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togenabi · 7 months

Text

breaking news

roronoa zoro (opla) x journalist!reader

♡—you always had a feeling the straw hats could change your life, but meeting zoro shifted the entire world on its axis.

word count♡— 5.4k (omg?)

genre♡— fluff

content notes♡— opla zoro, afab!reader is a journalist whose boss is evil, inaccurate journalism and newspapery, mild violence, kissing/making out, alcohol consumption, long intro so start might be slowish?, no use of y/n, only slightly proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note ♡— get yourself a man that can kick ass and let you use his arm as a tape dispenser

A stack of papers are slammed onto your desk. The pages are riddled with edits and red marks. Towards the end of the document, the person just started crossing out everything you had written.

“Stories like that won’t sell. It’s highly inappropriate.” Chief Editor Tildie scowls down at you. “Shame that you waste your talents on such rubbish.”

“But it’s not a story.” You mutter under your breath, not meeting her gaze.

“Did you say something?” She bends down, bracing one hand on the backrest of your chair.

“...No, ma’am.” Your response is barely a whisper, but she relents and begins to head back to her office.

“Stick to the politics and gossips, hon. If you know what’s good for you.”

You almost break your pen in frustration.

All the other journalists in the room witnessed what happened, but they all keep their heads down, buried into their typewriters and desks. No one ever tries to fight for things to change anymore.

The Oceanic Times is such a joke. Why would a newspaper company named after the ocean not be allowed to publish anything related to it? Some people have said that the current chief is running the company to the ground. You’re beginning to think it’s true.

Running your palms over your face, you take deep breaths until you’ve calmed down somewhat. The first thing you see when you uncover your eyes is your article. The one you were so excited and passionate about.

You wrote about Orange Town, they had been suffering after the Buggy Pirates invaded. Everything was destroyed and the residents were imprisoned, forced to be the audience to their own home’s ruin.

Things had stayed that way for months, until the people were saved by pirates. It sounded so unlikely to happen, and yet it did.

Knowing a scoop when you saw one, you sent a letter to Mayor Boodle along with some berry to donate for the town’s restoration. You tried asking if he wouldn’t mind being interviewed on what happened.

He agreed. The result was an excellent piece on how a small group of rag-tag startups got the better of Buggy the Clown, saving an entire village from his reign of terror.

…And yet, this is what you get for your hard work. Your fingers trace the red marks and strikethroughs Editor Tildie made.

You know you’re right, people around here could do with some accessible, actual news and well-researched information. But simply knowing what’s right doesn’t come with the power to fix things, doesn’t it?

The window by your desk offers you a view of the sun setting. It was one of the things that thrilled you when you first started, having a desk on the second floor. You were so determined back then.

It’s getting far too difficult to breathe in here. You grab your pen and treasured notebook, leaving the newsroom behind.

Your feet take you to the harbor. It’s quiet, with only a few fishermen around. You find yourself gazing out into the sea. The waves push and pull and ripple in patterns that calm you down.

For a world with so many pirates, and many enthralled by the idea of adventure, you’re sure your writing will be appreciated… It will be appreciated here, eventually.

Once, you thought about moving somewhere else. Maybe to a bigger city and work under a more renowned publisher. But you like this town too much for that. There’s a good balance of things; it has all the amenities of a developed town, but is still close enough to adventurous waters.

This place could be an excellent hub for information. If only you got the chance to show others what you dream of.

You know some people who are eager to leave, however. Some of your friends would give anything to work in some big city paper. You even heard rumors of Chief Editor Tildie applying for work in the East Blue Daily.

Oh, what you’d give to write about real news and the feats people are achieving. Letting out a sigh, you wonder where those upstart pirates are now.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long to find the answer. One of your co-workers bursts through the door a few weeks later, holding onto the wall to steady himself and catch his breath.

“Arlong has been defeated!”

Everyone in the newsroom stops what they're doing. Even Chief Editor Tildie looks shocked.

Apparently, Marines were chasing down a group of pirates, and those same pirates saved a village in the Conomi Islands from Arlong.

Pirates saving people? Could it be?

“It’s a new pirate crew, but they’re really powerful!” Your co-worker explains further. “Roronoa Zoro is second in command, and their captain took down Arlong by himself!”

“Does the captain wear a straw hat?” You ask, but something already made you sure he did.

“Yeah, here!” He passes you a wanted poster.

A boy is smiling in the photo, wearing the same straw hat Mayor Boodle mentioned to you.

“Is that why there have been more pirates around lately?” Editor Tildie says gruffly. “Darn sea lovers should stay at sea.”

No one comments on how Editor Tildie curses like a pirate. You value your jobs (and lives) too much. (But everyone thinks it.)

Another thing no one mentions is the excitement that seems to buzz through everyone. Like an electric current, making the air feel alive and crackle with an energy you haven’t seen in this newsroom in a long while.

News is about to break. You have work to do.

Your research leads you to trace the Straw Hat Pirates’ steps. A map of the East Blue is laid across your desk, and you begin to plot the locations where they’ve been. Holding your breath, you analyze their trail.

It might not be so far-fetched to say that they could show up here.

You think of the article you wrote on Orange Town. It’s still there, you’ve kept it safe in the trusty notebook you keep strapped to your waist. You couldn’t bear to just scrap it. But, maybe there’s hope for it after all, now that those same pirates rose to prominence in such a short amount of time.

“Still working, huh?” One of the photographers asks you. “We’re all headed for the tavern if you want to join us.”

You smile, but can’t imagine leaving your desk for the foreseeable future. “Thanks, but maybe another night.”

Everyone else leaves, the only light left on in the office is from the lamp on your desk. The night blankets the newsroom in shadows, and you pour over your research in the welcomed silence.

A loud crash is heard outside.

Someone is getting beat up. You were just about to ignore it and chalk it up to a brawl between drunks, but you hear the local librarian yell out in fear.

You sit still for a second, steeling your resolve before rushing out to the scene. You may not know how to fight, but you should at least help the old man get out of there.

The library is the building beside the news publisher’s, so you see everything the moment you step out of the door.

Thankfully, the old librarian seems to be protected by a green-haired swordsman. He stands menacingly against several thugs, his sword glints under the moonlight.

Not that the thugs look like they have a chance despite their numbers. Two of them are groaning and wounded on the ground, the other two are hiding behind a cart full of books.

The green-haired man raises his blade. “Cowards.” He spits out, looking severely unimpressed.

It seems he intends to strike the other two thugs where they stand, but the librarian begs the swordsman not to damage the cart or the books.

“Please!” The librarian wails. “Not the books!” Are his priorities on straight, you wonder?

“I don’t really care about that.” The man says, getting ready to charge at the men—through the books.

“Wait!” You yell, unable to just stand there. They all look at you with varying degrees of ‘who the hell is she?!’.

You use their surprise to your advantage, running quickly to the cart and pulling it out of the way. Everyone watches, astonished, as you take away the only thing that separated the thugs from the swordsman.

Said swordsman merely shrugs. “Fine.”

He’s so fast his form almost blurs. The thugs scream in fear, and for good reason. They’re cut down in two seconds.

“Oh thank goodness!” The librarian sobs, cradling the books that did not get shredded.

“Would you like some help carrying those inside?” You ask him, but he declines.

“No, it’s alright. Thank you for saving the books my dear. Pirates just can’t seem to fathom not solving things with violence.”

You’re baffled at how the old man can smile at you then look at the swordsman in disdain in the same breath. Shouldn’t he be grateful his life was protected?

He leaves, heaving the books into the library, but you stop him.

“No, hold on, let us help you.” You try again. “We insist.”

“We do?” The stranger asks incredulously.

“Yes.” You say, gesturing at how the old librarian’s arms are about to give out.

The swordsman looks displeased, but retrieves the books anyway.

“And you, sir,” You turn to the librarian. “You should thank him.”

The old man sputters.

“Don’t bother.” The stranger says. “Don’t even know why I did.”

The librarian huffs, but his glare falters this time. “...Thank you, lad.”

The green-haired man blinks. Like he doesn’t know what to do after somebody thanks him. It’s strangely endearing.

You both help the librarian get settled inside. It’s still painfully awkward, but you like to think that things turned out well.

The two of you leave the library together. Being in closer proximity, you get a better look at him. He’s exceedingly handsome, but what catches your eye are the three earrings dangling from his left ear.

Your eyes widen in recognition. “Roronoa Zoro.”

“...Do I know you?” He asks, looking at you impassively.

“I’m a journalist.” You say instead of answering him, as you introduce yourself. You point to the newspaper company next door

“Hm.” Is all you get from him.

You expected many things if you ever met any of the Straw Hats, but extreme disinterest isn’t one of them.

“Do you think I could ask you a few questions?” You ask, hopeful to convince him.

“You get one, and you just asked. So I guess we’re done here.” Zoro says. “Here’s my question, where’s the closest place I can get a drink around here?”

Undeterred, you try to meet him in the middle, “I have a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer with your name on it.”

When he doesn’t reject you outright, you realize you have a shot at this.

You step towards him, eyes not leaving his as you make him an offer. “How about, I get you a drink, and you answer some questions for me?”

The confidence you feel surging isn’t normal for you, but you lean into it. When else are you going to get this chance?

Zoro studies you, more seriously this time. You can tell the moment his eyes shift that he must see right through to you. That you’re no fighter, but you’re determined. You’ll follow him around town until he gives you what you’re looking for if he disagrees.

To your delight, he nods.

But when you enter the building, you find something that you didn’t expect.

The entire place looks like it had been ransacked. You gasp in horror at the mess. Papers were strewn everywhere, all the desks were in disarray. How could this have happened in the time that you were gone?

Zoro steps in front of you protectively. A hand hovers on the handle of his blade as he surveys the damage. You can’t help but feel responsible for this.

You should have locked the door. You should have just called it a night. You should have just joined your friends for a drink and worked in the morning like a normal person. You should have—

“This isn’t your fault.”

Zoro’s back is still to you. For a while, he simply stays still.

Then he says it again. Slower this time, as if to emphasize the words, “This isn’t your fault.”

It’s not much, but it manages to make you pull yourself together. He’s right, it isn’t. So you have to find out who did.

You and Zoro head deeper into the building, taking careful steps in search for clues.

Zoro eyes the staircase leading to the upper floor, and he holds out his arm to block you from going any further.

“What’s wrong?” You ask in a very hushed whisper.

He points up the stairs, where you see the shadow of someone moving.

“I’ll deal with them. Stay here.” He instructs, but you grab his arm before he can take another step.

“No!” You whisper-yell. “I’m going too.”

He gives you that same, unimpressed expression he seems to be so fond of. To be honest, you’re becoming fond of it too. The effect on you is waning, if that's any indication.

“Why do you always look for trouble?” Zoro sighs. “Do what you want.”

Is it because he’s whispering, or does his voice lack its previous edge when he spoke to you?

You don’t have time to think more on that, however. Zoro begins ascending the stairs. You’ve never been more thankful that the steps are carpeted, your shoes would have clattered loudly otherwise.

Together, without a sound, you reach the second floor landing. It’s dark, but the damage you see is no better up here. The intruder really left no surface undisturbed.

Sounds of someone opening and shutting drawers alarms you. Zoro, very carefully, pulls out his sword.

More alarm bells start to ring when Zoro approaches the sound, and you realize it’s coming from your desk.

Zoro holds out an arm again, giving you a look that says stay put this time. Fine. You hang back while he impressively sneaks up behind the intruder without a sound.

The person is rummaging frantically through your desk, making noises that helps Zoro conceal himself. A document falls to the floor, and the shadowed figure kneels down to pick it up.

Zoro points his blade to their neck before they can get up. They freeze.

You turn on the lamp on the desk nearest you. The light illuminates the room enough that you can finally see the intruder’s face.

Only, it isn’t an intruder.

“Chief Editor Tildie?” You gasp, confused.

Your boss looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but her expression suddenly melts into relief.

“Oh, I’m so glad you two got here! Everything was a mess there were, uh, robbers! Yes, yes—nasty thieves got into the building.”

That doesn’t make any sense. What would thieves want to steal from a publishing business anyway?

She cuts you off when you’re about to point out her suspicious behavior, “There were so many of them, I have no idea how they got in! I was going back to pick up some things, and the place was already like this.”

“My dear…” Editor Tildie looks at you with mock concern, “You didn’t leave the door unlocked, did you?”

How dare she?

“You’re so full of shit.” Zoro tsks, inching his blade closer to her skin. “I would have noticed if a bunch of guys went through the front door.”

You blink when the puzzle clicks in your head. “She was in here the whole time.”

“You can’t prove anything, you wannabe writer!” Editor Tildie bursts out, her expression once again shifting back to panic.

“Who do you think they’re going to believe?” She glares, daring you. “You? Some no-name writer? Or ME, the Chief—”

Zoro knocks her head with the hilt of his sword. She falls with a thud.

You run a hand through your hair, letting out a long sigh. You’re exhausted, but you should really investigate why your boss did all this then try to put the blame on you.

Like the others, your desk was trashed. Even your notes are scattered all over the floor. The map you were painstakingly studying was torn in half. But strangely, the other things you had been working on are missing.

Zoro walks around the desk. “Over here.” He says, having found something.

It’s a large duffel bag, filled to the brim with papers of… rejected articles? You sift through the contents, they all seem to be your co-workers’ recent work. You remember proofreading several of them, everyone has been doing so well lately.

But why would the Chief Editor steal these after rejecting all of them?

“Could you watch her for a minute, please?” You ask Zoro. “I need to check her office.”

Zoro looks at you strangely, you can’t quite pinpoint his expression. It’s half ‘you’re leaving me here, really?’ and half ‘will you be okay?’.

“Scream if you get into trouble.” He sighs, settling into your office chair. “‘Cause you eventually find it.”

You leave, shaking your head fondly. So he does care.

Inside the Chief Editor’s office, things are a mess as well. You suspect that was probably done to throw investigators off. But she left some things here, and from there, it’s easy to put together what happened.

A briefcase sits on her desk. It’s left open, with several letters lying inside. They’re all correspondence with famous newspapers.

‘The East Blue Daily would be delighted to host your article on the events in Orange Town. Please submit a draft at your earliest convenience. We are excited to...’

You have to set the letter down and stop reading. This bitch was planning to steal everyone’s work. Fury rushes into your head as you let out a disbelieving laugh. How could she do this after tearing everyone down?

It finally makes sense why she never greenlit any of the best articles. She probably sent them to other companies claiming they were her original work.

Judging from the other letters and her packed bags, she likely intended for this to be her last stunt. The Oceanic Times would sink into nothing, and she would be off to work for some famous paper.

And she was right. If you and Zoro hadn’t caught her, no one other than your co-workers would believe you that she did this. And none of you were reputable enough to be considered credible. You would probably have to take the fall for leaving the door unlocked, just like she planned.

Zoro calls out your name when you’ve been in here for a few minutes. Despite how drained and tired you feel, you gather the evidence in the suitcase, carrying it out with you.

You must look worse than you thought, because Zoro’s brows furrow in concern when he sees you.

Zoro hasn’t gotten up from your chair. He remains silent and still, but his attention on you is unwavering.

“She was planning to steal our work.” You explain, sitting on top of your desk. “I would’ve been powerless.”

“Would’ve been.” Zoro says. “But you’re not.”

When he stands, you worry that he might be leaving you. But instead, he drags Tildie (who you notice has been tied up) and traps her in her own office. Zoro moves a desk to block the door.

As he pushes it, your eyes follow the movement of his arms. You have to turn away to hide your flustered expression. For some reason, you remember Tildie’s words about your article: this is highly inappropriate.

He comes back, reclaiming his (your) chair. His hands reach for something under the desk. Under your legs. This is highly—

All thoughts in your head stop on their tracks when he meets your eyes again. He’s holding the whiskey you mentioned. You were about to mention your surprise that he didn’t drink any yet, but the words die in your throat. It’s entrancing the way his eyes seem to glow the same color as the liquid.

Zoro taps the glass with his fingers. “I think this bottle has both our names on it.”

If you were in a normal state of mind, you would probably be embarrassed by how much you’re crying in front of Roronoa Zoro. Maybe Zoro would even regret offering you a drink.

You’re not drunk yet, but you’re probably getting there since you’re becoming an emotional mess. Thankfully, Zoro is an excellent listener. You let everything out.

“I just want to write. I want people to read my work.” You sob as you tape your map of the East Blue back together.

Zoro hums, indicating he hears you. One of his arms is extended on your desk, laden with strips of tape. How you managed to use Roronoa Zoro as a tape dispenser is beyond you, but you feel strangely proud of it.

“Why don’t you write, then?” Zoro asks, not taking his eyes off you.

“I can’t!” You sniff before pulling another piece of tape from his skin. “Tildie—that bitch—do you know her? She’s awful, she never approves of our good articles.”

“She’s gone now.” He says. “You can write what you want.”

“Oh.” Right. He’s right, of course he is. “Okay then.”

There’s a beat of silence while you fix your map. When you’re done, you beam at Zoro.

“I’ll write about you.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Will you, now?”

“You can bet on it.” Smoothing your fingers over your mended map, you say wistfully, “I wonder where you’ll head off to next.”

Before he can answer that, you voice out a thought that feels strangely sad.

“...I wonder if you’ll come back.”

You can’t even meet his eyes anymore. Half-drunk or not, you knew how embarrassing that was to say. You only met a few hours ago, but why does it feel like you’ll miss him more than anything when he leaves?

“That depends,” Zoro clears his throat. “Are you going to give me a reason to?”

The way your face lit up with shock and happiness was so adorable that it caught Zoro by surprise. He almost lets out a full laugh, but he manages to conceal it with a fake cough.

Leaning down, you grab his shoulder and pull him to you. The office chair rolls over to right where you want him.

This is highly inappropriate… But you can’t help yourself when you respond, “You can bet on that too.”

Kissing Zoro feels electric. You feel your head go fuzzy and your hands are eager to hold onto something. So you hold onto him; the back of his neck—thread your fingers into his hair. He keeps his hands on your waist. They do not wander, but he grips you like you’re some sort of lifeline.

Lifeline.

You break the kiss abruptly, getting an epiphany. This whole experience was a mess, but this could be the lifeline you've been waiting for.

Zoro groans, trying to pull you down for another kiss, but you stop him with a grin, “Do you think I could ask you a few questions?”

Before the interview, Zoro set some ground rules. A few of them involved you, like how you were not to disclose your relationship unless absolutely necessary, since it could put you in danger.

Others involved his crew, such as he couldn’t go into detail with the members and their abilities. That would just be too risky.

The questions themselves don’t necessarily matter to you, since the interview alone will be a huge boost for The Oceanic Times. So you agree to all of his terms… Including the one where he gets a kiss for each answer he gives.

“When you met Luffy,” You begin, “Did you know that you were going to follow him? Or did it take some convincing?”

“Convincing.” Zoro answers.

You wait for him to elaborate. “...Is that it?”

“Yes.” He responds before nudging you, “That’s two.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you kiss him twice but pull away before he can deepen it.

He frowns at you, and you laugh as you ask your next question, “So you didn’t plan on becoming a pirate?”

“No.”

“...”

“...Zoro, stop making me ask more than one question.” You say, unimpressed.

“Don’t ask questions that can be answered with one word, then.” He quips back challengingly.

You hate that he’s got you there. You miss his lips on purpose, kissing his cheek in retaliation.

“What was that?” Zoro complains.

“A kiss.” You answer smugly as you write things down in your notebook. You hit him with your last question.

“Why do you follow your captain?”

To your credit, this one makes him think for a minute.

“...Because we all have dreams, and we’re all going to get there together.”

You smile at him, touched. “That’s beautiful.”

Zoro makes a face, leaning back into his seat. “Nevermind, don’t write that down. I take it back.”

“Aw,” You tease. “I wonder what your captain will say about that.”

Zoro grumbles something about how he shouldn't have answered that, but you can tell he meant it. But not to worry, you weren’t about to write some sap piece his enemies can use against him.

You were going to make breaking news.

That was the plan. Or it was, until you fell asleep at some point during the night. You had pulled over another chair, working your typewriter to the bone as you burned through your adrenaline rush.

You woke up the next morning with Zoro leaning on your shoulder; he was still asleep. You took this quiet minute as an opportunity to admire him.

Things would have gone so much differently if he hadn't been around. You probably would have gone out to help the librarian with those thugs alone, and you wouldn’t have made it back to the office soon enough to catch Tildie.

Realization dawns on you. Tildie probably hired those thugs herself, so that you would be preoccupied. You make a mental note to have those thugs questioned later.

All that’s happened… It was scary, yet exciting, since Zoro was with you. He makes you feel eager to find the next big story to write about.

He rouses at that moment, eyes slowly blinking awake. He yawns and stretches, and when he properly looks at you, he shakes his head at your expression.

“Now I know what face you make when you want to go looking for trouble.”

After you reach out to the authorities, Zoro leaves to find his crew. You were sure they were worried sick by now, since he’s been gone so long. He tells you that they’re scheduled to leave this afternoon.

You’ll miss him, but you know it’s for the best.

The harbor is bustling with life when you get there, the complete contrast to how it was months ago. Funny how in both times your feet take you here, you’re wondering where a certain group of pirates are.

But your pirate is easy to find, he’s waiting for you by his crew’s ship.

“Came to give me a reason to come back?” Zoro jests, taking your hand once you’re close enough.

“Couldn’t wait to see you leave, actually.” You joke. He startles you by pulling you close.

You’re about to kiss him when he spots something over your head that makes him frown. Your eyes follow his gaze to find his crew members watching you both.

“Don’t mind us! We’re just enjoying the show!” The one with a bandana on his head yells out.

“Did I miss something? I missed something, didn’t I?” A blond man asks, his face completely flabbergasted.

“I think we all did.” The woman next to him remarks.

“But we’re really happy for you, Zoro!” Their captain cheers and whoops.

Indeed, now might be a good time for the sea to swallow you up. Maybe you should jump?

“Get lost.” Zoro snaps at them. They all holler and laugh, but do as he says.

“Um,” You say. Maybe you should just give him his farewell present to distract yourself from the embarrassment. “I got you this.” You hand him a folded piece of paper.

It’s your article on Orange Town. One of his very first adventures, and the moment you first heard of him retyped on a special kind of stationery and everything. You even made sure the ink is good quality so that it doesn’t fade. (You also spritzed it with your perfume, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

“Ask your friends to read it, please?” You request. “Then tell me what you all think about it.”

Zoro glances at the paper, recognizing how much work you put into it, and how much you went through to get to where you are now.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” The soft, small smile he gives you makes you feel weak in the knees.

He pulls you in again, his arms embracing your waist. You respond by draping your arms over his shoulders. Your fingers play with the back of his hair.

“Write to me?” You ask softly, only for him to hear.

“Writing isn't really my thing.”

You pout.

“...I’ll send you a postcard or something.”

A laugh escapes you. That was such a Zoro kind of compromise. “I’ll take it.”

“As for me,” He presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll take this.”

The kiss is different from the kisses you shared last night. Maybe it’s because you don’t know when the next one will be. He kisses you dearly, showing you how much he cares when he holds the sides of your face tenderly.

“...See you soon.” You greet him.

The words strangely get stuck in Zoro’s throat, but he gets them out nonetheless.

“See you soon.”

…

“Right,” Sanji taps a pen on his notepad. “Does anyone else need anything from the market?”

Luffy approaches him, reading the contents of the list over his shoulder. “Nope! I think you got everything.”

If the captain says so, he must be right. But Sanji makes a face, still feeling like he's missing something. He's double checking the cupboards when Nami walks into the kitchen.

“Nami!” Sanji beams. “Do you need me to get you anything from the market?”

“Sanji thinks he's forgetting something.” Luffy explains to her, pointing to the notepad left on the counter.

Leave it to Nami to figure out what's missing at a glance. “Zoro's newspaper.” She says, and the boys nod in realization at the same time.

“Ah, right.” Sanji scribbles The Oceanic Times onto the list.

“I’m actually really impressed by her.” Nami says on her way to crash on the couch. “She writes well.”

“Damn right she does.” Zoro says, entering the room with Usopp right behind him.

“Yeah but man,” Usopp complains, “You need to let us finish reading. You always hog it or give us a time limit on it.”

Zoro merely shrugs, like that isn’t his concern. “Buy one for yourself then.”

Nami smirks. “She must have you really whipped if you’re marketing for her.”

“I don’t think she needs it, actually.” Luffy comments. “The paper is doing really well, isn’t it?”

A small smile forms on Zoro’s lips. “Damn right it is.”

When he gets his hands on The Oceanic Times later that day, Zoro reads every bit of it. He rereads your name over and over again, proud of the ‘Editor in Chief’ title that goes before it.

Though he reads every single word, he always skips the small gossip corner first, where anonymous people send in messages or thoughts.

Every week, like clockwork, there’s an anonymous reader who submits messages for her distant lover. When he first saw it, he instantly knew it was you.

‘I heard you were injured. I can’t believe you’re making me worry like this.’

Zoro laughs, and everyone in the kitchen freezes.

He slowly, almost cautiously, glances up from the paper. The Straw Hats look at him with a tricky sparkle in their eyes that makes him uncomfortable.

“Don’t even—” Zoro starts, but it’s too late. Usopp is already standing on his chair, acting like a newspaper salesman.

“Step right up! Read all about it! It’s breaking news: The Roronoa Zoro giggled because of his girlfriend—”

“You have three seconds to run.” Zoro threatens while folding the newspaper carefully. Usopp runs for his life.

taglist: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @lownna @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee

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fluffysucker · 5 months

Text

Battered and Bruising.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

You received a distressing phone call.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Also I'm very bad at describing places. Please forgive me. Hope it's clear to picture.

Main Masterlist

You couldn't sit still. You kept squirming and fuzzing in the taxi's seat. You were sure the driver was giving you dirty looks, afraid you would wear down the material of his vehicle. But you couldn't care. You were close to biting your nails off. You were so worried. Anxiety filling your body like the darkness of the sky at midnight. Tension running through your muscles and veins like water in oceans.

It was supposed to be a normal day. just like any other.

You woke up to the feeling of soft kisses on your neck and strong arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you closer than you were already. Sweet words filling your ears with your boyfriend's sleepy voice.

You lived for mornings like this, which is why you wouldn't be able to recall the last time you woke up alone in bed. It was either your place or his. A drawer in each of your dressers is now officially dedicated to the other's stuff. Pieces of each of you were spread at each other's homes. Because you became each other's home. Bucky was itching to ask you to move in together, but he was waiting for the right time.

After the blissful morning you shared together at Bucky's place with breakfast and your joint getting-ready routine, you left to start the day. It was a big bonus that both of your workplaces were separated by a wall. It gave you both a lot more time to spend together. Not only did you get to arrive and leave together, but you also got the chance to sneak in and see each other whenever you liked. You were lucky.

The minute you stepped in, you had so many things to do. Customers were following your tail as you walked in. Your business was growing, and you could never complain. As the day carried on, you got busier and busier. However, that didn't stop you from checking the time every now and then, so you didn't miss it. You would be sad if you did.

So when it reached five o'clock, you were throwing your apron off and leaving the restaurant. Ten minutes wouldn't hurt anybody.

You opened the gym's door and greeted MJ, who will be taking on the receptionist role since Peter was going with them tonight. You reminded yourself to stop by and drop off some food for her in a couple of hours. Maybe even a dessert.

Once you walked into the main area, your eyes were scanning the place for the person you came for.

"He is the locker room." You turned around as you heard Sam's voice.

"We could have left an hour early, but he refused. I wonder why." The smirk on Sam's face was big. Of course, he knew why Bucky didn't want to leave earlier than he told you.

"Have a good day, Sam." You walked towards the locker room with a smile on your face.

Bucky and the others had their own locker rooms other than the ones for the regular gym attendees. It was the one in the very back. Bucky chose it for privacy reasons. And since you got together, he had been enjoying this choice more and more.

As you were about to knock on the door, it was opened by Steve, who was walking out. A smirk, just like Sam's, found its place on his face as he saw you. Both men enjoyed watching their best friend being so head over heels in love, who was making them all wait for you because he never wanted to see the somber look on your face like he saw it once when he left before you stopped by. Never again. Everything could wait for you.

Steve stepped aside, letting you get in, and closed the door to give you both the time you needed.

Your boyfriend had his back to you as he was zipping up his duffle bag. But your sugary perfume and the smell of hours of cooking made him turn around. He would never miss your unique scent. the one that put him at ease and soothed his being.

"Hey, princess." He started walking towards you, and you met in the middle.

"Hey, you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and reached up to give him a peck on the lips.

"All ready?" You asked, keeping your arms around him.

"Yeah. Did the final training. Had a shower. Got everything I needed. We are ready to go." His arms were around your waist now.

"You are going to be so great. You are always the best." You gave him another peck.

"Just want one last thing." You looked at him, ready to help with whatever he needed.

"My good luck." Bucky easily lifted you up of your feet, kissing you passionately.

This is your routine now. Whenever Bucky had a fight, you would show up and wish him good luck before he left. He hadn't lost one since.

You were happy with this routine. Bucky was still strongly against you ever watching him fight; while you disagreed, you knew it was his choice, and you respected that. So you enjoyed whatever he gave you.

In return, Bucky let you in more. He brought you to some of the team gatherings and hangouts. He wasn't surprised when your sweet self managed to win all his friends over. They loved you. Who could ever meet you and not love you? Bucky certainly wasn't the one to answer this. And you loved them. Your ability and capacity to love everyone didn't exclude the rough people he thought of as family.

While he refused to let you anywhere near the brutality he called a job, Bucky learned to compromise. So he started opening up. He started telling you about his days, fights, and sometimes opponents more. He knew you worried a lot about him and about the stuff he never shared. So he was trying to find common ground. And if wishing him good luck before every fight was going to put your mind in the littlest of ease, Bucky could do that.

And that was the last time you saw him for the day.

Bucky told you pits and pieces about his opponent today, but nothing much. All you knew was that Bucky was training hard, and he spent lots of late nights at the gym. Some nights, you would close your restaurant and then join him and watch as he trained. Any support you could provide him with, you weren't going to hesitate. even as little as keeping his company.

Your worry about his well-being during the fights was growing each time. It grew with your love for him. And you were madly in love with him.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, letting your emotions under control while you went from recipe to recipe and from dish to dish as you waited for Bucky's text.

Another thing Bucky picked up doing to help ease your nerves was texting you right after the fight. Usually, he would tell me that he was fine and what he was doing after. Whether he was staying and going to Nat's bar or coming back to you, You only joined them in the after-fight victory parties a number of times. Usually, only when the fights were easy. Because parties after big fights weren't just for the team. There would be lots of outsiders, other boxers, and teams. You knew Bucky wouldn't be comfortable if you were there.

So you waited for him. He preferred your place after these kinds of days. You would have a meal ready in the fridge for reheating. The bathroom would be filled with soap and water. Clean, silky-smooth sheets would be in place, covering the bed. everything to help him relax. And you checked on everything before you left for his place last night.

The only thing you had to do now was wait for his text.

But it never came. Instead, you received a very distressing phone call.

That was what led you to where you are right now. Your mind racing, your knuckles white around your bag, and your leg bouncing up and down in the backseat of the taxi.

Stark's property was huge. You couldn't miss it, even if you wanted to. It made sense why it would be so deep into the city. It took a very large space that only such locations offered. The street was all dark except for the neon lights with the name Stark above the entrance. Other than that, it was nearly black.

You were able to work out the figure standing under the lights right next to the entrance. He was pacing back and forth on the pavement. You paid the driver once he stopped as you got out of the cab.

"Peter, what is going on?" With quick steps, you were standing right in front of the young man.

"Is he okay?" The slight shake in your voice was obvious. The question had been haunting you ever since Peter called and didn't answer it the first time.

"Yes," Peter replied, already seeing the worry all over your face.

"Physically, at least." Peter continued. Because if Bucky was okay, why were you here?

Before you could ask any more questions, Peter led you in. The bouncers at the door let you in immediately as they saw Peter. The inside of the place was nothing like the outside. It was loud, bright, and full of people. There were small food trucks, side bars, merchandise stations, and everything. You could see different kinds of sports and entertainment exercises scattered all over the place, with people around. However, the main area of the property was occupied by a huge boxing ring. It had the most people around it. There are lots of people.

You couldn't inspect more of the place as Peter was rushing the both of you to the back area. It was very clear since you got in here that you didn't belong at all. Your choice of outfit and aura were making you stand out among the sea of people. Peter put his hand around the small of your back, respectively, to guide you through the place. He was trying to get you inside as fast as possible. He wasn't as intimidating as Bucky or some of the others. And if anything happened to you, even as little as a snarky comment, Peter couldn't imagine the wrath he would have to endure. To say Peter was panicking would be an understatement.

The breath of relief Peter let out as you entered the back area was audible. The back area was similar to the one in the gym but much larger and busier. Peter led you to the one room in the back, which you suspected was the largest in the place. He opened the door for you, and you had to close your eyes for a second from the contrast of the lightning. The back area was dimly lit, while the locker room was bright white. You got used to the lights, then looked around to find everybody in here.

As Peter walked you in, you could feel the high tension in the room. The first thing that caught your eye was bleeding Peter Quill and Thor. You didn't know Peter Quill that well; you only met him when you met the team and never passed the greetings stage, but you were more familiar and friendly with Thor. And the sight of both big men holding their noses to stop the bleeding, with bruises forming on their faces, was troubling. Lots of the others were trying to help them.

Only did you take your eyes away when Peter kept moving further into the room until you noticed the small room separated from the big one with a door. You found Sam and Bruce talking beside the door. Peter came to a stop when you reached both men.

"Thank God you are here." Sam spoke quickly as he laid eyes on you.

"Sam, what is going on?" Up to now, you had no idea why you were here. Peter rushed you in and then brought you here with no explanation. You could feel your nerves starting to burn from anxiety.

Before Sam could say anything, a sound of something breaking coming from behind the door rang through the place. You shared eye contact with Sam for seconds, and you started to form an idea about what was happening.

You stepped towards Sam, indicating that you wanted to get inside. Sam looked at you, and you gave him a nod to assure him, and he nodded back. Sam turned and knocked on the door.

You flinched, from surprise, as your boyfriend's angry voice echoed around, shouting that he didn't want to see anyone.

However, the door was unlocked, and Steve stood in the doorframe. You couldn't read the hard expression on his face. But his eyebrows softened slightly when he saw you.

The shouting from your boyfriend made everyone wince in their places. You stepped forward to take Sam's place and stood in front of Steve, determination in your eyes.

Steve signed before he moved aside to let you in, closing the door with the three of you.

The room was small. You thought maybe it was for medical purposes, if needed. But you didn't have the time or mind to pay any attention to your new surroundings.

Your boyfriend was sitting on a chair, his head in his hands, grabbing his hair tightly between his fingers, and his breath was short and angry. Brokrn stuff and objects were scattered all around the room.

"Bucky." You called for him softly to make your presence known.

His head shot up. His eyes were red, bruises were all over his face, and his breath got angrier.

"You called her?" His voice was quiet, but it was deep, hiding many emotions.

"You called my girl?" He stood up, keeping his eyes on Steve, not looking at you at all.

"You brought my girl here?" His breath was getting shorter, with every word coming out as a growl.

"Bucky.." You tried to speak and find the right words to say so it wouldn't escalate.

"You made her come here all by herself and walk in here?" He started walking towards you and Steve.

"YOU BROUGHT HER HERE TONIGHT." Bucky shouted, his angry voice ringing in the small room.

Out of instinct, Steve stepped forward to stand in front of Bucky, keeping you behind him.

That seemed to snap Bucky out of the spell he was in. His red eyes are now coated with hurt. His breath stopped for a moment. Frozen in his place, he couldn't help but think of it. Did Steve think he would hurt you? Did Steve think he needed to protect you from him? Did Steve think that even in this state, he would cause you any harm?

It felt like a knife driven deep into his heart. Betrayal from his best friend, who brought you here against all his wishes, and then thought you needed a shield to be in the same room with him.

But no, that wasn't why Steve did it. He didn't want you to see Bucky lose his temper like he did numerous times tonight. Steve couldn't remember whose idea it was to call you, but he could remember the collective agreement that approved of the suggestion. All aware of the effect you have on the boxer. So Steve expected, like the others, that once you walked in and his best friend saw you, all the insanity that was tonight would come to an end.

But Steve should have known better. Bringing you in here would only make Bucky madder, and you would get to see a version of your boyfriend that Bucky tried so hard to keep from you. Steve regretted agreeing to bring you here.

The tension in the room got thicker. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the three of you. You weren't able to see the look on Steve's face, but Bucky's expression was crystal clear.

"Steve, can you give us a minute?" You stepped away from behind Steve, so you could be in Bucky's eyesight.

Steve turned to you with an unsure look on his face, and you immediately rubbed his shoulder to assure him you knew what you were doing.

Steve nodded and left the room silently. Now, it was just the two of you.

While Bucky looked anywhere but you, his eyes moving all over the room, you finally got to look at him. He was in a pair of black sweatpants, his chest left bare, making all the bruises and cuts on his upper body exposed to your eyes.

You signed, your heart breaking at the sight of your boyfriend battered like this. But it wasn't his physical pain that you were only worried about.

Bucky's eyes finally moved to look at you as you put your bag on the nearest table and started to move around, looking for something.

Bucky was confused. He wanted to ask you what you were doing, but he couldn't find it in himself to talk to you. Too many emotions are tormenting him.

Your little, quiet squeals told him you found what you wanted. You moved towards him with the first-aid kit in hand.

You grabbed the closest chair and positioned it in front of the chair, which Bucky was previously sitting on, and pulled a small table closer as well, where you put the first aid kit and started to empty its contents.

"You will catch lots of infections if you don't get the wounds clean." You spoke when you noticed that Bucky was standing still in his place.

"And God knows you become a big baby when you get sick." You joked. You tried to lighten the mood. to tell him that you were here to help. You weren't judging him. You would never judge him.

And he heard you. So, he came and sat back in the chair in front of you. This time, he sat with his back straight so you could patch him up.

You sat in silence, but there was so much hanging in the air between you. You didn't want to push him. You knew he would start talking when he felt ready.

"Who called you?" And he did.

"Does it matter?" You didn't look at him, sticking to cleaning his wounds.

"To me, yes." He regretted raising his voice immediately, even when you didn't move.

"You shouldn't be here." He continued when he knew he wouldn't get an answer from you.

"But I am." You looked up at him.

"And I want to." Finally, your eyes have met since you got here.

"Don't you see it? the damage I'm capable of doing. the chaos I can create. the pain I put others through. The mess I am."

Today's game was cruel, to say the least. Bucky's opponent played dirty. So dirty, that wasn't against the rules. Because this was never mentioned in any rule book. Mental hits.

Bucky's opponent not only studied Bucky's style and techniques so well, but he did some research as well. So, he would be able to defeat Bucky's strength. And he did.

The second he knew Bucky was winning, he ran his mouth nonstop. He brought up stuff that should never again be brought into the ring. Family stuff. Bucky's life before boxing, the team and their families.

It was shocking. Bucky almost lost his footing once or twice. Was this allowed? Well, it wasn't prohibited. Bucky tried to keep his head straight and not focus on the words coming from the man in front of him. However, it was getting harder and harder as the man kept getting more personal.

Until his opponent mentioned your restaurant's name, Every little drop of blood in Bucky's body ran cold. The noise around him became an annoying ring in his ears. And the opponent took his chance and started landing his punches.

Bucky was trying to regain his composure, but the man's words and punches didn't stop. He was talking nonsense about your restaurant, but he made a mistake that he never estimated.

"I heard you got soft because of that place and wanted to know why. I will tell you what. I would go soft for an adorable thing like her. What a shame that you are the only one who gets to ruin her."

That was the nail in the man's coffin.

Bucky was unstoppable. A monster. a beast with no restraints. You weren't a subject to bring into such a rotten place, and that man was going to pay for even thinking you could be involved in this circus.

Bucky only stopped when he heard the whistle and the referee breaking them apart. Bucky knew that if he didn't stop, he would have to face a penalty of sorts. So he did. But the mental troll has already happened.

The team was taken aback by Bucky's actions once they got out of the lights. They saw him angry after fights before. But this was different. He had lost his mind, and he wasn't willing to talk or tell anybody what happened. And he was getting worse by the second that they had to lock him in the medical room so nobody more would get hurt. They had no clue what to do.

And desperate times call for desperate measures.

So here he was, shame and guilt eating him as you were, once again, showing him kindness he had never encountered before.

"I never wanted you to see that."

"I didn't want you to think that I could hurt you."

"Bucky.."

"I would never hurt you, I swear."

His voice got smaller with each word. It was why he never wanted you anywhere near this. so you wouldn't get scared and run away. So you wouldn't see what he looked like when he lost control. And today, he did, and you saw it.

The opponent's voice is still ringing in his ears. He was ruining you. Everyone could see it. You being here just proved it. Because if it hadn't been for him, you would have never stepped a foot in here. Maybe he was already hurting you.

"Bucky." Tears were starting to form in your eyes. You put the stuff down and put your hand on his cheek.

"You can never hurt me. Never."

It was painful to hear the person who became your source of safety and security, the one you relied on the most, think like this.

"The only person you are hurting is yourself, and I can't stand by and watch." It was time you told him the truth.

"You need to stop living these two versions of yourself. You need to stop hiding from me."

"I love you, Bucky. I love you more than I have loved anything in my life. I knew who you were when we met, and it didn't change anything. I still got to fall in love with you."

"Nothing you do is going to change that. I know you think that I won't be able to handle it, but I will, and I want to know. all of it. Everything."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide parts of yourself from me. like you have to be someone else. I love everything about you and everything that made you."

"I want you to be able to share stuff and talk about your day freely without thinking too much about it, without keeping parts that you think I won't like."

"I want to sit in the front row and cheer for my boyfriend as he beats people up. I want to get to brag about my strong man." That brought a small laugh from the both of you.

"Nothing is ever going to make me leave or hate you. Nothing. So whatever you think is going to drive me away, it won't. Never."

You meant every word you said. You didn't want to be in a one-sided relationship where Bucky felt like he couldn't be himself. No, you wanted to be his safe place. You wanted to be the person he came to, and poured his heart out. You wanted to take care of him. You wanted him to let you love him. all of him.

"I love you so much that I won't care if you turn out to be a secret assassin."

"You won't?"

"I will bring you the knives in the kitchens."

Bucky thought he couldn't fall in love with you more than he already was. But he was wrong.

Bucky could feel his eyes getting glassy. All his fears weren't real. You weren't going to run away and leave him. You wanted to do the thing he believed he could never have. You wanted to share his life with him. You were giving him something nobody ever allowed him. to be himself openly.

Bucky never thought he had good luck. It turned out he had all the good luck in you. And he couldn't be happier.

Bucky was glad they called you.

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onskepa · 11 months

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Okidoki~ sooo how about Tonowari with a reader that’s like kiri? Like- they’re mates and our dear reader kind of keeps her head in the clouds yk? Like- she when she goes for a swim sometimes she forgets everything else and poor stressed ‘wari has to look for her. :333333 DAAAMMMN this is making me kick my feet under the covers!!!!

Hope you like this one! I made her a bit ditzy for this one.

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Fwew

Tonowari is a leader, tall, patient, good sense of direction and morality. He fits all of the requirements to be a leader to his people. So, as leader, many people would assume he has everything under control.

NOPE. If anything, he freaks out on the inside.

Fwew. A name he given to the love of his life. A pet name.

Tonowari's mate, who despite having a name of her own, everyone calls her Fwew. And for one reason only.

She has a god damn talent to get lost and not know.

Its not that she doesn't have any sense of direction or doesn't know how to navigate around the island, its just that she gets distracted why too easy.

Easily, fwew can get side tracked. By anything really.

Pretty flower? she stays put to stare at it.

Pretty seashells? She stays to gather them.

Is the sky extra blue today? She will lay down at who knows where at stare at it like its a master piece.

Anything and everything just fascinates her so easily. She hardly gets bored and would appreciate the little things.

And where does her lovely mate, Tonowari leave? In a midst of panic. He tries his best to make sure his mate is with him at all times. But like a child, you look away for one second, and gone.

He has come up with so many ways. Using bright color flowers or hair décor for his mate as means so notice where she is. But the colors dulled down due to not lasting as much as he liked.

Made a sort of head band made out of shells, so that when Fwew moves, the shells make sounds. What happened do that? The twins that kept it together broke and the shells fells off.

A wrist band that tied her wrist with his, like hand cuffs, made with the strongest vines and roots. It did worked actually....until fwew's hand began to turn pale due to low blood circulation so tonowari had to cut it off.

Tonowari was so desperate as to not lose his mate, that at one point he strapped her on his chest like a parent would with a child. Fwew didn't mind, Tonowari shoved his pride aside to keep his mate close. What happened there? The straps were cut on accident when he was cutting up some fish.

Eywa forbid she enters the ocean. She tends to lose herself more in the ocean more than the forest in the island.

She would spend hours underwater. Admiring the fishes, corals and their unique designs.

Would let the waves gently sooth her to and from. Closing her eyes and feel the rhythm of the ocean.

Tonowari would often spend more time finding his mate rather than doing his duties. The people understand and are not at all upset nor annoyed. If anything, they find it amusing.

But the village does keep any eye out for the darling mate. Take notes of where she was last seen and report to tonowari so that he doesn't go in circles.

At the end of the day, Tonowari would calm himself as he finds his dear mate. He never gets mad at her. Too in love to really scold her. If anything, he would sit as his mate would tell of all the wonderful things she saw, collected, and hear her inner thoughts.

And the following day, repeat the chaos again.

I hoped ya'll liked this list! I had fun with it!

Fwew = search, look for.

#avatar #na'vi x reader #headcanon #tonowari #tonowari x reader #na'vi language #na'vi avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar wow #pandora #metkayina #reef na'vi #tonowari x you #tonowari fluff

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riggedbones · 5 months

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making a dashboard simulator post from my octopus world that is so inscrutable .

2 notes

🐕 themodernwisdom

stop fucking telling me it’s problematic to have “humans dni” on my carrd none of you understand how traumatizing a symbiosis breakup can be.

👨‍💻 typical-hue-man follow

traumatizing for who 🤨 lmao you weren’t even the one dependent on them for survival

🐕 themodernwisdom

do you not know what dni means.

#blocked. #youd think after all these millennia they’d evolve some reading comprehension

52 notes

⚡️ psychiclesbian

like i don’t esp like how often were asked about our sex life but like yea i mean they’re right. tentacles 👍👍

#minors dni #like if they rly want to know just find an octopus whos dtf not that hard #i mean. okay maybe a bit hard. but idk they’re online sometimes?

3 notes

🎛 oldstructuremusings

just got the most insane piece of fanmail what the fuck. why is this child learning local human language from my radio show. in the middle of the fucking ocean. apparently they can’t pick anything else up that isn’t the occasional raven station but like i feel like i have some sort of responsibility to not teach this kid how to say fuck every five seconds.

#text #its probably too late tbh #if the kid is seeing this. get off of tumblr

12 notes

🦋 lonesomedreamer 🔁 why-no-pigeon-emoji follow

🐦 why-no-pigeon-emoji follow

does anyone know how human symbiosis works i saved this guys life right after his cat friend died and i think he is getting attached. or something.

🚧 mazemaster follow

ur not a dog or cat ur fine.

🦋 lonesomedreamer

it’s a common misconception, but humans can actually form symbiotic bonds with any sapient creature, actually! the relationship mostly helps with their social and mental requirements, and if there are enough humans in an area to form a community, they’re actually not at all reliant on forming interspecies symbiotic relationships! doesn’t really happen where i’m from though, i think last i heard there are maybe 6 humans in the area max 😅

🐦 why-no-pigeon-emoji follow

everyone stfu he made us matching outfits im gonna cry

#omg this is so cute 🥺 #i'm glad things worked out

5,923 notes

🌿 grasstoucher 🔁 toogenericusername follow

🐚 molluskfan12 follow

currently keeping some smaller snails atm after you-know-what >_> their shells are a more fragile but the meat is better imo. hope it'll work out still!!

🪶 aviandinosaurs follow

cottagecore bloggers off the shits lmao what is this

🐚 molluskfan12 follow

what the fuck is a cottagecore

10,239 notes

⚡️ psychiclesbian 🔁 undereclipse follow

🗼 prehistoric-structures follow

i'm curious!!!

🌅 sundownscare follow

op i appreciate the button for humans in theory but are you under the impression that we don't show up in our own creation myths???

🕸️ veryseriousmonkey follow

maybe they just want to know about other species, like humans appearing in their own myths is p much a given lol

🗼 prehistoric-structures follow

oh yeah thats... totally why that's there

#they forgor 💀

42,143 notes

🌿 grasstoucher

do you think they had discourse like this pre climate disaster like it was just humans at that point how bad could it rly be

#lucky.pdf #currently unnamed octopus project #long post

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aniharas · 3 months

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯

pairing: anakin skywalker x jedi!fem!reader

summary: in the soul-shattering aftermath of geonosis, anakin finds solace in forbidden affection, risking everything for a stolen moment under the moonlight.

warnings: angst, ptsd, trauma, phantom pains. anakin just needs a hug.

wc: 4k+ oneshot

a/n: this is mainly written from anakin's pov and detailing his thoughts. i was just craving an angst fest don't mind me. likes and reblogs deeply appreciated :) inbox is open! enjoy <3

The light-polluted nights of Coruscant were not very kind to the Chosen One.

It was becoming a ritual: stirring at the latest hour in a sweat in the night. Almost an hourly occurrence. Poor Anakin would cry out, reaching for the ghost of an arm that was no longer there. The memories of the dreadful incident came around often like an old acquaintance, one who didn't quite get the hint that their presence was not wanted.

The terrors were definitely unwanted. Each nightmare that plagued his mind, almost every waking moment, every phantom pain was a painstaking reminder of his own incompetence. He was too weak, too blind to stop what happened. The flash of the red saber. The brief, agonizing, piercing hot sensation in his right arm followed by a sharp breeze. The unmistakable smell of his own charred flesh. The events of Geonosis were far too grisly to forget. The monstrous nature of his failure grasped and invaded his mind with its tendrils, ensuring nothing but pain as it threatened to pull him down under.

What made matters worse was the useless words of the Jedi Council when he sought their advice. Anakin nearly trudged out of the Council Room in laughter. Did they know how ridiculous they sounded? Firstly, he couldn't confide in anyone or simply desire their comfort. Secondly, his own limbs were considered part of things that he couldn't stay attached to, and the young Jedi found that piece of grim advice hilarious. He wondered if their powers with the Force and their lightsabers were the only reason that they were respected.

The cybernetic arm that he was given only did so much. It functioned like a normal arm and hand; it simulated the sense of touch. It was a piece of technology revered by many and saved those who used it. Whenever he retired to his quarters, he would simply stare at it, desperately hoping that it would complete him, hoping that the many credits invested into his new limb would save his soul from the relentless torment that lurked whenever the sun when down.

It was never the same. How could it ever be the same? Despite the fact that Dooku had severed his right arm, Anakin felt like he had broken his whole body and spirit. One would describe his state as one of constant grieving, for his arm, for himself. He dreaded training, missions, meditating. Eating seemed to be a monumental chore for the boy who was destined to save the galaxy.

His body was at a disconnect with his own mind, and no amount of tinkering or relentless practice with the replacement would help. It was like everyone else was above ground, moving at a normal pace, and he was stuck at the bottom of the ocean, unable to control the chaos of the water around him.

He had hoped that the nightly perils would cease in their frequency with time. As the years passed, his hope diminished, at the very least wishing that he could get used to the feeling.

On another lonely, sleepless night, Anakin had woken from phantom pain. Defeated, he slid himself off the edge of his bed, letting his body slump to the floor. He was the phrase 'human wreck' incarnate, his now grown-out hair askew; sweat and tears mingling as they slid down his face and neck; the pale, vein-ridden skin of his half-bare body being proof of his negligence towards himself. It was only on occasion that he could sleep alongside the moon, with no troubling thoughts to bother him. The rest of those nights were akin to psychological torture.

"Maybe it was karma for all the times I used the Force to extract a confession from somebody. Is that what that felt like?" he said to himself.

At times, he liked to pause as if there was someone there who would respond.

He wanted a response, longed for someone to just be there. Someone could sit across from him and say that his pain was superficial, that he was being overdramatic, and Anakin would still be grateful for the words. Intimate touch was constantly on his mind; not the kind of touch that led to something amorous, but the kind that could leave his battle-torn skin covered in goosebumps, the kind that would make him hyper-aware of every inch of his body.

He brushed his human fingers over the forearm of his replacement, wanting to know if there was some way he could make himself feel that intimacy. His desperation to simply feel was slowly driving him mad, and he once again let himself lose to his rage. A tear seemed to poetically slip down Anakin's cheek as his sweat-ridden fingers fumbled around with the latches, dislodging his mechno-arm and flinging it towards his wall with enough strength he could muster. A pained grunt escaped his lips.

As it slammed against the wall, it made a loud, yet unsatisfying 'thud'. Some of the casing popped off, the wires and inner mechanisms becoming exposed as it fell unceremoniously to the floor. The emotional toll and the sudden action it wrought had left Anakin out of breath. His glossy eyes trailed from the wreckage down to the emptiness where it should have been, and at that moment, he felt truly pathetic. He desperately wanted to blame anything else, but it seemed that with every obstacle, he only had himself to blame. Did he truly deserve this? He started to believe so.

It was then that his ears picked up a soft knock at his door. Anakin had shot up from his seat on the floor, hurrying over to retrieve his arm and fix it back into place. Disoriented from the absence of sleep, he managed to trudge his way to his door, carefully watching his own feet so he wouldn't stumble. Almost like a child.

When he opened the door, the last thing he expected was to see her. Why was she even here this late at night? She didn't even live in this part of the Knights' Billet. Had one of the masters sent her? Her expression and her body language were timid, seemingly afraid to cross the line; but her ever-so-captivating eyes shone with curiosity. Anakin caught those eyes trying to sneak a glance behind him, tilting his head as he made himself comfortable leaning against his doorway.

"Did someone send you? Tell them I'm not in the mood," he said rather curtly without another glance, taking a step back as he moved to close the door. He was growing exhausted with how the Jedi expected so much of him but didn't even respect him.

Her hand seemed to spring out to hold the door open in retaliation. He was growing tired of the antics, ready to glare her down with daggers, until he saw something different in the girl. Her stance was firm as she held open the door. He saw that her eyes held a brewing mix of resolve and desperation as if silently pleading for him to hear her out.

"I was walking by, and I heard a noise. Are you okay?"

Time seemed to stop as she voiced her concern, leaving Anakin breathless once again. There was an undeniable pang in his heart, threatening to set loose what had been building up inside of him. Any other day, he would've brushed her off and forced the door shut without a care in the world. She was jeopardizing her place in the Jedi Order, and his as well. How could she afford to be so careless?

So careless about her duties…but she cared about him.

Struggling to voice his answer, he found himself nearly paralyzed with uncertainty, not knowing how to proceed. The mere act of them meeting this late at night had already broken so many rules...but was he willing to sacrifice some rules to save his own sanity? He saw a look of pity flash over her eyes, and he stayed frozen as she quietly shuffled in, closing the door behind her in a similar matter.

Anakin was sure about the fact that he needed someone to confide in, to share his agony, to comfort his long-tortured soul. It was only until she had uttered her first words to him that night that it dawned on him: she would see him as weak, and not the Chosen One. The dichotomy of his needs and fears clashed about in his brain. He needed a companion, but he was afraid of losing her approval, anyone's approval. Everyone's approval.

"What's wrong, Anakin?"

Her voice had cut through the growing torment of his thoughts, leaving it silent, those three words alone threatening to unravel him. He avoided the piercing gaze that was threatening to see right through him.

"Just insomnia," he muttered.

When his eyes returned to her, he immediately knew that his answer wasn't good enough. Who was he kidding? He realized that he hadn't even bothered to look presentable, hair messy and skin glistening with sweat. As if to mock his own thoughts, a gust of air blew in from his conditioning unit, making the tear streaks down his face feel like they were freezing. He watched her carefully as her eyes examined these very things, a flush gracing her cheeks as she briefly glanced at his bare chest. The faint glow of the stars pouring in from the window only seemed to accentuate it, illuminating her skin. She was pretty.

The very thought angered him. Why did beauty distract him so in such a vulnerable moment of his life? It was a weakness he was not proud of, not only because it represented what he could not have, but what he struggled to be himself. Every rule in his life seemed like it was set in place to keep him from having beauty, being beautiful. He couldn't help but break those rules as his eyes raked over her figure. He saw how her hair cascaded down to delicately frame her face, skin that was once covered modestly by Jedi robes, eyes that seemed to tantalize him even if her intentions meant otherwise.

Would it be so terrible if he indulged in these desires in his moment of need?

Anakin shook his head to his own thoughts, causing her to tilt hers in confusion. Of course, it would be terrible, but why was it terrible in the first place? He was suffering, feeling pathetic with his appearance and in his mind. It was not terrible to need someone, but why was guilt beginning to consume these selfish desires? Maybe it was terrible to need her. He barely knew her, and she took the same vows as he did.

"I understand," she whispered, seeming rather awkward and sheepish compared to before. She avoided his gaze as she turned her back on him. As she began to reach for the doorknob, Anakin was surprised to see that she hesitated. Was it too hopeful to think that she felt the same? He called out for her, more despairingly than he intended to.

"Wait, I..." He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to take the plunge. It would be the start of a slippery slope he couldn't hope to dig her or himself out of. He knew that if he tried, it would be futile, so that must've been why he had the nagging feeling that he didn't even want out.

"I need you here."

He watched closely as her brows furrowed and her grip on the doorknob tensed, immediately realizing that his request might have been too bold, to say the least. His gaze fell to the floor as a wave of humiliation washed over him. If she had run off at that moment, he would've understood. However, as he gathered the courage to look up once more, he saw that she had stood still, eyes continuing to prod him for a better explanation. Swallowing the ever-growing lump in his throat, he leaned against the wall of his dormitory as he tried to find the words that would lead him down the slope. If it meant that he could find peace for one night, one hour, or even one minute, so be it.

"I need you here because…I am cursed. I'm cursed with an affliction I can't ever hope to cure. I feel like I'm at war with myself, and it haunts me to my soul."

Anakin paused, subconsciously holding his breath, unsure if he wanted to continue. All of this was most likely too heavy to hear, especially since she barely knew him. Did she care?

At that moment, as if to answer his silent query, she stepped forward and placed herself in front of him, standing so close he felt the warmth of her body. The scent of her freshly-washed hair polluted his senses, leaving him feeling melancholy. He watched in a trance as her brows furrowed in worry, tentatively lifting up her hand. Her fingers gently prodded at his cybernetic, outlining the broken casing. Once her curious eyes rose back up to meet his, there was a silent acknowledgment. Understanding. It gave him the push to keep going, to muster the strength to hold open the floodgates of his heart. He stopped holding his breath, his sorrowful gaze falling to the floor.

“I'm...completely lost. I've strayed so far from the path of the Jedi that I can no longer see it…and I am afraid I don't even want it. I'm constantly told that I shouldn't feel this way...that hurting is selfish, and that I should focus on the needs of others before my own, to live up to my prophecy," Anakin muttered, his tone turning bitter and his brows furrowing in anger at the last word.

"But how can I do that when I am disconnected from myself? When I don’t feel like the Chosen One? I don’t feel like anyone is choosing me.”

Anakin’s eyes traveled up her figure once more, her minuscule and simple movements making them glaze over with desperation. He found the way her shoulders gradually moved up and down with each breath captivating, the flutter of her lashes with each blink. He took her by the hand that was calmly tracing his forearm, enveloping it firmly in his. She watched him as her breath halted in suspense, her fingers seeming hesitant to move.

“I need you here, not because I expect you to fix me, but because I just need someone. Anyone. I need you to choose me, to touch me,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he watched her lace her fingers with his own. “Please, I need this...bittersweet taste of relief. I can't bear this alone anymore.”

After what seemed like an eternity of silence with their hands in each other’s, she let go, much to Anakin’s chagrin. However, she lifted her hand once again, gradually bringing her hand to his chest, laying it flat above his heart. The sensation sent waves of warmth across the bare skin of his chest, the rippling feeling leaving goosebumps in its wake. He was certain that she could feel the deafening pounding of his heart. A faint gasp left his lips as she began to slide her hand down to his abdomen, his muscles in that area tensing. He didn’t expect to feel this hyper-sensitive to someone’s touch.

She flinched a little at his reaction, causing her to stop her motions. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked up at him timidly.

“Is that okay?” she asked, her voice unsure, as if she was testing the waters.

Hearing her words, Anakin’s vision was obscured by his own tears…tears of relief. He savored the straining feeling in his chest and throat as he fought to hold back his sobs, thankful he was even feeling anything like that at all. A slow blink of his eyes betrayed him as a brief stream of hot tears slid down his cheeks, which she quickly wiped away with her free hand. She seemed rather flustered when that very action caused more tears to fall in succession, awkwardly wiping more tears as quickly as she should.

The act made Anakin chuckle briefly, nearly surprising himself with the sound. It seemed to surprise her too, in turn making her laugh along with him. Realizing that this warming feeling was contagious, they both began to erupt into giggling fits, ending with a hush from her, muttering something about “quiet hours”. Though it had seemed silly, Anakin had wished they never stopped.

Again, damn the Jedi with all their rules.

During her stay, they sat together at the foot of his bed as Anakin slowly began to unravel the darkness that had been plaguing him since Geonosis. They spoke in hushed murmurs, afraid that someone might find them together. Their conversation would cease at the mere sound of a distant footstep, the creak of the conditioning vent, and muffled voices from the other side of his dorm wall.

However, Anakin thought all the sneaking around to be worth it. Her presence and her conversation proved to help more than he could have hoped for. Soon enough, he was pleading for her to come back the next night. A shy expression overtook her features. Something around the lines of “You like me that much?” was uttered, and those very words ignited the beginning of an insatiable fire within him. Her wide, curious, and sparkling eyes continued to feed that very fire.

Anakin wasn’t too sure when he started to kiss her.

He wasn’t even aware of when they had closed so much distance between each other. However, her receptiveness pushed those questions far away, his thoughts taking form in the shape of her. A rush of emotions flooded through him, momentarily drowning out the misery that consumed his existence. In that singular, stolen moment, he felt a profound peace, something that he thought he might never experience again.

Every touch, every gentle brush against him sent electric currents coursing through his body. His senses were enveloped by her, reveling in the taste of her, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with his. Her hands began to clutch onto his frame desperately, her nails digging in and leaving red trails in their wake. The world around him slowly began to fade into insignificance, his focus narrowing to the raw sensation of being alive, of feeling something so intensely beautiful. For that fleeting moment, Anakin allowed himself to be consumed by this sinful, blissful indulgence of the present. It was a sanctuary from his own mind. After a lifetime of monochrome, he was overjoyed to feel anything at all. It was a bittersweet joy, knowing that this kiss was fleeting, and that it came at a heavy cost. As their lips reluctantly parted, Anakin’s mind was only filled with anticipation for the next. He watched her, his eyes filled with a mixture of reluctance and longing, as she began to pull away, her breath slightly ragged. A part of him wants to hold onto her desperately, to stop the inevitable departure. “Wait,” he called out, his voice feeble and vulnerable as he cautiously took her hand in his. “I-i…don’t want you to go. This is…it's everything to me.”

Anakin hated how desperate he sounded in his pleas, embarrassed at the state Geonosis had reduced him to. He almost despised the fact that he needed this…that the Chosen One needed someone else to feel so alive. But the way she flooded his mind was such a high for him, and he never wanted to come down.

“Please,” he begged, his voice nearly giving out as his eyes began to glisten. “I know the risk you’d be taking, but…one more night, please. The same time, tomorrow night. We can figure out what to do then.” He watched as her resolve wavered, noting the longing in her eyes. Anakin knew she felt a pull to him as well, it’s what caused her to come and investigate him in the first place. As she took a deep breath, his thoughts came to a halt, ensuring utter silence to hear what she had to say. “Okay, Skywalker. One more night. But…if we get caught, it’s on you,” she scolded, her arms crossing.

Anakin found her attitude endearing, answering her with a simple nod. Despite her playful nature, he understood the weight of her words. He leaned in, allowing his forehead to rest against hers, enjoying the subtle heat that radiated from her, a stark contrast to the cold room they were in. Pulling away with a lingering touch and a final gaze, they parted ways. As the door closed behind her, a profound sense of emptiness washed over Anakin. Her absence only made him feel the weight of his desperation. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, and it nearly made him want to throw the door open and chase after her. However, as much as he desired that, he couldn’t bring himself to.

As he returned to his empty bed, he decided he would just have to wait until she would return, his newly found moonlight, who had illuminated his dark and harrowing night, who had caused the waves in his heart to surge and swell.

He found comfort in the fact that the moon would always return to the sky.

As each night passed, their next clandestine meeting was what occupied Anakin’s thoughts. Every single moment until then felt like an eternity, nearly stretching his patience to the limit. His thoughts were never without her.

It was especially bad whenever he would sit in the Temple’s garden and meditate with Obi-Wan.

The afternoon after that encounter with her, Anakin and Obi-Wan sat cross-legged across from each other, eyes closed as they sought inner peace with the Force.

Anakin struggled to quiet his mind, to let go of the constant longing that plagued him. He tried focusing on his breathing, to sink into stillness, but the image of her under the moon invaded his every thought. Her face, her touch, her taste, her warmth–it consumed his mind like a raging wildfire.

As Obi-Wan searched through his own mind, he couldn’t help but sense a disturbance. A subtle ripple, a flicker of distraction that emanated from his young apprentice. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to search for what was troubling Anakin.

After a while, Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes, gaze fixed on his padawan as his gentle voice broke the silence. “Anakin, I sense something is weighing on your mind. Is everything alright?”

Anakin’s eyes remained closed, feeling sweat break out on the nape of his neck as he fought to maintain his composure. Why did Obi-Wan even bother asking? He was never going to tell his master, and he knew that. That didn’t prevent the feeling of guilt that started to accompany the flurry of his emotions. “I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin responded after a beat of silence. “I’m just…worried about my knighthood. That is all.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened, his eyes taking on a knowing, yet understanding look. Of course, he knew his apprentice hiding something. He would consider himself a bad master otherwise. He could feel the turmoil radiating from Anakin, yet his desire to remain elusive. He wanted to respect his privacy, but his duty as a mentor compelled him to push further.

“Anakin, you know it is one of my many responsibilities to guide and support you, but I cannot do that if you hide things from me,” Obi-Wan said. “Whatever it is, just remember you don’t have to face it alone.”

With that, Anakin’s eyes fluttered open before meeting his master’s, a mixture of guilt and longing to open up to him. He hated that he was in an order where judgment and the potential consequences of desire prevented him from confiding in his mentor, his best friend, his brother.

“Believe me, master, I am more than thankful for your concern. But this…this is something I have to figure out on my own,” Anakin replied, his voice displaying a hint of vulnerability. “I will be fine.”

Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. He knew that part of becoming a Jedi involved navigating your own path, but he couldn’t help but feel like there were deeper issues at play. However, he was willing to let it go for the sake of supporting his apprentice.

“Very well, young Skywalker,” he conceded, a touch of sadness in his voice. He reached over to give a reaffirming pat to Anakin’s shoulder. “I trust that you find your way, as you always do. Don’t forget that I am here, whenever you need me.”

Anakin nodded, letting his eyes fall shut once more as he continued to “meditate”.

Still, his moonlight danced through his mind, and he could only think about how long it would be until he could see her shine again.

a/n: ao3 saw it first! inbox is open!!

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #angst #hurt/comfort #forbidden love #anakin skywalker x fem!reader #anakin skywalker needs a hug #anakin x reader #fem!reader #clone wars #he also needs therapy #and an arm

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its-the-pilot · 7 months

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Waves | 5 | Rooster x Reader

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

Thanks everyone for all the support so far, hope you're liking it!

Summary: You and Bradley meet up after work. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: swearing, adult banter

Length: 2.8k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Message or comment to join the taglist!

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Chapter Five

As the sun set over Coronado, you strolled along the beach with Bradley, heading toward the cantina. The weather was perfect, with the day’s heat giving way to a gentle breeze that played with the loose strands of hair from your bun. There was a comfortable silence between you, no need for words, no reason to rush. You were simply enjoying each other’s company and the breathtaking sunset.

When you arrived at the cantina, you were welcomed by its cozy atmosphere. “This is really nice,” Bradley smiled, pulling out your chair as you settled in, gazing out at the ocean.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” you quipped, appreciating the gesture as he took his seat across from you. The server arrived a moment later to take your drink orders, allowing you both time to peruse the menus. “I’ll have a margarita and a shot of tequila.” Bradley flipped to the beer section of the menu and looked it over. “A Modelo for me, thanks. And some chips for the table?”

The server nodded and left you alone at the table. The deck was full of patrons, the ambient music and conversations at the perfect volume for you to talk.

“How was your day? Not too stressful, I hope.” Bradley inquired, tucking his Ray-Bans into his tank top’s collar again now that you were seated. His eyes remained fixed on you, even though the Pacific Ocean’s sunset was just to his left. “Getting aviators to talk about their feelings isn’t always a walk in the park.”

You shook your head and chuckled. “No, it’s never easy, but getting them to talk about themselves is a piece of cake. The day wasn’t bad though, just long. Actually, it went a lot faster after you texted me.”

“Really? I’m glad,” he replied, thanking the server when he brought your chips and drinks to the table. He popped the cap off his beer and took a long pull of it, watching you intently as you downed your tequila shot followed by a sip of your margarita. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, soaking in every detail of your appearance, comparing it to the memory he’d held in his mind for the last fourteen years. “You’re gorgeous, you know?”

“Oh, stop,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. While guys had complimented your looks before, you’d never seen it in yourself. Compared to the women chasing tags around the Hard Deck you felt ordinary, but it didn’t really matter. Your career was your priority, and you’d long given up on relationships. “I’m sure you’ve got more attractive women swarming around you back home.”

Bradley shrugged, taking another drink as he contemplated your words. “Sure… but not ones that mean anything.”

You took a long moment to process his answer, looking down at the menu. Thankfully before you felt pressured to say anything the server returned, taking your orders for food. “I’ll have the skirt steak fajitas and another margarita, please.”

“I’ll try the chile relleno,” Bradley ordered, handing both your menus over. He decided in that moment that he would remain sober so he could get you home safely, distinctly remembering your low tolerance for alcohol. But you were an adult, and not his to lecture. If you wanted to drink, he would let you. “And a couple waters, if you don’t mind.”

Nodding, the server disappeared into the crowd again, giving you the opportunity to change the subject. You ran your finger over your upper lip and then pointed to his mustache, smirking. “When did this happen?”

He touched the hair on his lip and chuckled. “Five, six years ago, maybe,” he replied. “Tried it out and it stuck. Why? Is it bad?”

You shook your head with a soft smile. “No. No, I like it. It suits you.” Finishing your margarita, you set it to the side for when the server returned before continuing. “Reminds me of those pictures of your dad that Uncle Pete had around the house.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, only for it to fade as soon as you mentioned your uncle. Maverick was still a touchy subject that made his blood boil, even after so many years. He looked out to the water as he worked to control his temper, the pinks and oranges in the sky fading into purples and blues as the sun dipped below the horizon.

He noticed you fidgeting with your napkin anxiously in his peripheral and cursed himself for causing your discomfort. Swallowing his pride, he turned his attention back to you and reached across the table to gently still your hand with his own.

“I’m sorry,” you replied quietly, meeting his hazel eyes. “I didn’t--”

He stopped you with a shake of his head, his calloused thumb brushing the soft skin on the back of your hand. “Don’t worry about it. I… I shouldn’t get so upset. Especially not at you. He’s your uncle, it makes sense for you to talk about him.”

You turned your hand over beneath his, giving it a reassuring squeeze as you shrugged. “We don’t talk much anymore,” you admitted, reluctantly releasing his hand when the server arrived to set your plates on the table alongside your margarita and the waters Bradley had ordered. Once you were alone again, you continued. “He’s somewhere in the Mojave, Ice manages to get us together at Christmas but that’s pretty much it.”

“He's trying to be the peacemaker, I guess,” he commented, taking a bite of his food. “He calls every so often, letting me know how you and Maverick are doing. Conveniently left out that you were here though.”

“Yeah…” you shook your head, taking a long drink from your margarita. “He also failed to mention that you were coming. Now I wonder if he did that on purpose.”

Bradley laughed, finishing his beer. “So he’s pulling a Parent Trap on us.”

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?” You chuckled, shaking your head at the thought. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, he’s always trying to fix things.”

A comfortable silence fell over the table as you both turned your attention back to your meals, enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant. You couldn’t help but steal glances at the man across from you, a stark contrast from the boy you had known all those years ago, yet still the same in so many ways. It was in these moments, while he was focused on his food, you noticed the scars on the left side of his face and neck, curious as to their origin.

Bradley felt your eyes on him and looked up, offering a questioning look when your expression changed. “Do I have food on my face?”

“Actually, you do a little,” you said, reaching out with your napkin to dab a bit of sauce from his chin. “But I… I just noticed your scars.” The last part came out quietly, and part of you hoped he hadn’t heard it, unsure of whether or not he was self-conscious about them.

His hazel eyes didn’t leave yours as you cleaned the sauce from his face and asked about his scars. He knew it was only a matter of time before you asked about them, and he wasn’t going to lie about their origin. “I, uh… I spiraled a bit when I was at UVA. Drank a lot… did a lot of stupid shit that I regret now, but I didn’t know how to cope.”

Bradley paused for a moment, gauging your reaction before he continued. You had moved your hands back to your lap, listening intently as he told his story. “When I was a sophomore, my friend was driving me home after I got blackout drunk at a party and he crashed the car. I don’t even remember what happened that night, but the doctors said I was lucky that I wasn’t hurt worse.”

“Bradley…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you covered your mouth with your hand. Tears welled in your eyes, his experience bringing back memories of losing your parents in a car crash when you were a kid. “This… it wasn’t in your file.”

Seeing the tears in your eyes, Bradley moved his chair closer and reached out to hold your hand, understanding that his story had touched a nerve. He knew that you were thinking about your parents, and he wanted to offer comfort in any way he could. “I was in school, so I didn’t report it. The scars pretty much healed on their own and no one asked any questions.”

Taking a shaky breath, you raised your hand to gently trace the scars on his cheek and neck, barely brushing your fingertips over them. “I’m okay,” he reassured you, his voice rough with the feel of your fingertips on his skin. “They don’t hurt.”

You bit your lip, continuing to trace the scars for a moment before letting your hand fall back to your lap. The combination of the emotional conversation, the margaritas, and your close proximity to Bradley left you feeling lightheaded. “I… can we…”

Before you could finish your thought, Bradley signaled the server for the check. “Here, drink this,” he said, pressing your glass of water into your free hand, recognizing that you needed to sober up a bit.

When the check arrived, he quickly settled it by tossing a few bills on the table. Then, he stood and offered you his hand to help you to your feet. “Ready to go?”

Nodding in agreement, you took his hand and stood. His touch sent a shiver down your spine as he placed a gentle hand on the small of your back, leading you down to the beach to start the walk back toward the Hard Deck. The sun had fully set, successfully hiding your flushed pink cheeks as you moved away from the light of the cantina.

It couldn’t hide when you stumbled into a hole in the sand, however, sending you into Bradley’s side. His sharp reflexes aided him in steadying you, his strong arm wrapping around your waist. “Woah there, you okay?”

“Oh, God… I’m such a klutz,” you grumbled, looking up to him with a shake of your head. “I’m fine, just beginning to think that the last margarita might have been more than I needed.”

He stood with his arm around you until you pulled away, patting his chest in thanks before starting to walk again. “Careful,” he warned, staying close to your side.

You chuckled, looping your arm through his to ease his worry. “Are you this sweet to all the girls back home?”

“Hey, I’m a nice guy,” he replied, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Wait… are you asking if I’m single?”

You scoffed, turning your attention to the waves for a long moment in an attempt to prove you didn’t really care one way or the other. It failed miserably when you looked back up at him, deciding you needed the answer after all. “Are you?”

“I… uh…” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he thought about his response. His relationship history wasn’t something he was proud of, and it certainly wasn’t something he bragged about. “Well, I’ve had, you know… partners, I guess. I mean, no… nothing right now.”

The walk continued in silence as you processed his reply, the alcohol in your system making it difficult to focus while simultaneously emboldening you. “So… have you ever been in love?”

There wasn’t any hesitation this time before he answered honestly. “Yeah, with you.”

Your head turned to look up at him again, surprise written across your features. “That was fourteen years ago, B.”

“What can I say?” he chuckled, looking down at you. “You set a high bar.”

“Are you seriously suggesting I’m the reason you’re alone?” you asked, stopping in your tracks and pulling away..

Bradley stopped when you did and turned to face you. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he teased. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the all too familiar way your cheeks reddened when you were frustrated, which really only made you more upset.

“What? Why are you laughing?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him. It was mind boggling to you, especially in your inebriated state, that he could blame you for his relationship problems after he was the one who left.

He was still chuckling as he replied. “I don’t know, I guess I just… I miss this. Our banter. You care so much, Dimples. You can’t help yourself.”

You huffed in frustration and began walking again, brushing past him. “I should go.”

“Wait, what?” he asked, following after you, his height giving him an advantage in being able to catch up.

You continued walking, paying no mind to whether or not he caught up, your focus solely on getting home. “This is dangerous,” you admitted, your body tingling from the alcohol earlier. “We’ve had drinks, and somehow you’ve managed to get better looking with age, which is so annoying. You couldn’t have gone bald or gained weight or something?”

“Stop, stop.” Bradley reached for your arm, gently putting an end to your rant. Once you turned toward him, he pointed off to the side, revealing that you had arrived at the Hard Deck. “C’mon, let me take you home.”

“I can walk, it’s not far,” you insisted, feeling a little embarrassed by your outburst.

He lifted your chin with his thumb and forefinger, locking eyes with you. “You’re drunk, I’m not letting you walk home this late by yourself,” he said firmly, sending a warm shiver down your spine with his voice.

Nodding was all you could manage at that point, letting him lead you to the parking lot where his Bronco was waiting. He opened the passenger door and helped you inside before taking his place behind the wheel. The familiar scent of the truck and the soothing rumble of the engine brought a smile to your face.

“Lots of memories in here,” you mused, running your hands over the leather seats as Bradley followed the GPS on your phone to your house. Reaching up to pull down the visor, you flinched when a photo fell out, hitting you in the face just as the truck came to a stop outside your bungalow.

Flipping the picture over, you bit your lip and brushed your thumb over it. It was a photo of you and Bradley at his senior prom, you in a dark red floor length gown and him in a tuxedo with a matching bow tie. “I can’t believe you still have this,” you mumbled, looking over at him when he opened the passenger door.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, taking your hand and helping you down from the truck. He accepted the photo when you handed it back to him, tucking it safely back into the visor. “It’s one of the only pictures I have of us together.”

You remained silent as he walked you up to the door, taking your keys when you fumbled them and unlocking the door for you. Handing you back the keys, he leaned against the column, his hands in his pockets. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Me too,” you smiled, tucking the keys back into your bag and stepping toward him. Your eyes slowly traced his face before leaning in and giving him a tender kiss, your hand resting against his strong jaw.

He didn’t move, allowing you to control the pace of the kiss. When you pulled back and put your fingers to your lips, he removed a hand from his pocket and reached up to stroke your cheek. “You sure this is what you want?”

You nodded, leaning in to give him another kiss, your fingers gripping the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. His hand slid up to cup your neck this time, thumb brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear.

When you finally broke away, he searched your eyes with his hazel ones. “You okay?” he asked, shaking his head when you only nodded once again. “Need to hear it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I just… need to take it slow,” you admitted, your fingers playing absently with the collar of his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he promised, brushing his nose against yours before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, Dimples.”

Leaning into his soft lips on your forehead, you smiled. “Goodnight, Bradley. Thank you.”

He reluctantly pulled away and carefully stepped off the porch backward on his way back to his truck, never taking his eyes off of you. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” you replied, watching him climb into the truck and start it up. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you waved as he backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. As his taillights disappeared, you turned and went inside, knowing that this marked the beginning of a new chapter.

Chapter Six

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun

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icarustypicalfall · 5 months

Text

Dangerously yours

Simon Ghost Riley

summary: "In the depths of his being, he eluded your grip. For the first time in an eternity, he allowed himself to pursue it, to chase after its essence, and to surrender his very core to its consuming power."

warnings: poetic?, sfw, simon is a mysterious man

notes: happy two months to this account!! tysm for everyone who helped me make it this far, ily <3

don't judge this fic, first time writing about our silly ghost, hope it matched his character.. I'd appreciate any advices about him <3

✧･ﾟ: *. ✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･.°•･ﾟﾟ・゜゜・．•

..We lay here for years or for hours,

So long we become the flowers..

The sky was dark, lightning struck through the clouds, and rainfall ensued. Simon nudged your side, urging you to move closer. There was no place where you and he felt more vulnerable and free than this hill, nestled deep in the forest, where the sky and ocean meet. You swung your legs lazily, gazing at the rocks and trees below in the piedmont. A sense of peace washed over you as you let your gaze roam amidst the tempestuous nature.

The ground felt harsh beneath your palms and tender flesh, yet you paid it little attention. It still offered more softness in some ways than the harsh reality that enveloped you and your teammates each day.

Droplets of rain began to pour, and neither Simon nor you moved an inch.

His face remained still, as it always did, concealing a raging war within his soul that only you had caught a glimpse of.

Even after all these years, you still managed to recognize the face beneath that mask. Countless times, you had brushed your fingertips against the tender skin of his face.

No words were needed; you had made a promise before unveiling the true nature hidden within his soul and heart.

Before joining the task force, you never realized the depth of silence's language. It was only after warming up to your cold lieutenant that you truly grasped this reality.

At first, Simon completely ignored you, pushing away that tightening feeling in his chest. He didn't want to form attachments. He yearned for your love more than his next breath, yet he was not prepared for the consequences that came with a relationship. It wasn't death he was afraid of; no, it was the thought of losing you.

He refused to acknowledge his feelings, choosing instead to watch over you from afar like the ghost he was. He observed you, maintaining a distance for his own sake. The mask on his face was a source of gratitude, concealing the chuckles that would arise when you acted smart with the captain or teased Johnny about his accent during dinner. Not to mention the countless pranks you and Gaz had shared, along the desk duty afterwards.

There was something special about you that he couldn't quite grasp. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to pursue it, to chase after it, and to let it consume his very being.

Just like when he trained rookies every Tuesday morning with you. You were always ahead, never once late. He admired that about you, along with the many other qualities that made you irresistible in the eyes of the stoic lieutenant.

He barked orders at the rookies, firm and precise, waiting for them to shoot and miss. It happened more than once, and he swore he would lose his mind over these thick-skulled soldiers who couldn't hit, for gid sake, a single unmoving target. You, on the other hand, gracefully moved between the rookies, like a poised zephyr, gently instructing and assisting the nervous ones and helping them avoid the angry man.

You and Simon were different, yet somehow the same mud, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

You were calm; an ocean of tranquility that concealed a past that nothing could erase.

Simon was calm; a dark sky that promised a raging storm to follow.

Simon was the shifting sands, always changing. You, on the other hand, remained constant. A loyal sergeant, "a collected lassie" as Johnny affirmed, "with a witty sense of humor", as Gaz added. Captain Price simply nodded, his gaze shifting from your figure training away from them to the Ghost standing nearby, who murmured softly, finally releasing something he didn't realize he would ever say. "And great eyes."

The captain understood. Years of serving alongside the Ghost had given him some insight into the man, not entirely, mind you, but enough to comprehend what troubled him.

Love, Attraction, Affection...

Words with which Simon was well-acquainted, he comprehended the concept of love, had experienced it, and had been loved in return.

However, it was not until that fateful day in Mexico, when you tended to his wounded abdomen in a safe house, disregarding your own injuries and focusing solely on his, that he truly grasped the profound meaning of the word. As your fingertips skillfully treated his scarred skin, he felt an indescribable sensation, causing goosebumps to rise.

Assuming his hand was on his heart due to a chill, you were unaware that his heartbeats were overpowering him, igniting an intense fire within his body. Embarrassed by this overwhelming surge of emotions, he made every effort to regain his composure, even as his mind raced with thoughts. After you finished patching his stomach, aware that the lieutenant would not say much, you stood up. But a firm grip on your wrist halted your departure, causing you to sit back down as instructed. "wait," he ordered firmly, yet you still felt a certain uncertainty and a faint plea in the word.

He removed his mask, discarding it carelessly. You were already familiar with his face, so it came as no surprise when his fatigued grey eyes met yours. A trickle of blood across his temple caught your attention, prompting a frown to appear on your face. "Are you injured?" you asked, scanning his head for any signs of damage, but finding none. Your hand instinctively reached out to cup his temple, wiping away the trace of blood from a tiny cut. "Here?"

He blinked, releasing a long sigh before taking hold of your hand. Anticipating that he would push it away, you were surprised when he instead brought it to his chest, allowing it to rest gently on the tattered remains of his black shirt, directly above his heart. In a husky whisper, his eyes locked with yours, he uttered, "Here..."

Simon Riley was a mysterious man, but you understood that there were limits to what you needed to know. You did not delve into his past, and he was immensely grateful for your discretion. Through your affection and care, you enveloped him in a love that made him truly comprehend its profound essence. His previous notions of love as a curse, afflicting unfortunate individuals and functioning as a poison that consumed their thoughts before leading them to their demise, were now replaced with a newfound understanding. You made him experience a love unlike any he had encountered before.

Simon's gentle nudge, firmer this time, brought you back to the present. He offered a weary smile, his once dark grey eyes now lighter since the time you began your relationship, meeting your gaze. Sensing his touch on your face, not forceful but enough to capture your attention, you felt his calloused fingers, marked by their service, trace across your cold, rain-kissed cheek. "You are beautiful," he murmured.

You had heard this phrase countless times before, whether from colleagues, friends, or past lovers. Yet, when it rolled off his tongue, it felt different. You nodded, acknowledging the sentiment and allowing it to infuse your soul with peace and affection.

He coughed, fidgeting with his free hand in his pocket. Resting your head on his shoulder, you basked in the warmth that radiated from him, embracing you tightly. Your hand trailed along his knee, lightly patting his wet, dark jeans. Taking a deep breath, you felt the rain wash away your sorrows.

Simon cupped your free hand, delicately sliding a familiar metallic band onto your finger. Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at the man beside you and the exquisite ring adorning your hand. The black diamond shimmered, and you would have wagered it cost more than your monthly paycheck. He smirked, whispering softly as he pressed his lips against your hand, now adorned with the piece of jewelry

"Yes?"

A cry escaped your lips as you tightly embraced him. You knew he smiled, his hand resting gently on your back, providing a comforting pat.

In choosing to spend another chapter of his life with you, he desired nothing more than to be with you for the remainder of this lifetime.

Every part of him felt incomplete, yet he willingly entrusted you with the fragment that he still possessed. He believed that you would vanquish the darkness that plagued his heart, allowing the radiance of love to fill his chest.

Like a gentle butterfly, you landed upon him, kissing his heart and soul, declaring it your eternal abode.

He did not require a metallic band to prove your connection, for you had known it long ago and had been living it ever since.

Nevertheless, he felt an irresistible urge to offer you something, a grateful whisper, a constant reminder, in case he did not return one day, or in case you needed to fend off unwanted attention. He wished to claim you as his own because he was dangerously yours.

MASTERPOST

𓆩♡𓆪 kindly like and rebelog 𓆩♡𓆪

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storiesoflilies · 2 months

Text

to love the sea

pairing: modern!bucky barnes x f!reader.

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of smut and nudity.

a/n: originally posted years ago on my old blog @theoldlily (previously honeybabybarnes). i worked really hard on this, so it deserves to see the light of day again! please enjoy.

James Buchanan Barnes had once met the sea and it was, without a single doubt, the most precious memory of his entire life.

It was not particularly special, the way they had come to know each other, but it was strangely momentous in its own way. After all, how could he have known that it would have such an impact on his life? It was not even an out of the ordinary day, the hot Spanish sun beat down upon the crowded streets of Valencia, and James had to squint to keep the rays from glaring into his eyes.

It wasn’t an electrifying, heart stopping, moment in time when their eyes briefly met, nor was there any immediate sensual chemistry threatening to explode. No, what struck James so much was how ordinary it was, like the coolness of lovely frothy waves lapping against a sandy shoreline. It was a refreshing breath of air, and he couldn’t help but go and pursue whatever this feeling was.

She was an artist, that much was obvious from the various paintings surrounding her stall, but my god, was she the best one James had ever seen. Not that he was an expert on the subject, but he knew what made a painting truly stand out from just a pretty picture. Or maybe that was just his attraction simply speaking, but he chose not to dwell on it too much.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely, the left corner of his lip curling upwards ever so slightly, a happy twinkle in his cerulean eyes.

“Morning, sir,” she smiled, showing just little sliver of her pearly white teeth. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

James shrugged his shoulders at first, then his right hand softly patted the painting that had caught his eyes the most when he caught sight of her stall. It was an oil painting on canvas, of a rocky seaside with enormous crystalline blue waves clashing against the shoreline, with white seagulls fluttering about in the sky above the ocean. It was not as grand as some of her other pieces, but he took a liking to it anyways, probably because it wasn’t as noticeable as the rest.

“How much for this one?” He inquired, flipping it around for her to see.

She smiled sweetly, albeit a little wistfully, and James suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about that painting.

“Ah, a little gem among treasure,” she grinned, her fingers gently caressing the paint strokes on the canvas. “I was wondering when someone would take an interest.”

“I think it’s nice,” James said quite plainly, cringing internally when he thought of a thousand other better words to describe it.

She hummed in agreement, placing her left palm across her cheek as she thought, and James took this tiny moment to purely admire her. The strands of her beautiful tousled hair falling out of place, two simple silver rings glinting on her left index finger, her smooth and even skin tone against her radiant eyes.

“Twenty five euros,” she suddenly stated, unknowingly pulling him out of his train of thoughts of admiration for her.

“Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly, almost sure in his head that it must be worth much more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and James decided then and there that he didn’t like that look upon her face at all, and would do whatever it took to take it away.

“I know the worth of my work, sir,” she said tensely, her lips pursed together, annoyance flashing like a warning sign in her eyes.

James shook his head quickly, “Please no, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just meant that it looks like it’s worth at least twice as much.”

She nodded her head in understanding as she realized what he was trying to say, the irritation quickly fading away from her facial expression, and James almost sighed in relief.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, an almost teasing tone lacing her words. “But I’m not here to make more money than I deserve.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard somebody say that,” James chuckled, and she laughed pleasantly as she took the wad of cash from him, not forgetting to kindly thank him for his purchase.

James didn’t want to go just quite yet, he really wanted - no, needed - to see this ethereal woman again. There was a little niggling sensation in the back of his head, warning him not to act like a lovestruck fool, but he ignored it in favor for the relishing joy that came with him throwing all caution to the wind.

“Do you mind if I come to collect this later?” He asked earnestly as he possibly could. “I’m sort of running late for work, and I don’t want it to be at the mercy of someone’s spilt coffee.”

That last part was not a lie, James really was running late for work, but that was the last thing that mattered in his mind. She gasped in mock horror, her hands dramatically hovering over her mouth, before she laughed heartily. James heart beat just little faster in his chest, trying to thump it’s way out of his chest to put on a show that was just meant for her.

“Sure thing,” she chirped. “I close at four though, so be back a little bit before then yeah?”

He smiled charmingly, assuring her that he would do just as he was told, giving her a little wave of farewell as he left while reality caught up to him, and he was off running towards his priorities.

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once fallen in love with the sea, and it was as liberating as birds falling from the tallest treetops, only to spread their wings towards the sky at the last moment.

James felt like a bird, and she was his wind, lifting him up and taking him to places he had never been to before. After their first meeting at her stall, he had come back at precisely four o’clock to pick up the painting, and insisted on helping her bring her other items back to her apartment.

It was all perfect fairy tales and rainbows after that.

He took her to a quaint little restaurant beside the docks for their first date, famous for its fresh lobster and oysters, and almost did a double take when she admitted that she had never tried oysters. They laughed good naturedly as she ungracefully slurped them down, not that James minded that so much anyways, and she shyly covered the rosy blush spreading on her cheeks and nose as he smiled at her with his eyes full of emotion.

He walked her home afterwards, respectfully keeping his hand on the small of her back, and not once was too forward. James was used to the lustful side of a relationship, he was no stranger to sex and loosing himself in the pleasure, but he didn’t want to go down that path with her. She was different, a strong and mature woman who didn’t deserve the tasteless side of him who loved to please women. She deserved all of him, every fiber of his being, and he was ready to give to that to her whenever it felt just right for the both of them.

They met each other everyday when he finished work, and when she finished closing up her stall, and more often than not, they ended up at one or the others place. Well, James had his own house, but he didn’t mind going to her run down apartment block either. He was not a snob, much to her delight, and relished in being a part of her life just a little bit more. Finding out all the bits and pieces about her, funny habits and quirks - what made her human - was one of his new favorite pastimes.

James realized he was falling in love with her when she was painting.

She was sitting on top of his newspaper covered carpet, her only tools were her various paint colors and a single paintbrush. He couldn’t see what she was doing, her back was against his crème suede sofa, while he sat behind her with his legs comfortably spread.

“What are you working on this time?” He asked softly, his eyes flickering from the TV screen to her.

She lightly smacked his thigh, and he let out a sound of protest, and she giggled, “Not yet.”

“Fine,” he said in a resigned tone, his curiousity growing by the minute.

After a good half an hour, she excitedly clapped her hands together, then hastily checked to see if any paint had splattered on the sofa. James snuck a peak at her canvas, and she glanced up at him as he did so, judging his reaction.

The painting was simple. She had used acrylic paint, and it was just a single picture of a pair of blue eyes - his. From the slight curl of his thick dark eyelashes, to the little wrinkles beside the corners of his eyes when he smiled too hard, and to the deep blue storm held within his irises.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded his head vigorously, gently grabbing both sides her head and planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. She grinned widely, he could feel her pulse quicken as his hands lightly rested against her neck, while an attractive red blush graced her whole face.

If he had to call the blissful time they had together after that, it would be the honeymoon stage. They never left one another’s side, it almost pained him to leave her to go to work in the morning, even though he would see her again only a few hours later. That was what James thought love meant. The constant need to be around each other, to have his heart beat so hard against his ribs it hurt whenever he held her, to have his eyes constantly search through the crowd for her - even when he knew she wouldn’t be there. He thought this was how love was supposed to go, and who was there to tell him otherwise?

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once made love to the sea, and it was nothing how he thought it would turn out. It was all cold and violent, beating against him with all the cruelty of the Devil, drowning him beneath churning waters as he tried to swim towards the light.

It was silly really, how it began. James never really understood how it even begun, but it did. One day, she was kissing him and holding him, saying she returned his feelings wholeheartedly, and then, there was nothing at all.

He couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong, and he tried to correct all the possible options he came up with. Or maybe he hadn’t done something? Perhaps he had to figure it out, and then everything would be alright again. His heart started hurting, and not because it was filled with love anymore. He felt sick and empty, like a porcelain doll in a glass box. His family and coworkers noticed a change in him, but said nothing, because he was a grown man now, and men are supposed to take care of themselves.

Had she been having an affair? James chatistised himself for even thinking so, she was too honest of a person - it defied everything that she believed in - and he knew that all too well. But still, the love in his veins was turning to poison, and he couldn’t help but grow angrier towards her, as she became a shell of the person he once knew.

His family was right, he is a man, and all men have their breaking points.

She was sitting at his dining room table, slowly eating a bowl of leftover paella, probably thinking about all the ways to make herself scarce, when he strode over and gripped her chair from behind. He saw her back freeze up, her fingers tightly grip the fork in her hand, and he felt a little guilty for scaring her - but his heart had steeled, and he no longer cared for her meager feelings anymore.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t know what’s happening with you, but I’ve given you time to talk to me, and you still haven’t. I think it’s only fair if you explain why you’re treating me this way.”

She swallowed thickly, obviously nervous, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough of walking on eggshells around her at this point.

“I-I,” she stuttered. “I don’t know.”

James raised his eyebrows incredulously, and exclaimed, “What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been silent for the past month, and you don’t know why?”

She was quiet for a moment, formulating an explanation in her head. James could see her gears working, and impatiently tapped his fingers against the table as he waited for her to try and speak to him again. It was messed up, but he relished in the feeling of being in control of himself around her, even if it had to happen under these circumstances.

“I’m like this sometimes,” she started, placing her fork neatly against the bowl. “I get into things, and sometimes I think I know what I want, but then I ignore that part of me that says I’m wrong.”

James was beyond confused, not understanding how this was relevant at all, but she continued before he had the chance to interject.

“But then I met you, and I was so convinced that I wanted you. That you were finally the thing that was right for me, that you were made to fit me, but there’s still that part of me that’s telling me I’m wrong. That you’re not what I need, and that I don’t need you to make it easier, and I don’t want to feel that, because I feel I do need you-“

He shut her up with a sloppy wet kiss, fueled with the fire of his rage, and stoked with the smoke of her confusion. A flurry mess of tongues and hands and bodies, and there was nothing right about it when they became lost in each other that night. James gave her everything he had in him, trying to push his love for her back inside, but she would snap out of it and fight harder against him. She was only focused on the fight, the cruel battle for dominance between them, only caring about keeping up the illusion that she was the one in control of it all.

Afterwards, he thought she looked as if she was a painting. Her body was like water dripping from sharp icicles that melted against the burning heat of his skin, almost too painful for him to bear. Her breaths were irregular, the rise and fall of her chest clearly visible beneath the sheets. Her eyes were closed, and James didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming anymore.

He didn’t even know if he was alive, or completely numb on the inside.

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once understood what the puzzle of the sea was, and he had hated himself for years afterwards, for playing the part of the naive little boy playing with matches. He was just a another lost sailor in the ocean, trying to follow the trail of stars back towards home, only to be lulled into the dark depths of the ocean by the song of a siren.

He was clearing his house the morning after she left him, trying to rid himself of every trace of her scent and ghostly presence. Goddamn her to hell and back, she was the worst human being James had ever met in his life. He cursed her again and again, vigorously tearing apart the canvas painting of his eyes that he had found unceremoniously dumped in his garbage disposal, before violently throwing it straight on the floor after it almost felt like it was burning holes in his hands.

James was a man in pain who was learning, just as the rest of us are, how to process his loss. He didn’t know how he could forget someone who had changed his whole persona, let alone go back to the person he was before - not that he even remembered who that guy was anymore. If this is what love was, then James certainly didn’t want to feel it anymore, or go through any of it again. He opened the windows, the whispers of her ghost passing right through him and up into the sky, and clenched his fists tightly to his sides. It wasnt until he zeroed in on her painting of the sea hanging on the wall besides his TV, a haunting and horrifying piece of evidence of the crime scene, that it all clicked into place so smoothly in his mind.

James realized she was his sea, the limitless soul that was exactly what he wanted to believe was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was limitless, able to travel wherever she wanted to go, but completely incapable of bringing him with her. She was affected by the turning of the clock, of it standing still, and becoming forever trapped in a tank with no way out. She was violent and cruel, her anger was exactly like the waves crashing against the rocks of the painting, but she knew how to be a soothing presence when she wanted to. She needed comfort, she was still only human after all, and to know that she was needed by someone. She wanted to feel important, to be as powerful as a tsunami, to not be afraid to show who she really was - but could not, because then everybody would be afraid.

She was uncontrollable, and he wasn’t the one to attempt to control her. James had left her to be as free as she wanted to be, because that’s what he thought was what she wanted, and that was probably his mistake. Or not, maybe he just wasn’t enough for her. Maybe she wanted the moon instead, not a little sailor who she could douse into nothingness within a second. Perhaps she wanted to fly up and reach for the sky, to touch the stars and the luminous silver moon, who could tell her exactly who she was supposed to be to finally feel happy. He was only a man, who was he compared to the moon of her dreams? He suddenly felt small and insignificant, like a little speck of dust floating about in the universe.

James left the painting where it was, his home bearing it like a battle scar, and resumed the arduous task of picking up the broken pieces of himself - resigning himself to the fact that he was never going to be special enough to be the moon.

- fin -

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #my writing #marvel au #modern au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky smut #to love the sea

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marooncardiganlover · 8 months

Text

West Coast

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader

Word Count: Under 1k

Summary: Just another night on the beach with Finnick.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this, let me know if you did :)

The sun began its descent on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the sandy beach. Finnick Odair stood by the water's edge, his gaze fixed on the gentle ebb and flow of the waves. The salt-laden breeze tousled his hair as he inhaled the familiar scent of the sea.

You found yourself drawn to his presence, captivated by the way the fading light seemed to accentuate his chiseled features and the deep, reflective look in his sea-green eyes. As if sensing your gaze, he turned to you with a soft smile.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, his voice carrying the soothing melody of the ocean's rhythm.

You nodded, your heart skipping a beat. "It's breathtaking."

Finnick's smile widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "There's something about the simplicity of the beach that's always drawn me in. It's a stark contrast to the extravagance of the Capitol, but I find beauty in its serenity."

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched towards the water. Finnick extended his hand toward you, a silent invitation. Without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, feeling the warmth of his touch against your skin. Together, you walked along the shoreline, the sand cool beneath your feet.

The lyrics of an unspoken connection seemed to weave between you, the silences between your words as meaningful as the conversation itself. With each step, you found yourself falling into a comfortable rhythm, as if you had known Finnick for far longer than you actually had.

Finnick's fingers interlaced with yours, his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "You know," he began, his voice soft, "this place reminds me of the moments between the chaos of the Games."

Curious, you looked up at him, urging him to continue.

"In the arena, the memories of the sea kept me grounded," he explained, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "The feeling of the sand, the sound of the waves—it was my way of holding onto a piece of home."

His vulnerability touched you, and you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're incredibly resilient, Finnick. To endure all of that and still find beauty in the simplest moments."

A genuine smile graced his lips, his eyes reflecting gratitude. "It's people like you who remind me why I keep fighting. The Capitol tried to break me, but they couldn't take away my appreciation for authenticity."

As the conversation flowed effortlessly, you realized that Finnick's charm was only a small part of what made him remarkable. With each shared story and exchanged laughter, the bond between you deepened. The night stretched on, the stars beginning to twinkle above, and it felt like time was standing still.

Eventually, the two of you settled on a piece of driftwood, shoulders brushing as you watched the stars come alive in the night sky. Finnick's arm found its way around your shoulders, creating a comforting and exhilarating connection.

Under the watchful gaze of the stars, you leaned into his embrace, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you. In the quiet moments between your shared words, you knew that whatever the future held, having Finnick by your side made it all seem a little less daunting.

As the waves continued their timeless dance, the whispers of the sea seemed to echo a promise of new beginnings. And as you listened to the symphony of the night, with Finnick's presence grounding you, you couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey, one that would be shaped by the tides of fate and the strength of your bond.

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infiniteko · 6 months

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hello!

i have been following your instagram since the beginning of 2023. at first, i barely understood anything. ego made up its own ideas, did not know the terminology’s, nor read from any respected gurus. this changed back in summer, as i began reading from many gurus. i took notes, then everything started to piece together. i saw how there was no method to materialize, how nothing could be true but “i am”. it was truly a marvelous experience. i feel as if non-dualism has done more for the egos well being, than any other entity. thank you so much for your continuous explanations to people’s questions, and just posting daily reminders. i look forward to your posts both on here, and on instagram!

that being said, i do have a question but i fear it is from the ego. i am unsure if when in the act of deciding, if it was through ego or self, however it was decided many times that i would observe a new ego, with a whole different life. i understand this life is an illusion of Maya. it has never really existed, yet it is being observed through Brahmin. This has been a repeated cycle for a couple months now. Deciding to wake up as a different ego, and if not happening. There is nothing Atman could do wrong. which leads me to wonder why i am still observing the old ego? this is also the ego speaking, however observing anything else, or materializing is very simple. it is instantaneous. but this one thing is just like a fish that doesn’t swim. ego’s actions, nor thoughts don’t matter since they are unreal and observed- but then why the incompetence of one materialization? ego has been pondering this, but it goes way with the response of “neti, neti.” i would greatly appreciate your feedback, thank you for all you do.

tashi!🕉️

i've always liked "neti, neti" = "not this, not that" or མེད་རང་རྟག་མེད (med rang rtag med) in tibetan because no matter what descriptions you read of your "SELF", it is nowhere near the actual Truth. If I say you're "awareness" , it is not true, your beyond that label. You're not this "awareness", you're not that "Self". You're nothing but also something; no-thing but even then, "you" can never ever be described in words.

Have you noticed that you jump between "this vs that" all the time? You say you "know" this is all Brahman but then you ask about the ego and why xyz isn't happening the way you want to. Then, you say you know you're not this, not that. You're contradicting yourself, it's a very easy trap!😄

"Ego" is only what you THINK you are. Fundamentally on a deeper level it has no existence of its own, no real reality. It is just a collection of thoughts. Thoughts are nothing, meaningless. What you call the "ego" is nothing.

If you forgot EVERYTHING you ever knew and lost all 5 senses, wouldn't you still have an effortless sense of existening?

You said: "this one thing is like a fish that doesn't swim", what made you come to this conclusion? Isn't All "THAT"? Where does the destinction between "hard" and "easy" come from? Aren't you imagining the concepts of hard vs. easy?

"Deciding to wake up as a different ego" How do you expect to wake up as something that fundamentally does not exist? Would it make sense to you if the ocean wished to wake up as a wave? Does a wave truly exist on its own or is it an illusory form the ocean takes on? What are both made of?💧

It sounds confusing because there is no other way to put it other than into limiting words but please read carefully 🙏🏻:

You think you are a physical person trying to get something physical. But for "THAT", all is "THAT". All is instantly "THAT" because "THAT" is all there is to begin with. Do you need any effort to be aware of the words you're reading right now or is it simply happening without anything to do? I'm NOT talking about understanding these words, i'm only talking about being aware of these words before anything else.

So it is with everything else. What you are "aware" of, Is. EVERY other interpretation is illusory. In order for you to come up with an interpretation, you must think imaginary thoughts first. Without thinking, is there anything to say against what you are aware of or is it simply happening now?

#advaita vedanta #awareness #brahman #atman #nondualism

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surrogate-fawn · 9 months

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May I... humbly suggest #17 for the ask meme 👀

The Outlaw's Labor (Wild West AU)

Prompt: "I really need to change position"

Characters: Fawn/Newt/Hassan, in a poly marriage. ((Newt & Hassan both belong to @mittysins))

Context: Fawn is the leader of an outlaw gang, and just so happens to be the only woman among them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was anything Fawn could appreciate about the desert, it was the transformation it made after dark. The unrelenting sun would shatter into twinkling silver pieces all across the sky, the burning sand would become a cool ocean of silk, and the lonely wind came alive with the sounds of nighttime critters.

Fawn heard the wail of a lone coyote somewhere off in the distance. It was separated from its pack, and that made them kindred spirits. She glanced down the hill at the dying embers of the campfire below her, and at the circle of men sleeping around it. Her own empty bedroll lay open in the formation of snoring bodies, between the two boys she'd taken as her husbands.

A small smile graced her lips as she watched her lovers' slumber from afar. Newt had placed his Stetson over his face while his head rested back on his saddle. Hassan lay curled on his side, his long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and the handle of a shiny revolver nestled in his fist. Fawn wondered how the man could be such a ball of nerves but still sleep so close to a loaded weapon.

Her hands moved to cradle the underside of her greatly swollen belly, its curve hardly contained by the fastenings of her shirt. The denim didn't have much give to it and -- even though it was one of Hassan's shirts -- it just barely fit her gravid bump . . . especially now that labor had dropped it low and heavy on her frame. The only sign of pain throughout Fawn's entire being was the shallow sway of her hips as she felt the next contraction starting.

She'd been "keeping watch" atop that hill for a few hours, laboring quietly to herself while gazing down the length of the canyon. It weren't no secret she was keeping; hell, her boys had known the baby was on its way since that afternoon. She'd mostly kept her discomfort to herself all day, until her husbands had asked what was wrong.

Newt had convinced her to make the gang camp early, to give herself plenty of time off Sidewinder's back before labor got too deep. She was grateful he'd talked some sense into her, because she'd been much deeper in labor when they made camp among the hoodoos than she'd been letting on.

It's not that the labor didn't hurt -- it sure as hell did! -- it just wasn't anything Fawn found herself unable to handle. Her reactions to the intensifying pain were so mild, her gang was under the impression her labor had only recently begun. Why cause a stir by correcting them? What on God's earth were those lawless men supposed to do with that information?

While the men of her gang sat around drinking and playing rounds of cards until sunset, Fawn and her husbands had moved to a more private area of the canyon -- where she could feel free to labor away from gawking eyes. Well, except four of 'em.

For the five hours the gang had lollygagged around camp before nightfall, Hassan and Newt had never left her side -- Hassan, especially. He was the one who had gotten her pregnant, there was no mystery there, and he took that responsibility as seriously has he handled his guns.

Hassan's hands trembled with anxiety every time Fawn furrowed her brow in pain, and he'd startled at every tiny groan she uttered. For such a talented and imposing gunslinger, he could act as frightened as a rabbit in a jackal's den. His fear was evident in the fact he never laid a hand on her -- he'd been hesitant to touch her in any way since he learned about the pregnancy, as if she'd suddenly become made of glass. Instead, he'd stood a few feet away and annoyed her with constant suggestions on how to make her labor "easier" -- all of which were total nonsense. Where he got the idea that drinking water somehow opened the womb, she'd never know.

Newt was a more hands-on in his support, offering his wife reassuring backrubs while she rested between contractions. Naturally, he had more innate sympathy to the kind of pain she was experiencing; but he was a bit over-eager to help ease it. He seemed to be under the impression that digging his hands into her sides somehow eased the pain -- when it, in fact, made it much worse. During a contraction, Fawn had needed to bark at him several times to stop touching her before he finally got the message. After that incident, Fawn just wanted to be left alone.

For all their sweetness, her boys had really started to try her patience by the time the stars came out. She'd managed to convince them to sleep for a while -- assuring them that once her labor "started picking up", she'd wake them.

Yeah . . . she never had any intention of doing that.

She'd brought a child into the world before, her husbands hadn't -- but goddamn, if they didn't act like they knew better than her. As the one most experienced in childbirth out of that whole gang of ruffians, Fawn qualified to be her own doctor. She knew what the subtle cues of her body meant as it slowly worked her new baby out of the womb -- that ancient language of birth between mother and child.

"Oh, you're fixin' to come out before sunrise," Fawn thought, internally speaking to her baby. She rocked her hips a bit wider, a huff of air leaving her nostrils as she felt the harsh pinch of her cervix being pulled further over the mass of her child.

The contraction faded away, and the outlaw leader rested her back against a rough pillar of stone -- one of hundreds surrounding their campsite. Auburn ringlets of her hair had escaped the pinned updo she tamed her curls in, falling loose throughout the day's sweat and toil; but now, even in the chill of the night, they clung to the back of her neck.

"Actually," Fawn thought, "you might be comin' a lot sooner than that."

Ever since that morning a pressure had been rolling into her hips like a thunderstorm on the horizon, getting louder and deeper every hour. Now, it was barreling over her.

Another contraction started less than a minute after the last one. Fawn pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow, her hands continuing to support the weight of her low-hanging belly. She felt the heft of her child moving down. With her own hands, she felt the rough outline of its shoulder resting just above the bony squeeze of her pelvis.

"Mmm-hmm, you're comin' a lot sooner than that."

Fawn shuffled around the edge of the rocky pillar, hiding herself from the view of camp behind an outcrop at its base. Her hands moved from her underbelly to her belt buckle as she doubled over with a breathy groan -- the contraction reaching its peak of intensity and refusing to let up. She shimmied her trousers and undergarments down to her knees and held herself in a supported crouch against the jagged rock, her hands splayed out to either side of her.

Lightning flashed behind her eyelids as they closed tight. The pressure was thundering and insistent, pounding on her bones with every heartbeat. Then, the storm inside her finally broke.

Fawn let out a soft sigh of relief when she felt her bag of waters rupture. The immense pressure lessened in an instant as a gout of hot fluid hit the cool sand with a dull splash. Fawn let her head lull back, thankful to the Lord above that she'd thought to remove her trousers before it happened; they were her only pair.

She had no hope of getting her boots and pants off in her condition -- her boys had needed to help her with that for weeks -- so why fret over it? Besides, this would make it easier for her to hike her clothes back up and head into camp once she was done. There was no reason to be indecent around her men . . . her authority was threatened enough as it was by her pregnancy.

To outside eyes, she looked every bit a woman in a desperate plight: outlawed to the wastelands, a price on her head, laboring with no assistance, and preparing to give birth with her most of her clothes still on; but Fawn was the picture of serenity.

"Alright, rugrat, your cushion's gone. Can't be very comfy in there now," Fawn thought with a flood of anticipation. "Are 'ya ready to come out now?"

She gave a few experimental pushes as she felt the next contraction ramping up. With the third timid push, she felt the cold night air enter her canal as her body started to flower open.

"Ooh, yeah," Fawn thought, adjusting her stance to be wider, "you're ready."

When the contraction reached its peak, Fawn pressed her boot heels into the soil and bore down with all her might. She held her breath until she was lightheaded, stopped to exhale, inhaled, and pushed again. Her nails dragged against the rock as her fingers spiked to find better purchase.

Fawn was able to wring about three good pushes from each contraction, but she lost count of how many she endured -- they were starting to bleed into each other. Excess fluid dripped from her folds as she silently worked her baby down. One long, deep push had her skin bulging out obscenely, the head finally slipping down to fill up her canal.

Pressing her back harder against the pillar, Fawn lowered herself into more of a squat, allowing her to bring her hands around. She swiped away the pebbles digging into her palms and put both hands between her legs to explore her progress.

She didn't need a doctor to tell her what was going on, Fawn could feel it all for herself. Her vulva was hot to the touch and firm as a stone wrapped in skin -- everything flushed with blood and straining with the pressure that would soon force it to open.

The pad of her left middle finger accidentally dipped into her enflamed opening, and Fawn let out an involuntary gasp as she felt a bit of damp hair sitting just inside her stretched perineum.

"Oh! Hey'ya, rugrat," she said inside her head. A small chuckle left her dry throat. "I wasn't expectin' 'ya to be there, yet."

Unbidden tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. It didn't matter if she was in the middle of the desert without a bed or a home to call her own, she felt much more at ease giving birth here than she had her first go-around:

Long before her days as "Fawn", she'd married young -- far, far too young in hindsight -- to a much older man. Her beautiful little Mercy had been born when Fawn herself was still little more than a child, and it had been an agonizing ordeal. Her daughter was yanked into the world with forceps by a doctor who was far too rough. The tongs had left indents on her baby's soft skull for days, and they'd left bruises in their wake. All that pain, all that trauma for them both . . . only for whooping cough to steal her daughter from her arms within the year.

Fawn tilted her head to gaze up at the milky way, and wondered if Mercy was anywhere among those flecks of light. Just to be safe, she blew a kiss to the sky. Then, she readied herself to deliver her second-born.

She reached into the back pocket of her trousers, pulling out the flask she'd snuck out of camp with her. Fawn twisted off the cap with her teeth and drenched her hands in the whiskey. A subdued grunt was the only sound she made as she threw her hands between her legs and dove into another push.

The top of her baby's head began to appear. Fawn's fingerpad traced its shape as it forced her opening to stretch, until that little patch of hair was the rough shape of a teardrop. Fawn pressed her hands to either side of her labia, cradling the bulging near-crown. As she pushed, she held the skin open in preparation of what was to come. It wasn't long until a sharper grunt left her strained throat -- the baby's head stretching her in earnest with her most recent push.

Fawn tried to relax her body as the stinging burn of crowning began, but her thighs and back were aching from holding a squat for so long. She turned her eyes back to the stars as a focal point, admiring their heavenly glow while she bore down on her baby.

Her fingertips lightly pressed on each side of the slimy, squishy bubble of hair as it opened into a proper crown. Long, deep breaths were the closest thing to a scream Fawn allowed herself as the ring of fire branded her between the legs.

Wider, wider, wider, she opened. With each push her fingertips were pulled further apart. God, how much of a head did this child have?! She should've expected the child to be large, Hassan was a biblical giant of a man. She tried opening her legs to make room, but her trousers acted as shackles, only allowing her knees to move about a foot apart.

Fawn threw her head back, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight against the pain she was feeling in every inch of her body now. She tried standing up straighter, but her legs refused to close. Fawn blew out a loud breath from pursed lips as she gave into another desperate effort. She continued to prod at the reddened, stretched skin around the emerging head, hoping to peel as much of it back as possible to move things along.

When she felt a large, trembling hand touch her knee, she didn't need to open her eyes to see who it was that had found her. It was Hassan. She knew his touch very well . . . the evidence of that was currently being born. She'd missed it.

But if Hassan had managed to find her out there in the dark, then where was...?

"We're here, darlin'," a soft voice came from the other side of her. A smaller hand touched her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Ah, there was Newt.

Fawn blinked her eyes open. Once her vision adjusted, the light from the stars and half-moon were enough to see by. She saw the worried creases on the faces of her boys as they knelt in front of her.

"Evenin', fellas," Fawn croaked out. It was the first sentence she'd said aloud in hours, and her voice was parched as her tongue. "You're just in time. The 'lil anklebiter's makin' an appearance."

The boys glanced at each other and almost in unison craned their necks to see between her legs.

Newt's face twisted in an odd mix of shock and awe. "Lord Almighty . . ." he murmured.

Hassan's tanned face went so pale he reflected the moonlight like a mirror.

Fawn whined, bucking her hips as she felt another contraction rearing its ugly head. "Boys, I really need to change position," she said, her tone amazingly subdued for the situation. "I can't . . . can't open my hips enough. Get my trousers off."

The boys leapt into action. Hassan removed her boots with practiced ease and both helped pull her bunched-up trousers the rest of the way down her legs. Freed from her cloth prison, Fawn sank the rest of the way to the ground, her legs falling wide open and bracing on each side of the rocky outcrop.

"God, that's better," Fawn sighed, finally feeling some of her muscles relax.

When their crowning child was fully revealed to them, Hassan put his hand over his mouth and his shoulder slumped against the rock.

"Don't you dare go dark on me, Has," Fawn scolded, her words pinched and breathless as she pushed into her hands. She paused to take in a huge gasp of air. "This is your doin', remember?"

It was as if the baby had been waiting on its fathers to be there, as suddenly every push Fawn gave sent the head surging forward. Even when the pain was at its worst, Fawn never lost her composure. She panted, she hissed, and she gave the occasional quiet groan; but otherwise, she voiced no complaints.

Her boys were still and silent, perhaps too unsure what to do to offer any more unsolicited advice -- thank God. At least they could see for themselves she knew what she was doing.

With the chirping crickets and hooting owls as her background music, Fawn managed to slide the head of her child free in just four more good shoves after changing position.

"Do . . . you need anything?" Hassan timidly asked.

"I just need y'all to be quiet."

It wasn't an insult. With a large head hanging out of her and shoulders already pressing their way through her pelvis, any sound louder than a whisper was making her nauseous.

Fawn breathed deep, her thumb lovingly stroking the cheek of her baby while she waited for their body to turn. She felt their face twitch under her fingers, their mouth opening in a cry that had no breath behind it yet.

"I know, rugrat. I know it's uncomfortable, I'm sorry," she thought, her breath coming in harsh huffs through her nose. "Mama's got 'ya, though. She's got 'ya and your daddies are both here waitin'. It'll be okay, sweetie."

With her next contraction, Fawn made it her mission to push until her baby was out; and, by God, birth that child she did -- feet pressing against rock, hips angled towards the sky, and with both fathers watching on in stunned and obedient silence. The shoulders pressed through one right after the other, and all Fawn had to do was give a gentle tug under the chubby arms once they came free.

The sand under her became drenched as the hips of the baby slipped free of her own. Fawn held the scrunched newborn up in front of her for a few seconds, giving it a quick once-over with her eyes. From what she could tell, he was perfect!

"Well, ain't you a handsome one?" she crooned, laying her son over her stomach. He squirmed face-down on the worn denim of her shirt, whimpering quietly. "Come on, you can do better than that," Fawn encouraged, giving his shoulders a rub.

The newborn must've been exhausted from the hours-long squeeze. He could still only muster enough life to whimper, until his mother gave him a flurry of harsh pats to the butt. Then, he finally cried.

With his very first breath, that little boy proved he had his mother's authority in his blood. Because forty feet downhill, the entire gang was woken to the sound of his cries.

It didn't matter if they'd been sound asleep, they were all going to know his Mama had a new reason to kick their asses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

((I'd love to receive more prompts for this AU! I'd love to get one that would allow me to continue with the family fluff after this birth scene. I would've added it to this drabble, but I didn't want to get too far away from the prompt/))

Hope you enjoyed!

#birth kink #fawn drabbles #mittysins #poly relationship #borrowed ocs #labor kink #Fawn/Newt/Hassan #Wild West AU #fpreg labor and birth #fpreg

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

Signed Away: Epilogue

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: smut-ish 18+, cursing, pregnancy.

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, or commented on any part of this story. I very much appreciate it, and I’m glad this was something people could enjoy and wanted to stick around for :)

Masterlist

Words: 3659

-----

“Jakey Seresin!”

You plopped down on your knees in the patchy wet grass, dirty droplets soaking into the fabric of your flowery dress and ruining the cream-colored tights covering your legs.

He heard you but didn’t stop molding the straight, raised path of solid mud in front of him, a couple feet long, smooth on top, and about five inches in width. You watched his mud-caked fingers work, tilting your head like a puppy searching for understanding. With a twig he drew a careful line down the center of his creation, then he tossed the stick aside and stretched an arm high so the toy airplane he held could soar above both of your heads.

"I wanna marry you," you said when he still hadn't acknowledged you.

Jake’s eyes followed the plane, but his nose wrinkled in disgust. “No way. I’m never getting married.”

“Why?” you whined, bottom lip protruding in a pout.

“Because girls are yucky,” he said.

The plane circled the space between you then went in for the landing. His thumb flicked a tiny piece of plastic on the toy and small wheels shot out from the belly of the plane.

“I’m not yucky!”

He paused, looked at you with a huff, and dropped the vehicle in his lap. “Sure, you are,” he teased. He pinched your cheek and pulled, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to give new shape to your face. “And you’re just a little baby.”

“I am not!” You tried to speak with determination, but the awkward elongation of your mouth from his tugging fingers made the words come out sloppy and muddled.

“You’re four,” he countered and released your cheek. “That’s a baby.”

“I’m almost five!” you snapped as you held up your hand, spreading all five fingers wide so he could clearly count each one.

“You still have nap time.”

“Not forever! I’ll grow up! Then we can get married.”

He appeased you with a pretend moment of consideration, then he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

With a sigh of disappointment your head fell, forcing Jake’s muddy craft project to invade your line of sight. It sprouted new interest, allowing you to forget your heartbreak. “What did you make?”

When you looked up, Jake was staring at you, waiting for you to say more. A blond eyebrow rose. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I want to know.”

Another few beats of uncertainty passed before a grin took over his face. A glimmer shone in his eyes; excitement evident in the language of his body. “Ok, well these,” he pointed to the wiggly lines etched into the mud around his man-made construction, “are waves in the water. And this,” he motioned his finger up and down the long path, “is a runway. Like on an aircraft carrier.”

“What’s an aircraft car-eer?”

“Carry-er.”

“Carry-er,” you repeated.

He nodded. “It’s kinda a big boat. Navy jets take off and land on it in the ocean.”

“That’s weird,” you giggled, and Jake shrugged.

“Well, when I’m older I’m gonna be a pilot.”

“A pilot?”

“Yea. They fly the planes…jets and stuff.”

“Woah.” Your eyes widened. You weighed his words in your mind, tossing them around until you settled on your own understanding. “I’m gonna marry a pilot!”

Jake snorted and shook his head, then he picked up one of his planes. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. He watched your little fingers wrap around the wing. “Play with me.”

—--

26 years later

“I can feel your eyes on me,” you said.

You were staring out the window of your home, loving how even in the winter, the sun shined bright—its warmth carried on the breezes traveling from the ocean that was your backyard. California was different than Texas in many ways, but the lack of winter chill was something you were glad to have be the same. You’d had your fill of the cold season over the past few years with Jake’s job taking you around the world. And while you loved the experiences and people and cultures, California offered things no other place could. Mainly, your family—or adopted family as you had taken to calling them—settled down all in one place.

“My eyes are always on you.”

Jake’s voice was as soft as the breath that caressed the shell of your ear. You shivered from the feel of it, gooseflesh spreading on your arms and raising the short hairs there. His hands rested on your shoulders and he began to knead his fingers into the exposed flesh, easily working around the thin, yellow straps of your dress. Under his touch, your body relaxed and allowed the massage to loosen any knots.

“You seem tired," he said.

You chuckled but it quickly turned into a moan as his thumbs met at the base of your neck and pressed against your spine, moving up and down in slow strokes from your hairline to the chain of your necklace and back. “Carrying your child inside me is no easy feat."

“If it makes you feel any better, you look amazing while you're doing it."

His lips replaced his fingers, drawing a line of gentle kisses over your shoulder. The second moan you released was met with a subtle growl, so low no one but you could’ve possibly heard it had a hundred people been near. Each kiss lasted longer than the one before and you loved falling into it. Whenever he kissed you, regardless of where, each nerve ending in your system happily hummed and tingled and begged for more. You could lose track of time that way. Often did.

You twisted in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, willingly accepting the touch of his lips to yours. He ran the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you opened your mouth so it could slip inside to play. Fingers snuck under the hem of your dress. Rough palms dragged up your thighs and around to your ass, squeezing and pulling you closer. You savored the feeling while you could. Soon your belly would be too large for him to hold you this way.

When you separated for a breath, Jake's eyes grazed down to your neck. His finger traced along the thin chain, down to the new diamond that now sat at the center of your clavicles. "You like this?"

"I love it,” you said. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby.” he brushed a soft kiss on your forehead. "And now you know how much."

"I've always known, Jake." Always known—never questioned it—even when he’d neglected to inform you of what your mother had tried to do to the two of you. It came from a place of love, fueled by an instinctual need to protect you and the future you could have. The future you eventually got.

"You were supposed to be off all day. What did they call you in for?" you asked.

"To get a couple things ready for the new class. Did Rooster come by already?"

"Yep. We're all set. So what do you want to do for our special day, Mr. Seresin?"

"It’s not wise to ask me that, Mrs. Seresin,” he said, tucking some of your hair back behind your ear. “We'll end up staying in bed all day."

"Oh, that would be very tragic."

He chuckled. "I gotta take you by the bar. Penny has a baby gift that she said she won't hand over unless she gets to see you herself."

When Jake decided to be a pilot after you were released from the contract, he quickly became one of the best, and it put him in line with his friends in no time. But being one of the best granted him the attention that brought you to California two years ago—to Top Gun. While you’d been unbelievably proud of him, that mission nearly killed you. You’d sat at home, not sleeping, your knees constantly bouncing, your nails whittled down to nubs. With your family off risking their lives, all you had was Penny. She understood; she took care of you. She became a friend, a confidant, and something of a mother figure.

“And after the bar?”

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart.”

—--

You watched him, your eyes glued to his face as he laughed loudly enough to fill the space, his head thrown back from something Penny said, his teeth on full display, and blond hair shimmering in the midday sunlight that coated the inner walls of the bar.

He was so beautiful. He’d chuckle if you ever spoke it aloud, but it was nothing short of the truth. Every line and plane of his face seemed so carefully crafted. Like the work of an artist; a sculptor chipping away at a block marble to uncover the hidden beauty within. There was no poor angle; no slip of the chisel. He was undeniably perfect. And he was yours.

Ten years had passed since your wedding. Ten years of growing, of loving, of aging, and yet Jake looked just as good as he did when he stood across from you in front of that altar. Better, actually, when you gave it a thought. He had delicate little lines across his forehead, some at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but all a decade had really done was make him stronger, harder, wiser, firmer. He was a wall of a man. Somehow broader. Somehow thicker. But still devastatingly attractive. The same and yet different.

When you pulled out your wedding photo that morning—the one you’d chosen not to hang on your pale blue wall; the one that was partially blurry because you were both too giddy to stand still—you were amazed at how young you looked. Babies. Without any physical wear and tear. Both fresh and new and standing a little taller after the weight of your mother was off your shoulders. It was so far from yesterday, but you could still remember every second of that day and the days that followed. You could remember having the thought that your happiness in that bungalow wouldn’t carry through to the rest of your life; that surely it wasn’t possible. But Jake made it possible.

Your new reality was wrapped in happiness, and everything else—the business, the contract, your mother—became a dream. It all slipped away, losing power until you could finally say that you no longer acknowledged that life. You took the lessons you learned and stepped into a different world. A world with Jake.

He laughed again.

You had promised one another you’d do something special for the day—lunch at your favorite restaurant or maybe an afternoon at the beach. But as you stared at your husband, you knew you didn’t need anything else. He was all you wanted. So after Penny smiled and threw her arms around you and handed you the gift—a silver rattle with the words Baby Seresin etched into the rounded shape—you leaned over and whispered in your husband’s ear all the things you wanted him to do to you.

At that moment, any plans you'd considered for the day were canceled. He said a quick goodbye to Penny and grabbed your hand, dragging you out the door before you could finish your glass of water.

You ended up doing exactly as he’d teased—spent the rest of the day in bed, kissing and fucking and loving every second of your bodies giving and taking the pleasure between you. You surrendered to the heat of the room, the thick air dampening your skin and molding you together. Pregnant as you were, you were surprised you managed to last so long, but Jake did everything to keep you in safe positions, comfortable and cared for until you’d thoroughly exhausted one another.

You laid side by side, both staring at the ceiling, your chests rising and falling—admittedly, Jake’s a little more vigorously.

“Any chance you’re hungry after all of that?” he asked through heavy breaths.

“Starving.”

His fingers intertwined with yours and he sat up. “Come on, baby.”

As you walked through the door, you noticed for the first time that the sun's light had faded while you were holed up in your room. What felt like an hour, turned into many, and darkness sprouted stars in the sky.

Jake led you down the stairs, his hand not dropping from yours until he opened the fridge to grab a leftover cupcake from the original dozen Phoenix had whipped up for you. He pulled the shiny wrapper down and tore off a small piece of the cake before holding it up to your lips. You parted them for him and he slowly pushed the sweet sponge into your mouth.

Vanilla icing clung to the top of your lip as you chewed and with his index finger Jake swiped it off, sticking it in his mouth and sucking.

He smirked. "I can still taste you on my finger through the icing."

"Let me see." You snatched his hand and wrapped your lips around his extended finger, tracing and swirling the tip of your tongue over the digit.

Jake groaned.

"Baby, you can't do shit like this." His voice was rough, gravelly, deliciously drowning in lust while his eyes followed your mouth sliding up his finger before releasing it with a pop. "You know I'm just going to want to throw you onto that bed again."

"Maybe that's the whole poin—"

"Whatever dirty things you're doing to each other, stop now!" You jumped at the sound of Rooster’s voice coming from down the hall. Neither of you heard the door open, too distracted by one another. "An innocent child is about to enter the room."

"We aren't doing anything," you called back.

“Anymore,” Jake mumbled as he kissed your temple.

Rooster cautiously peeked his head around the corner, a dark eyebrow raised and eyes scanning up and down your bodies to ensure you were fully clothed. "Oh, good. You never know with the two of you."

"You walked in on us one time, Rooster."

"And it scarred me for life."

The two-year-old child on Rooster's hip was giggling non-stop. So much so that his rounded cheeks had turned bright red. You grinned at the look on his little face—the joy he displayed as he laughed and wiggled in your friend’s arms.

"Mama!"

"Hi, bug!" you said. "Come here."

Rooster set your son on his feet and he dashed over to you, ramming into your legs and wrapping his tiny arms around them as best he could. You ran your fingers through his blond hair, straightening out the messy locks.

"Up!"

Jake chuckled and plucked his son off the floor. "Mama can't pick you up right now, little man. Do you remember why?"

"Sissy?"

"Mhmm. Mama is carrying your baby sister," he said, placing his palm against your rounded stomach. "Right in there."

You laid your hand atop his, returning the beaming smile Jake was shooting you before looking to Rooster.

"How was he?" You asked.

"Easy as always. We had a great time. Watch this—Hey Caleb, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I'm gonna be a pilot like Daddy and Uncle Roo and Auntie Nat and—

You sighed. "Oh, lord."

"Well would you look at that, sweetheart."

"And let me guess: all of you are going to teach him now that you're instructors?"

"Absolutely," Rooster chimed. "My godson will be taught by no one but the best."

Jake nodded, poking at his son's belly with his free hand until the beautiful song of his giggles rang through the room again. "We're gonna have to start practicing our saluting, aren't we, little man?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Jake kissed his cheek and put him down, giving a little pat to his back. "Alright, go say goodnight to Uncle Rooster."

Rooster crouched and spread his arms wide for a hug, and Caleb took off across the tiled floor, launching into him.

The two had a special bond. Rooster, like the rest of your friends, truly was family. And with your parents not in your son’s life and Jake’s still in Texas, you were thrilled Caleb had more people around to love him. You were able to give him what you never had, and every time you saw them together, it was one more reassurance that you were nothing like the woman who birthed you.

"Bye, bye, Uncle Roo."

"Bye, kiddo. Sleep well, ok?"

"Ok."

Caleb twisted in his spot and hopped back over to his father, gripping his outstretched hand with all ten fingers and swinging it back and forth. Jake let his arm fall limp, allowing Caleb to flail it about as he pleased.

"Thank you, Rooster," you said, hoping the sincerity was evident in your tone.

"I'm always here when you guys need a little break." He winked.

Then he left, likely to make his way to the Hard Deck to see the young fiery-haired bartender who had become your friend after you discovered your children were attached at the hip from daycare. She was sweet and loveable and you knew why he liked her. It was about time another one from your small group found someone.

“Alright,” Jake began, “Bedtime.”

—--

"Is he out?" You asked as Jake shuffled into your bedroom.

"Like a light."

He peeled his clothes off, a piece falling to the floor with each step toward your bed. Then the comforter was pulled back and he snuck under it, settling into the mattress and yanking your body against his.

You giggled, limbs uncontrollably writhing when his nose began to nuzzle your neck. "Jake, it tickles. Stop."

"No," he whined. “You smell too good."

You hummed contently as a kiss met your skin. "What do I smell like?"

"Just…” he sucked and nibbled, “like you."

A beat passed. Then suddenly your bottom lip moved on its own, the beginning of the quivers you were unsuccessful in tamping down. Carefully flipping onto your side to face him, you rose a hand to cup his cheek.

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he whispered. Your faces were so close, noses nearly touching, and his question was a warm puff of heat against your lips.

That question had a dozen answers. The tears welled from countless places, pulling from every feeling contained in each cell of your body. You cried because you loved him. You cried because of how good he could make you feel. You cried because of what you had, and what you'd made. You cried because of the letter he left you that morning before going to work; the one that sat beside the box holding the diamond necklace now around your neck.

You blinked to clear the salty liquid that was blurring his face, squeezed-out tears falling and soaking into your pillow. “I’ve known you my whole life” you said, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.

“And that makes you,” his brows twisted in confusion, “sad?”

“No, Jake. That makes me grateful.”

Dimples carved into his cheeks, then he closed the space, lips sealing, fingers tangling into your hair. It tasted sweet, a sugary hint still clinging to the walls of your mouths from the icing you’d both sucked on.

Your body sank further into the mattress and your only thought was: Stay. Stay where you are, in the arms of the man who saved you and loved you, who you, too, saved and loved. Stay where you’re content and warm from the weight of his body beside you. Stay in this moment where your child sleeps soundly down the hall and the one inside you continues to healthily grow. Such a perfect time to freeze your life, and bottle it up for safe keeping.

But you couldn’t stay. You would have to continue on, as people do. Though, you weren’t afraid anymore. It had been ten years since the thought of your future terrified you. You couldn’t fear the next chapters of your life if you tried. There was too much good. Too much hope.

Jake took a breath. Smiled. Kissed your forehead. “Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart,” he said.

And you replied, “Happy Anniversary, Jake.”

—--

Sweetheart,

I’m sorry I couldn’t wake up with you. I got called into work this morning, but I’ll come back to you soon. Maybe the necklace will make up for it?

I want you to know something. Hopefully you already know it, though. Hopefully I’ve proven it time and time again. If not, then I’ll have to spend the next ten years doubling down on the effort, because you deserve nothing less. You deserve everything, baby.

I want you to know how much I love you. I know you know that I do love you, but the depths of it, Sweetheart…it's hard to find the words to fully explain. But I’m going to try anyway:

You are the love of my life. You’re the love of any life I might’ve had. Of any direction my life might have taken or any universe we might have lived in, it would always be you. Had we not been friends as children, had we not been neighbors or gone to the same school or had parents that forced us together, it still wouldn’t have mattered. I believe we would’ve found each other, somehow. I believe you were made for me, and I for you, and anything else would not have been enough.

You and I faced the biggest challenge we possibly could have and we made it out. We fought our way out, baby. And we built something perfect. We’ve given each other so much. Love and support and care. We gave each other Caleb and our baby girl, and I couldn’t ask for more. There isn’t anything else I want or need. I have our children. I have you. I have it all.

I love you, sweetheart. Always. Happy Anniversary.

x Jake

THE END…kind of

---

A/N: Again, thank you to everyone who read and supported this story. It’s really meant a lot to me :) Hopefully this was a satisfying ending in some way. There will be future fics stemming from this so if you liked Signed Away, look out for those. Also, requests are open if anyone has any ideas for future things they’d like to see.

To @xoxabs88xox, that thing we talked about happening is being moved to a future fic.

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carpisuns · 10 months

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the most hurtful thing about the rise of AI art, to me, is that the importance of lived human experience is up for debate.

you could say a lot about the ethical implications of it all and how it negatively impacts actual artists—how their work is being stolen and fed to bots without their permission, how they are losing ownership of their own artistic expression, how they're are losing their jobs because AI can "replace" them. but people will always find a way to talk their way around it. "if they didn't want people to use their art, they shouldn't be posting it online." "you can't own an artistic style." "the generated art piece is not actually their art. it's not stealing." and the real clincher: "i don't know what to tell you. that's just progress."

i feel like so many people see this issue through the lens of charlie bucket's dad getting fired from the toothpaste factory because a machine could place a cap on the tube more efficiently. but making art is not the same as screwing a cap onto a tube of toothpaste. it's emotional. it's meaningful. it's expressive. the end result is informed by the experiences and choices of the creator. and the viewer's experience is different knowing that a human is behind those choices—that there was real choice involved at all.

you could argue that AI art retains the inherent humanity of art, because it uses samples of real art made by real people—a whole collective pool of representative humanity. but it's not really the same. it's just an echo. an illusion. a mimic of life without the spark that actually makes it alive.

when i look at art, i want to think about the human behind it. i want to feel connected to them. i want to ponder their choices and notice their details and appreciate their skills. i want to look at it and feel something, because the artist felt something when they made it.

sometimes i see a cool piece of art and get excited. but when i realize it's AI, the emotion is gone. "what's the difference?" someone might ask. "if you liked it before, why don't you like it knowing it's AI? the image didn't change. it's still the same." and sure, visually it's the same. but emotionally it's not. i can't make a connection with it anymore. because there was no real intention behind it. i can't search for meaning in it, because there is none. when i look at AI art, even visually impressive art, i feel nothing. there's no wonder. there's no connection. the only possible feeling for me is, "wow, technology has come so far! neat."

it doesn't even have the appeal of "art" created by nature, like the Grand Canyon or the ocean or the night sky. those create a sense of wonder because there was no human involvement at all. the beauty came from the universe itself, and it feels like a gift from nothing and everything at once, and it's that beauty that so often inspires humans to make something in its likeness.

but AI art feels like a weird in-between of the art made with no hands and the art made with human hands. like pseudo-clay molded with empty gloves. it's sort of uncanny valley–ish. something almost human but not quite, so it always feels a little off. with human-made art, mistakes are understandable, expected, even endearing—a reminder that a person made this, and people are not perfect. but that weird offness of AI art just feels wrong. like a glitch in a simulation, reminding you that what you see was never real.

but really, even if AI was always completely indistinguishable from human-made art, the viewing experience would still be fundamentally changed. we make art to connect with each other, to see and be seen, to speak and to listen. but when i look at AI art, i don't know how to listen for a song. all i hear is the whir of cogs in a machine.

some people might point out that we're all just machines too. that AI's 1s and 0s are really no different from the synapses firing in our brains, and we draw inspiration from everything around us the same way AI draws from the samples in its generation bank. it's different to me, though. maybe i just feel this way because i myself am a creator, and i want to feel like i have something special to offer. but i have to believe there is meaning in the choices and expression of humans that there isn't in the choices of a program.

i'm sure this is just doomsday talk and it wouldn't actually happen, but the idea of AI eventually being handed the primary "creative" role over human beings is frankly devastating, even terrifying. i don't want to live in a world where all the art around me was generated automatically from a prompt and spat out onto a conveyer belt. it would be an inexpressible loss to me.

this isn't to say that AI doesn't have a place at all, or that we should abandon our exploration of technological advancement. i just hope that as this issue gets bigger, we remember the real point of art. when we are sad or lonely or angry, all of us turn to art. whether it's visual art or music or film or writing, art tells a story. we take comfort from the stories we tell each other, and it means something that those stories come from other people. art is and will always be a bridge between us and the rest of humankind.

so while our technology continues to develop, i hope we guard that bridge. I hope we protect the creative space of artists who want to tell stories. i hope we keep the demand for emotional expression high. i hope we honor the humanity of human-made art. if AI art is a truly reflection of us, i hope we keep looking toward the figure that cast the reflection, keep seeking the voice that started the echo.

#this has been in my drafts for forever but I was thinking about it again bc my coworkers were discussing ai #this is really long and over dramatic but idk! I get worked up about it if I consider it for too long lol!#ai #ai art discourse #mine #ai art

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vintageshanny · 5 months

Text

Drop of Sweat

Just a horny piece of poetry - what I’d give to be a drop of sweat on this man’s body! 🥵❤️

A little drop of sweat forms at the edge of that thick black mane

Before it can dry or be brushed away, it starts to fall like rain

As it slips past the hint of gray at your temple and starts its six-foot drop,

It has no idea how lucky it is to ride the most beautiful man to the bottom from the top

Mere centimeters from those perfect lashes and stunning ocean blues,

Gravity pulls it over your cheekbones and toward that exquisite jawline it starts to cruise

How it doesn’t stop to kiss those marshmallowy plump lips, I’ll never know

It continues its descent down that long graceful neck to your broad chest and its shimmering glow

Zig-zagging its way between perfect pink nipples, it crawls through the thick patch of hair

The thought of it caressing every inch of your body to me just doesn’t seem fair

Running my hands, eyes, lips and tongue all over you would fill me with elation

It’s just not possible that a drop of sweat could find, in this moment, the proper amount of appreciation

That little drop keeps rolling through the fur down to your waist

How does it have the self-control not to stop and have a taste?

That soft sweet skin is begging for some kisses and some licking

But that drop just keeps going down as the seconds keep on ticking

Over those famous gyrating hips and down to the region below

Here my heart would be racing and I’d need to take it slow

Sliding down your inner thigh, it gets a full view of Little Elvis where he dangles

Hard or soft, big or small, I would worship you from all angles

The sweat drop continues its journey over that sturdy muscular thigh

Down your lean calf, circling your ankle, until it drops in your boot to say goodbye

If I were that little drop of sweat, my journey would never be done

I’d head right back toward the top, tracing the path up with my tongue

Stopping to kiss and whisper my love to each sweet spot on the ride

When I reached the top I’d just keep going right down the other side

Poetry Tag List: @arrolyn1114 @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @ellie-24

#elvis #Elvis poetry #sexy sweaty Elvis #i love this man

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mvrtaiswriting · 1 year

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Law x one sliding their hand into the other’s hair slowly

this is it guys.. the last post for the kissing event. ironically enough, this will get its own post as it was request by dms by the lovely @whateversitsyourchair. this is absolutely one of my favourite piece of writing. I love writing for Law, it brings out the best of me; he makes me so emotional, honestly. it feels so good to round it off with this workpiece, it was one hell of a ride. thank you to all of you for appreciating my work, trusting me with your request and having fun with this event. Sorry this is long-ish.. I. hope you'll enjoy it. as always, do let me know what you think.. love you lots guys, thank you so much! <333

sfw; mention of insomnia, a bit emotional ngl.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee. - from this event.

It was one of those nights again, for Law. His whole crew was asleep whilst he laid wide awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling unable to get any sleep. He was a doctor, he knew how detrimental this was for his health - but nightmares always kept him up at night, demons from his past coming back to the surface as he vividly relived his traumatic experiences. Sighing and accepting his destiny, Law decided to get up to get some fresh air. Lucky for him, tonight was one of the rare nights in which the ship wasn't hiding in the depths tf the ocean - and he had to admit it was nice. Grabbing his favourite book, he made his way to the deck of the ship - looking forward to let the ocean's wave whisper in his hears; it was the only thing that brought him peace.

Finally reaching the deck, he was surprised to see you there too. Moving sneakingly and avoiding making any type of sound, he laid his back against the door and took a brief moment to observe you. The moonlight caressed your features gracefully - and Law could have sworn you have never been more beautiful, almost ethereal. He wondered what kept you up at night, what was hunting you so much you couldn't sleep. Law knew how hard insomnia was, he has suffered with it for his whole life - and he didn't wish that upon any living soul. Most importantly, you. How did he never notice? The signs of sleep deprivation are obvious and visible, especially on him - his dark under-eyes could be spotted from miles away. But you always looked flawless, a pearl amongst all the delirium that characterised his life. As your doctor, he wished he had done better. But as Law, just Law, he was happy you were there. The selfish version of him, the one he never showed you, was cherishing your company in silence. There was no one else he would have wanted to share the darkness of the night with, and he couldn't help but wonder if you would have been okay with the darkness of his heart too.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat to make his presence known and finally took a big step towards you.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked, sitting right next to you and giving you a soft smile. You nodded in response, resting your head on his shoulder. Law's muscles stiffened for a second, before relaxing once again and enjoying the warm feeling you brought to his body.

"It would have been a shame to sleep anyway. It so rare to get to see the night sky." you answered, tilting your heads up to take a better look at your captain.

Law hummed in response, lifting his head up to admire the starring sky above you.

"You're right." he admitted, sliding an hand around your back, pulling you closer to his body and carelessly resting his hand on your hips. Law's hugs were always subtle, almost casual - but they were the best, strangely comforting despite the careless appearance of his gestures.

You have grown used to this type of affectionate touches. The way he would place his hands on your lower back whenever you walked right in front of him, the way he sometimes wrapped his pinky finger around yours while wondering around a new island, the forehead kisses he gave you every time he wished you goodnight. These little moments always happened away from the crew's eyes, most of the time at least. The two of you have been caught a few times holding hands or sitting next to each other - and that, of course, made the rest of your cremate suspicious. They knew better than that - Law wasn't the type to be so extroverted, nor the type to particularly enjoy closeness or physical touch. Yet, he always looked for all this things whenever he was around you - and it would be a lie to say you didn't like it; you have loved him since the very first day you joined the crew. But you knew Law wasn't the exactly the emotional type, it was almost impossible to imagine a future for the two of you.

However years passed by and your captain became your best friend, midnights became your afternoon and without even realising it, Law slowly let you crawl inside the walls that protected his heart. He told you about his past and about his deepest scars - and although he did that superficially, it was the closest someone ever got to him. Every time he shared something with you, a sudden fear creeped into his heart; he didn't want to scare you away. He wanted you to see the best part of him yet all he could ever show was the dark side of his moods.

The intimacy that now characterised your relationship scared Law. His heart ached for closure and moments like this, but he was scared of feeling new emotions. Happiness, joy, love - were all things he knew once and that life abruptly took away from him, leaving a painful void in his soul that somehow, you were slowly filling again. You were the reason behind his genuine smiles, you made his heart beat faster than anything before - with you, he felt alive. Life was slowly start to have a new meaning, something that was worth fighting for.

"Hey." he finally whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. You simply hummed in response, waiting for him to continue.

"What are we?" he asked, gulping loudly as if he was trying to keep the lump in his throat under control. "Why do we do this?" he asked, slowly raising his hand up to your neck, letting his fingers playing with your hair.

Placing an hand on your captain's chest, you kept silent for a second, trying to find the right words. Was this his way to tell you he reciprocated your feelings? Did he want to call it quits? Your heart was pounding in your chest, analysing everything the two of you shared, trying to find an answer to your question.

"Just tell me you love me." he whispered again, his voice now shaking. "that's all that I need to hear." he continued, looking way from you as tears started to lightly cloud his vision. This was the most vulnerable he had ever been in ages.

Your muscles tensed up, feeling as if a lighting had just hit you. A million different emotions flooded your mind; it was heartbreaking to see Law like this - but at the same time, you were oh, so happy. The dreams you had about this exact moment weren't even close to how you felt right now.

Finally coming to your senses, you gently placed your hand on Law's cheek. Running your thumb against his skin, you finally leaned towards him, placing a soft, timid kiss on his lips.

"I have loved you since the first time your eyes met mine, dummy." you whispered, your lips still brushing against his before the biggest smile formed on your face.

Law looked at you for a second, feeling stunned by everything that just happened. Lifting his eyebrow in surprise, a surprised laugh escaped his lips. "Really?" he asked, his tone slightly higher than normal.

You quickly nodded in response, and before you could even realise it, Law's lips were pressed onto yours once again. The kiss you shared was passionate, and hungry, and emotional. You could feel Law taking deep breath, letting your perfume invade of all his senses in an attempt to satiate his greed. He wanted all of you, he wanted to feel you in every way possible - he had starved himself for so long of any type of affection. He placed on of his hands at the base of your neck, letting the other slowly slide into your hair, as if he was trying to pull you even more closer to him.

Maybe sleepless nights were not that bad, after all.

#law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #law x you #law x reader #law x oc #law one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece oc #one piece oneshot #one piece imagine #one piece x y/n #one piece writing #one piece #one piece luffy

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