your damaged ego could pick a fight on that another time.

"I'm here to help." you tell him, gathering whatever morsel of pride you could to make yourself sound more confident than you felt. His back is turned to you as he bends down to his bag, placing the gloves in and taking a towel out. He dries the sweat on the back of his neck.

"Don't need it."

"C'mon, Frank" you groan out, taking a step to him rather excitedly. He sees the quick motion from the corner of his eye and his body whips around to face yours, a defensive stance taking root. It stops you in your tracks, and you can feel your heart crack at the further realization: Not only did he not trust you, or believe that you cared about him, but he was preparing for an instance where you would physically hurt him for God knows how long.

You expected the anger and the distrust, but… that hurt more than it should have.

You softly shake your head, and Frank can barely see the wet film of tears in your eyes, but he sees it. He almost feels guilty—almost.

"Ain't nothing to "c'mon" about. I don't need your help; I don't want your help. Whoever you got keepin' eyes on me, get rid of 'em before I find 'em." He leans back down to his bag, throwing the towel inside and zipping it up roughly, almost breaking the zipper in the process. He throws it over his shoulder, slowly turning himself back around to face your pitiful face. "Don't come looking for me again."

With a final adjustment of the bag on his shoulder, he makes his way towards the back door from which he came in. He almost makes it there, ready to flip the light switch off before he hears your voice call out for him again.

"I know who you're looking for."

He stops in his tracks. Why are you making this harder than it needs to be?

"I know where to find him too."

That piques his interest. It doesn't totally surprise him—of course you would know where everyone is considering your job title. He'd been looking for an underground kingpin that was responsible for the kidnapping of a number of underage kids in the area-- including his next-door neighbor's daughter. Only makes sense that you would have some knowledge of that.

He slowly turns around, glancing rather suspiciously at the file that you've seemingly procured out of thin air in your hands. It's a thick file, much too big for your hands. He can see the numerous clippings and paper clips from the side of it, even in the dim lighting of the gym.

"Turns out that the guy you're looking for is the same guy that I've been tracking for the past seven months," you look down at the file in your hands, a wry smile on your face. "Kidnapping isn't the only thing he does."

Frank places his bag on the floor, letting it drop with an intentional thud. You've got his attention; how long can you keep it?

"Kidnapping wasn't enough to get on your radar?" Frank says rather bitterly, a blatant jab at you and your job. It stings, but it's not like you could disagree. You already put yourself and the other Avengers through a whole load of shit for ignoring the monster that was slowly growing under the sewers of your home, your city.

You could make excuses left and right to those who asked about how your job as "Earth's Mightiest Hero" allowed for mistakes as big as not paying attention to a child trafficker making himself known right under your noses, to which your publicist would say something along the lines of “The Avengers try to pay attention to every situation, both domestically and abroad. But situations that are not of immediate concern are passed down the branches” or something like that. It would pass in the papers, but you would never be able to justify it to yourself. You tended to take every case presented to heart and have already been lectured numerous amounts of times on how that was your greatest weakness. Old habits die hard, and Frank knew that.

He always knew the right ways to hurt you.

You let out a dry laugh, looking at Frank with a borderline shameful expression, "I deserved that one."

"You deserve a lot more than what I'm giving you."

"Yeah, Frank. I know. I got it, alright?" The agitation was apparent, but Frank was never one to back down from a challenge.

"Do you? Do you really?" He replies, his tone only elevating the vicious turn the conversation was taking.

"Yeah, Frank. I do. It haunts me every day!" you yell at him, the file laying forgotten in your hands as you stare at him from a distance away. There was no doubt in your mind that you would have this discussion with him at some point in time. You had hoped it would be under nicer circumstances, where you both weren’t under the constraints of a child trafficker wreaking havoc upon the city.

Frank once again stands silent at your confession, unable to figure out what angle you were trying to play at. Were you trying to get sympathy points from him? Were you trying to get under his skin and manipulate him? He didn't know. He doesn't know you anymore.

"You really think that I'm just okay with the way things happened?" You tell him, a gentle contrast to the previous agitation in your statement.

He maintains his space near the door, reminding himself to be ready to leave whenever this conversation turns down a path he didn't want. Before you managed to convince him to forgive you; Before you managed to weasel your way back into his life with a smile and a temptation of a better future.

But he found his feet glued to the floor, unable to move, unable to plan his escape as you looked at him with pain and suffering in your eyes. In the eyes, he always found comfort in, and the heart he felt the most.

It was too late to leave now; You had already caught him in your hold, even if you didn't know it.

"I let you down, Frank. I abandoned you when you needed me, and I will never forgive myself for that," you raised a hand to your cheek, furiously rubbing away a stray tear that slipped out. You would not break in front of him. You needed to make this up to him. "But I was scared. Too scared to go against a man who did so many bad things to people."

You slowly took a step closer to Frank, showing him you meant no harm. "I couldn't go against someone who could easily destroy my life, who threatened to do that. But, you did. And you paid the price for that."

He knew he should've stopped you--stopped you from talking, from coming closer to him, from coming back into his life. But with every word you said, he found himself remembering his days with you, his happiest memories working alongside you in the military. He found himself slowly melting back into the repressed memories where his trust was easy to come by and your companionship tethered him back down to earth.

His resolve, his anger, his distrust, was slowly wearing away.

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I'm not asking you to accept me into your life. I'm not even asking you to like me." He didn't even notice you were standing in front of him, a foot away from his unsteady heart and uneven breaths. "I'm asking you to let me make it up to you. Because I wasn't there to help you take down Agent Orange, but I'm here to help you with this guy. I know how he works, I know what he does, and I know how to take him down."

You shrugged your shoulders lightly, not knowing what else you could say to the man in front of you, how else you could describe the remorse that had been weighing on your shoulders for the past five years. In your moment of fear, in the face of the threat from the formidable Agent Orange as a young agent, you resigned from your post within the United States Information Operation, effectively cutting ties with Frank Castle who so desperately needed your help to try and find information to take down the corrupt man. You left him to deal with the problem alone, when you agreed to help. You remained isolated from Frank Castle, even after he tried numerous times to get in contact with you after the end of his deployment.

Then the attempts stopped, and you soon learned about the fate of his family. More importantly, you knew from who. You didn't bother to try and contact him.

When he could've-- and should've-- thrown the dogs off his scent and averted them to you, Frank Castle didn't. He denied your involvement in anything related to Agent Orange; He denied having ever asked you for help; He denied ever even knowing you.

He protected you. As you publicly rose through the ranks at your new job as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, Frank Castle was suffering through the landmine you had both tried to clear. Frank Castle's life was destroyed, and yet he had no desire to destroy yours.

That was a debt you could never repay.

Even if he told you to fuck off, or spit in your face, it wouldn't be anything you didn't deserve. But, if he gave you even the slightest chance to make it up to him, you would do your damndest to fulfill it.

You were already willing to lay down your life for him, you just had to prove you were even worth that honor.

Your eyes darted around his face, looking for some sign that revealed what he was thinking. A twitch in the lip, the raise of a brow, something that you could try and decipher. He remained stoic in his place, watching you beg before him.

"Let me help you," you pleaded to him one last time.

He tore his eyes from yours and stared down at the bag at his feet. God, what was he doing? With an inaudible grunt, he leaned down to pick up the bag and throw it over his shoulder once again.

You stared at him desperately, feeling your heart about to drop into your stomach at the realization that he would never forgive you, nor would he ever help you. And now, there would be nothing you could say to stop him otherwise. You would let him go. You wouldn't hurt him anymore.

With a sad resolve, you closed your mouth, letting your objections die on your lips and prepared to watch him do what you did all those years ago: Turn his back. You lowered your head, holding the file in front of your legs and waited patiently to hear the sound of his shoes leave the building, holding the disappointment tightly on a leash.

Instead, you heard him sigh.

"Your place or mine?"

You quickly met his eyes, and were surprised to find a gentleness behind the stones, although his face showed no other emotion. You blinked repeatedly, his words barely registering inside of your head. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words could form.

"M-mine." You finally stuttered, not able to grasp the reality of the situation.

He gently nodded his head, stepping to the side to allow you to lead him out of the building. After staring blankly at him, you understood the gesture, exiting the building and waiting for him to find you in the back alley, entire body stunned at the turn of events.

He followed behind you, turning the lights off and locking the back door to the gym, placing the key into his bag. He ignored your stunned stare, preferring to keep all his feelings and thoughts to himself for the time being.

He had forgiven you a long time ago. There was nothing that he could really blame you for other than being a young and scared cadet in the military. It was a massively responsibility he thrusted upon you, knowing full and well that there were very few that would be able to do it. He wasn’t angry that you jumped ship and resigned from your post after Agent Orange threatened your life; He was angry that he didn’t.

He should have denied helping you on the basis alone that you didn’t deserve it. But Frank could never be that cruel to you, not when he was also in need of some help.

He had forgiven you a long time ago, because it was the right thing to do. And it was time for him to stop acting like that was a bad decision.

tag list: @mooniessuniverse

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #my fics #frank castle x oc #im sorry im such a crappy writer

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