tanger1n3s

Latest Posts by tanger1n3s

captain soap mactavish come back home the kids miss u

fear the rot

synopsis: a short study of geta's death following the death of his child. (782) contents: child death, murder, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, body rotting, some serious separation issues, angst, a whole hell lot of angst, mourning, a/n: the child will come back!! this is not her end, just a character study on how geta would react to his child being killed.

masterlist!!

her body was brought back underneath a sheet. thick, red blood soaks the fabric, the sheet sticking to her body. he cannot bear to peel it back, to see the lifeless eyes of his child peering up at him, to see the traces of terror in her eyes.

outside of palatine, war rages as his brother fights off the rebellion, molding the romans back into shape.

he should be out there, staying tall next to caracalla as they protected their city, their home. yet, as he sits near the rotting body of his child, geta cannot bring himself to stand.

it's been days since her murder, days since his brother had declared war against the rebels, demanding heads to roll.

he can still feel the shock in his veins, pulsing violently as he sits by the body, remembering the way her body rolled off of her chair, chest nearly torn to shreds by knives.

it had been a poorly orchestrated reenactment of julius' caesar's death, yet they succeeded in murdering his child. he had watched as she slipped out of the blood covered chair, knives sticking out of her chest like arrows as he raced towards her.

the rebels who had killed her slit their own throats, their bodies dropping onto the stone floor. they had taken the coward's way out, choosing to shrivel in fear when the consequences had been presented.

he was still in his blood stained toga, the blood from his child had gotten everywhere, somehow finding it's way into his hair.

the blood cracked and flaked on his skin, leaving his skin irritated as he sat across from his child, ignoring the putrid scent permanenting their room.

she had begun to rot, chilled by death. the stiffening of her muscles had passed, her body no longer straining against the sheet. instead, she had begun to bloat. he could see her arms, no longer small, instead red and blue, bloated to twice their original sizes.

he could see where the blood pooled in her body, making her turn nasty shades of blue and red as her blood settled, weighing her body down.

-

he was unsure of how much time had passed, no longer concerned with external affairs as he lied underneath the blankets of their bed, wallowing in his loss.

there was no light in his life. there was no reason to live without his child. why should he be allowed to live whilst she would never see the light of day once more?

he would never hear his child's laughter once more, he would never be called father again, he would never know the love of a child again.

his eyes drifted reluctantly over to the sheet shrouding his daughter. the image of her, peaceful yet so grotesque in her stillness, haunted him. he wanted to shield himself from the agony of seeing her ravaged form, yet the thought of turning his back on her was worse.

this was his reality now—clinging to the girl who would never again laugh or play, shackled to the incessant memory of her murder.

-

the bugs have gotten into their room. they buzz around her body, yet geta still cannot bring himself to leave the bed.

everything hurts. he thirsts for water, hungers for food, yet he cannot pull himself out of their bed. why should he be comfortable after his child suffered so?

-

caracalla stabs him in his own bed the next day.

his brother's nose is twisted up in disgust as the smell of his daughter's rotting body fills the room, skin and muscle beginning to slide off of pale bones.

geta can't even fight against his brother, stubbornly clinging to the bed like a toddler as the sword is stabbed through his chest. he can hear his mother screaming, can feel her hands on his face, begging him to stay alive.

all geta can do is hope that he will be buried alongside his child.

-

they're cremated together, ashes mixed in a golden urn. a statue is created in their honor, standing tall in the gardens, near the tree his child used to lay under.

rome mourns her more than they mourn him. festivals and celebrations are held in honor of their lives, yet they tend to focus on her life, her youth and her peacefulness.

caracalla has their room cleaned, yet refuses to remove anything, leaving the room untouched. eventually, it is walled off, and their room becomes inaccessible.

within the room, a smaller urn lies on the bed. it is held up by a small stuffed doll, a testament to his child's youth. the urn will stay there until palatine crumbles, as they are together, even in death.

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

My beloved autism creature... MacTavish always keeps him from exploding, they don't call him a demolitions expert for nothing

IM GONAA KMSSSS

“What’s wrong, Sixer? You hated him all along”

zoro x gn!reader // sfw

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 drifts in and out of consciousness, the netting of the hammock molding into his back. your weight atop his chest is a comfortable one, one of his hands splayed over your hip and toying with the patch of skin exposed by your lifted shirt.

there’s nothing better than this- him, you, and the open sea.

he hears it all, the distant clamor of the crew, their steps along the deck, maybe the clinking of utensils in the kitchen, but he drowns it out. you, it’s all you, your soft breaths and the occasional yawn you give- it makes him drowsy.

his wado pushes against a wooden beam, a constant movement that keeps the hammock rocking. the rhythm isn’t allowed to be disturbed, not on his watch, even if it means sacrificing the sleep he cherishes so much.

he knows his swords are capable of utter destruction. he’s ended lives with them, they’ve seen countless bodies- they should be permanently colored crimson. stained crimson.

yet, right now, his sheathed blade serves only to maintain the gentle swaying of the hammock.

you stir, stretch your limbs, reaching for his arm in a bid to get him to lower his wado. “jus’ go to sleep, ‘zo. don’t need you to keep rocking it.”

“eh? m’fine,” he reassures, a bit husky, his warrior mind fighting off the sleep like nothing.

his palm moves from your hip, instead covering your eyes as if willing you back into an unconscious state. he yawns, his canines on display, before sighing. “you sleep first, got it?”

Hi 💜

I sent a request a while ago about Spencer x reader academic stress. It was absolutely perfect. Thank you so much 💗

I just read the james one about reader skipping meals (it was so sweet and lovely) and I tend to do that myself sometimes not eating anything between dinner one day to the next simply because i got busy with classes and forgot until i get a migrane or get a bit dizzy. So, I was wondering if you could do a similar prompt with Spencer and reader being busy all day with work or classes or whatever and simply forgetting to eat until a migrane / dizzy spell occurs and he finds out.

I just feel like he'd be so kind and give facts about importance of not skipping meals for brain function, while coddling, feeding and spoiling reader, maybe cooking or handfeeding too I don't know whatever works for you. Thank you 💕🌸

Sorry if i wrote too much😅

Thank you for requesting lovely (and no sorries necessary) <3

cw: mention of skipping meals, dizziness/nausea

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Spencer finds you sitting down in the stairwell. You recognize him by the sound of his footsteps, lighter than Morgan’s but less clicky than JJ’s heels. Neither of you typically use the stairs, so you can only imagine that he’s come looking for you. 

“Hi,” you say to let him know you’re alive inside the tiny cavern you’ve made of your own body. You’re bent over to rest your forehead on your knees, one hand on each of your temples as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. Overall, it’s a pretty dramatic pose. And you’re definitely getting the butt of your slacks dirty on these stairs. 

Spencer’s footsteps pass you, and for half a second you think he really is just using the stairs. He stops a few steps below you. You can feel him scrutinizing the top of your head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks in that soft, careful voice of his. “You just disappeared.” 

You had sort of fled the scene. You still feel too new to the team to feel fully comfortable, and with Strauss here for the case everyone is on their best behavior, so when you’d all been walking in the hallway and a dizzy spell had nearly collapsed you into the wall, you’d dropped back from the group and stepped into the first door you saw rather than risk bringing attention to yourself. 

“I’m fine,” you say through an exhale, lifting your head from your knees. “Sorry, I just got dizzy and didn’t want to cause problems.” 

Spencer’s eyebrows bunch. He lowers into a crouch in front of you, looking up into your face. “Dizzy—do you know what caused it? Is this something that happens often?” He bypasses your rudeness in abandoning the team immediately, and the questions come almost too fast for your addled brain to keep up with. You think you need protein. Or carbs, or something. 

“Yeah—I mean no, it doesn’t happen all the time,” you say. “I just forgot to eat lunch.” 

The notch between Spencer’s brows digs in and he brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “What happened?” 

You shrug, embarrassed. “I packed a lunch so I wouldn’t have to take a break, and then I just forgot about it. I’ve been…” you glance up at Spencer, but his eyes are too safe and open to even contemplate deceiving. “I haven’t been keeping up with my work like I should. I didn’t want to take a break, and I didn’t even remember my lunch until now.” 

“It’s on your desk?” he asks. 

You blink. “My work?”

“Your lunch.” 

“Yeah,” you say. It comes out curved like a question. 

“Okay.” He straightens, lithe limbs extending until you’re craning your neck to look up at him. “Wait here.” 

You turn, starting to protest, but Spencer sets a pacifying hand on your head as he passes. Objections acknowledged, but ignored. Following him is out of the question; just pivoting sitting down had sent your head swimming again. 

The door bangs shut after him, and a minute later he returns with your sad paper bag and a bottle of gatorade. 

“I saw you have water in here,” he says, sitting back in his place a couple steps below you, “but I thought electrolytes might help more.” He twists the cap off and hands it to you. Rather than passing you your lunch bag, he sets it in his own lap to dig through the contents. “You want your sandwich first?” 

You lower the gatorade from your mouth, wiping self-consciously under your lower lip. “Yes, please,” you say, and Spencer hands it to you. You set the gatorade down beside you. “Do we keep these in the fridge?” 

“Morgan does.” You must look as horrified as you feel, because Spencer goes on quickly, “He won’t even notice it’s gone. He likes the blue ones the least anyway.” 

You nod hesitantly, raising the bottle to your lips for another sip. “I’ll get him a replacement in case.” 

His smile is understanding, and you’re reminded that before you, Spencer was the youngest on the team. You imagine he knows how it feels to be constantly wary of getting on someone’s bad side. 

“You really don’t have to,” he says anyway. 

You take a bite of your sandwich, shrugging. “Thanks a lot for this, but you don’t have to stay here with me. Won’t we get in some kind of trouble?” 

“I think we’ll be okay here for a little while,” Spencer says. “Actually, I don’t think most people on the team even know where this door goes. None of us ever use the stairs. And they might not have noticed we’re gone yet.” 

You give him a deadpan look. “They’ll notice you’re gone.” 

He shrugs. It’s not a denial. “I don’t mind waiting with you.” 

It means more to you than it reasonably should. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and take another bite of your sandwich as an excuse to look away. 

You haven’t even polished it off yet, and Spencer’s already dipping into your bag for more. He takes the cap of a container of grapes. 

“Here, have some of these.” He holds it out, and you shove the last bite of sandwich into your mouth to take it from him. “You probably need some vitamin C,” he muses. His eyes fall to the nearly full bottle at your side. “Don’t forget to drink.” 

You almost grin, covering your full mouth with a hand as you speak. “I can’t actually do all this at once.” 

“Oh, sorry.” He looks abashed. “Take your time.” You do, swallowing before lowering your hand to give him a small smile. It’s returned. “You know, skipping meals is actually pretty dangerous.” 

Your smile fades, but Spencer holds your gaze. His eyes are gentle. 

“I know you just forgot, but low blood sugar impedes brain function. We need to be able to think clearly and quickly to do our job. So, being nourished is really important to that.” 

You nod, chastised. He taps the container of grapes, and you pop one into your mouth. 

“Are you going to tell Hotch?” you ask him quietly. 

Spencer blinks, brows twitching together. “No,” he says. “It’s not really that big of a deal, and anyway I think Hotch would just tell you the same thing. I just think it’s important for you to know.” 

You rub your lips together, bobbing your head again. “Okay, thanks.” You look at him seriously, dropping your voice into a terrible imitation of Hotch’s deep timbre. “I won’t let it happen again.” 

Spencer grins, surprised by you, and you mirror him. You’re a bit surprised by yourself too. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks. 

You nod automatically, not taking even the barest inventory yourself to see whether that might be true, but Spencer can obviously tell. His brown eyes search yours, scientifically probing, like they might tell him something you won’t. You’re well aware that Spencer’s a certifiable genius, and yet you’re still learning not to underestimate him. 

“We can probably go back now,” you tell him. 

His stare holds yours a minute longer. You feel pleasurably crushed under the weight of his attention. 

After a few seconds, Spencer’s expression settles into decision. “Let’s sit here for a minute,” he says. “You should finish your food. You’re owed a lunch hour anyway, no one’s ever stipulated when or where you have to take it.” 

You crack a smile. “What about you?” 

“I’m staying with you,” he says matter-of-factly. Like it’s the only option even worth considering. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, and it’s probably best if I take the gatorade bottle back up with us. If Morgan sees, it’ll be easier for me to take credit if I’m holding it.”

no vacancy | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings for him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips.“It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it to much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

love like a blister

the five stages of loving losing luke

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.7k 

summary: (post-tlt) set directly after lovers, or partners in crime; loving him and losing him are one and the same; the aftermath of his betrayal. this work references a lot of previous works in the series! (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah… yall been asking for this so buckle up. luke is not present in this one, moreso you/trouble dealing with the after. i let annabeth breakdown a bit since ep 8 was amazing but felt choppy to me. this is not the end of the trouble!verse i promise!!

(posted 2/12/24, betaed by mootie lari @mrsaluado)

—

DENIAL - bursting under pressure

we grew up together, what do you mean you grew into a person i can’t love?

Annabeth and Percy find you standing at the edge of the forest clearing—staring at the space where you let the love of your life vanish into thin air. 

You let him leave. 

It’s almost harrowing when the three of you make eye contact, not a single weapon in your possession, only your dying lantern and heart bleeding with the confirmation of Luke’s betrayal. 

Knees shaking as Annabeth stalks over and her sword still raised with tears in her eyes, she’s no longer Luke’s little sister but a formidable warrior set on protecting camp—on protecting Percy.

And you failed in doing either of those things you promised yourself at the beginning of this summer because you ignored the signs of Luke’s behavior— until this very moment. There’s a pressure in your head that dampens your senses, overtaking the control you have over your being as you deny any knowledge of what happened tonight. 

Because in truth, you put the pieces together at the same time they did, just a little too late. She looks at you now with the fury she wasn’t able to project on the real traitor.

“You knew,” she grits her teeth, on the defensive as Percy scrambles up from the ground.

“Annie, I…”

Percy stares at you in horror, a few steps back with Riptide in injured grasp, and suddenly he understands what it means to see you break. They both feel it instantly as your lantern goes out. Heavy despair drapes over all of you as the madness rips its way through your body, almost breaking through your skin as it emanates through the air. The two children had never felt anything like it before, swords shaking in their hands as they’re filled with the sensation until it bubbles over and they can’t do anything but watch you, their usually poised head counselor lose your grip on reality.

But this can’t be real. 

Out of all of the plans you both made, it was never deemed a possibility that Luke wouldn’t be there with you. Now you stand in the darkness of the forest, hands raised in surrender to a crime you didn’t commit.

There’s so much pressure and it hurts holding it all in, hurts so badly—everywhere until you scream.

“DAD!”

You stare at their small faces surrounding you in anguish, both of them talking but not a single word registers in your mind as you keep shaking your head and screaming for your father for the first time in your life. Before the words the words can form between your lips again Dionysus is there, not as an immortal god but carrying the wrath of a protective father, and there are no forces that can fight against that.

It all moves fast from there, black spots blurring your vision brought by the sheer strength of your tears. Though you don’t feel strong right now, instead there’s nothing that can describe the feeling but hurt as you’re frozen in pain.

The kids watch Mr. D check you for any injuries, but what they’ll never understand is that the wounds Luke left behind are on the inside, and you are bleeding. He shushes you, but the words fight their way out of your mouth, almost in disbelief. “Did I do that to him?” Your father scoops you into his arms, godly strength and fatherly concern surfacing as he cradles you like a little girl like he should have all those years ago.

The haze clears as Mr. D quells the misery that reverberates through the air and it’s quiet again as your eyes fall shut. For a moment, Percy can’t help but wonder if this is another performance of yours, another way to throw him off of the traitor’s scent. But as your hand falls out from under Mr. D’s arm, he grabs onto it anyway. The son of Poseidon remembers how you and Luke always looked at each other like you were equals, and realizes that for once, the actress was outplayed at her own game.

ANGER - words leaking like an abscess

i never knew loving someone so much would be a crime

There isn’t a protocol set in place for when one of your cabin counselors and all-star campers defects with plans to wage war on the gods. There is even less of a precedent set in place for when the head counselor and daughter of the camp director is left to pick up the pieces, hands dirtied by the evidence he left behind. Perhaps your job description was never truly clear anyway.

All you know now is that you’ve been sitting in a rickety wooden chair in your dad’s office for hours now, tied up—for formalities. 

This must be your punishment from the gods for every way you were different. Maybe if you were braver, maybe if you didn’t force yourself to only see the good in him, maybe then maybe, he could’ve been saved too. Surely undoing all of that would be considerably less painful than being questioned by everyone you love about the one you love. 

For once you didn’t have any good answers.

“Like I said to Chiron. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know what? Use your big girl words. Just do the right thing, like you always say!” Clarisse barks in your face. The centaur tuts at the daughter of Ares, making her step back and cross her arms. The boys are more silent but still suspicious, and Lee asks if you really thought Clarisse was the traitor.

“I didn’t. I was the last one to know,” you grit, looking at Percy who surveys you with hesitant eyes, “I just thought Luke was leaving. I didn’t know why.”

“How do we know you’re not working for Kronos too?” 

One of them says it, you’re losing track as to who when you blink hard and long, but the words spill out of you like a festering wound— fast, acidic, and painful.

“Do you REALLY think I could turn my back on my home? My friends? Is that how you all think of me? After everything!”

“You’d do anything for that boy and we all know it,” Silena says with a scowl very unlike her, though you suppose everyone’s out of sorts from exhaustion.

“Not that. That’s where him and I are different. I would never be able to do that.”

You think you hear Silena bite back a sob as she turns away from you, not meeting your eyes.

Mr. D was unable to judge you since you were his only daughter. He’s been gone most of the night and you feel so alone even if the room is filled with familiar faces that don’t even want you here. Charles, Percy, Lee, Clarisse, Silena, Katie stand still as they judge you— Annabeth didn’t even come to the Big House, her mind probably already made up. 

Chiron says there will be a vote, the procedural way—like how you taught the cabin counselors how to handle disagreements, though they were never expecting to vote on your dismissal from camp. Tensions are high, some rightfully angry at the war looming over your heads, others looking at you with pity from the other corner of the room. All of them, your friends, still, you hope.

6 votes, since you and Luke didn’t count, and Annabeth’s abstention. They did it outside, away from your view and you sit in the silence of the office, angry at what’s become of you. Tainted and tarnished, you don’t bother to find out who voted what, knowing things won’t be the same after this. 

Your dad comes back a little before dawn, having asked a favor from Apollo to determine your innocence–to prove that you’re telling the truth. But by then, Charles and Lee are already untying you from your chair and you’re being let go. You wonder what changed once they were able to speak without being in your presence. Remaining seated and staring at all of them with your jaw set in stone-cold wrath, Percy thinks for a moment that you look like Luke.

The first rays of light shine through the window upon your sullen frame— a confirmation from the sun god that your heart was always pure. It still feels like a loss. There’s no medal or award for getting left behind, and winning has always been more of Luke’s thing.

You resign from the position of head counselor by the time sunlight spreads across the campgrounds.

BARGAINING - to make yourself new from the inside out

isn’t home the first place you learn to run from?

You catch Percy at the doorstep of cabin 3 before he leaves and your dad is yelling at all the campers.

“Okay! For those of you who are not staying for the full term… get out! You get out. Pack your bags. You’re going home!” Mr. D screams with a twinkle in his eye as he winks at you, patting you on the head before walking away to drive kids out.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he mumbles, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You’d been locked up in your room since the interrogation with almost no signs of life. He was worried about you—all of them were. They just didn’t know how to say it, after everything.

You stood in front of him in sweatpants and a shirt he’s sure he’s seen Luke wear to sleep before, exhaustion prominent on your face; usually you’re better at hiding it, but there’s no need for false pretenses anymore.

“Last day of camp. Had to end it on a good note,” you say softly, biting your lip, “I heard about what you did, Perce. You didn’t have to. I was going to quit anyway.”

Sometime in the past few days, Chiron came to your cabin to tell you they didn’t vote at all, which was a surprise to you. Percy convinced them not to, reminding them of your efforts as head counselor, and as a friend—the decision was settled quickly after that.

“I knew you didn’t betray us. I was just scared.”

You watch him shift his weight, not losing eye contact as he produces a half-smile. He seems older now after his quest, as many demigods do–though it’s only been a few weeks, he looks like he’s grown more sure of himself.

“That’s okay. I was too.” 

The silence between you is comfortable as both of you listen to the birds in the trees, the distant voices of chattering children, and your heart hurts at the idea of leaving this, even temporarily. As your eyes flicker back to Percy’s, you realize he feels the same way. 

“I hope your mom’s okay, especially after all of this. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

His sandy eyebrows furrow and it’s funny how Percy always looks a little confused.

“You’re leaving camp? I thought…”

“Well I’m not joining Kronos, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you laugh dryly, “It’s getting boring here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think. See you.” you nod, waving a hand as you turn to walk away.

“Wait!” 

Percy calls your name, skipping down the steps of his cabin and meeting you halfway down the forest path. He’s digging through his jacket pocket, and pulls out two black clay beads with blue tridents etched on the surface as your body grows cold.

“I don’t know what to do with—” “We…the other counselors, this is what we ended up voting on. And I thought you should get an extra, just in case,” Percy mumbles, his voice edged with hope and your face contorts into something like regret. You can’t cry again, even if you wanted to. 

“I wouldn’t pray for something like that,” you whisper shakily.

“I thought you didn’t really pray at all.” 

The kid smiles at you and it makes you wonder what souls like him and Luke must’ve done in their previous lives to deserve fates like this—to fight wars that aren’t their own. To be doomed by the narrative is a treacherous thing, and it is so utterly unfair. 

“Yeah. That was more his style,” you sniff, taking the beads out of his hand, “but I still find myself with a lot of hope.” 

Hope, in a sense, is prayer too. Wishing that things will be better, manifesting and believing that it doesn’t have to end this way. You don’t think Luke will ever come home to you, not really, not all of him, but it’s nice to have something to hang onto. At his core, he was raised to be a soldier, and soldiers don’t always come home.

You decide to drive Percy down the opposite shore to Montauk. It’s a short ride, and he spends the time looking out the window to the sea, thinking of his father— when the car pulls up to the driveway of the beach house, you step out and give him a hug. Soon, he’ll be taller than you.

“Take care of yourself, okay? Need anything and I’m a call away,” you smile, but he sees that it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you. For being a real friend, even if it hurts you.”

You grab his shoulder to make him look at you, and the distant sound of crashing waves dampens the thoughts running through your head.

“Listen to me. None of this is your fault. I couldn’t save him. Luke’s my biggest failure.”

Your voice wavers and you swallow hard, pushing the tears back down your throat.

“You know, I knew you didn’t know anything about his betrayal because when we were in the forest, I’d never seen you like that before. I couldn’t figure out the feeling, and–”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Perce. I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” you interrupt, but he shakes his head and continues.

“I thought you were sad. It felt like sadness at first, but then I realized it was hatred. And I knew even then that I could never hate you. So I realized that’s how you felt about yourself. I hope someday you don’t feel that way anymore.”

If a few tears slip down your cheeks, Percy doesn’t pay it any mind. He waves at you when he gets to the door.

DEPRESSION - healing takes thick skin

i knew to love would be to lose my mind

After the summer term ended, you spent most of it in bed, hiding away from the world. You wished to be more spontaneous, to up and leave the safe boundaries of the camp you call home, but you’re not quite there yet. The one good thing about this is your father. Dionysus was at your bedside every morning and night between the work him and Chiron had to do to keep camp running in your absence. His powerful fingers made themselves comfortable stroking your hair as you always find yourself staring at nothing. Your father cured you of what he thought was madness over your life being turned upside down by someone you love, but after the fog cleared, you were left feeling nothing. Numb to the touch, hardened by your hurt like a growing callous.

Impenetrable.

He thinks it’s bittersweet, getting to know you better as you chat late into the night when you can’t sleep, but it breaks his own heart to have the power of Olympus on his side and still not be able to fix you. He knows now what you must have been feeling these past few months, to some extent.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dead already,” you mutter as your eyes stare blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. Your dad is sitting at your desk as he signs paperwork, and his eyes flicker to a pinned photo on you wall of you kissing Luke’s cheek in a photobooth. One of the pins is missing a memory, torn and stolen away. 

“Unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. I carried you out of that forest, I’d know,” he mutters, sipping on his Diet Coke. 

“Will it always hurt like this? Losing someone you…” Love.

You can barely even bring yourself to say it, so he sighs and nudges you to move over on the bed, his Hawaiian shirt an eyesore against your bedspread. It makes your lips quirk up to see the god try to fit himself into a full-size as he adjusts to get comfortable.

“Yes. Because if it hurts, it means that it mattered. There is no such thing as love lost if you gave it willingly. You know, your mother and I were never together, but I loved her too.” 

He tucks the duvet under your chin like he’s worried you’ll catch a chill. Your form is still unmoving under the covers as he continues.

“Love is a powerful catalyst. The actions humans do after are a product of that; it brings out the best or the worst in people, especially if you think it’s the only way. You love because you want more time with them. You love someone to life, not to death.”

“Silena said something at the Big House. She said that everyone knew I would do anything for him. Where does that leave me? What do I do now?”

Your eyes shut as you feel your dad grab your hand and he chuckles lowly. He knows a thing or two of doing anything for love. He’s gone to the underworld and back—twice, for his mother Semele and his true love, Ariadne. And he’d do it again for you, if he ever had to. “You’re not broken, kid. You’re in love. It’s the purest emotion the gods have bestowed onto humans, and it is a gift, even if it doesn’t work out. Love is insanity.  I think you and I know it best.”

“I guess I’m a lot more like you than I like to admit,” you scoff, leaning against his arm. 

“Don’t sound so excited, daughter of mine,” he says playfully, and he seems so human now as he laughs. The two of you have a gift of fixing people, but perhaps you were both blind to who needed it the most until this very moment. Sitting there in the quiet a little longer, it doesn’t feel so bad to be the favorite daughter of Dionysus. Maybe when you’re ready to get out of these walls, you’ll be able to say it with pride.

ACCEPTANCE - to be soft again takes strength

in another life, we would’ve mattered more than choosing sides

“He always hated it when you smoked, you know.”

You cough through a puff, boots slightly slipping in the sleet of the gravel driveway as you turn to face Annabeth. Besides the fact that her father’s house is grander than anything you could ever imagine yourself living in, there’s a large distance between the two of you as she stands on the steps, the box you left on the doorstep slowly being dotted with falling snow. You left the car running, thinking she wouldn’t want to see you after everything that’s happened.

“Well he probably hates a lot of things about me now,” you say grimly. 

It’s been a growing habit to want to feel something, the rush of nicotine through your bloodstream—even if it’s bound to years off your life. It doesn’t really matter as much anymore.

I hate a lot of things about me too, you think, remembering a white house on a hill even if it was a distant dream— these thoughts all go up in smoke as you watch her sit down on the stoop waiting for you to come sit down with her.

Your hands fidget as you find a place next to her, putting out the cigarette on the red brick as the ash falls onto your chipped nail polish. It burns, but Annabeth watches you, the both of you stone-faced.

“What made you drive all the way out here?”

She opens the box and tries to hide a shaky breath at it’s contents but the vapor in the air betrays her. You can still tell a thing or two about people acting, but you’re never too sure anymore.

“I got a few days off from class. Dad Iris messaged me, told me there were new kids in 11 who needed bunks, so… he thought it was time. It was sitting in my room when I got there.” She notices you call Mr. D your dad now, but doesn’t say much of it. She’s also getting used to calling her father that after all these years.

You pull out the quilt you gave Luke the night before you got claimed, a faded pink and purple pattern worn from the years of use and wrap it around her shoulders. It still smells like him, citrus and musk and something darker that hangs over your heads and she sniffles.

“So you’re a college girl now, huh? Never thought you’d do it,” Annabeth mumbles, still not looking at you as her eyes scan through what was hidden underneath the fabric. Luke never had much he held close to his heart, and it’s funny to think his two prized possessions were staring down into a box trying to find the meaning of it all.

“Yeah, me neither,” you sigh. It should’ve been an insult, but you know what she means.

Not without him. 

There’s a lot that you promised each other, but you find yourself doing it all alone–because you have to. The world does not wait for for anyone, even if you beg for it to.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m still on the Island, just…not at home. Just trying to keep myself busy.”

Her hand picks up a polaroid of the two of them—he’s smiling as she peers over his shoulder.

“I think it’s great. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes.”

Other memories are scattered in the box including a leather bracelet, a compass, unsent letters to his mom, and photos of happier days back when all of your hearts were softer. There’s not much to split between the two of you.

A black clay bead rolls to the inner corner, indicative of this year’s events and painted with turquoise like the eyes of a certain son of Poseidon that now crosses the both of your minds.

“Percy gave it to me before he left for the city, for him. In case.”

You swallow loudly, and you watch her braid it onto the leather cord and tie it around your wrist. Her fingertips are cold as she nods, “In case.”

“You’ve been looking for him, haven’t you?” The movement your head makes is almost imperceptible—not a nod nor a shake, but the daughter of Athena knows you too well by now. She knows you because Luke did too, once upon a time.

“Think I’m trying to find myself now. If he’s still a part of that I don’t know what that says about me.”

The two of you sit there on the stoop of the Chase mansion catching up on the past 7 months even if the both of you can still feel the wall of his memory between you. She doesn’t invite you in to meet her family despite the weather—hesitant to let her mother’s side of life bleed into the new normal she’s created for herself, and you can’t blame her one bit. The both of you have been at war with each other and with yourselves since the end of the summer, when in reality you both know what it’s like to protect the little you have to hang onto and what it feels like to be left behind. Survival mode, until the end.

“Why do you think he did it? I mean, I know why, but…”

Why weren’t we enough?

Annabeth’s mind has always been so brilliant, but sitting in the dim porchlight, you understand now that she’s growing up so quickly. Gone are her baby-soft cheeks, with her cheekbones more prominent as they frame her wise eyes. She’s a teenager now. But Annabeth looks at you like she did long ago, the only person besides Luke who would patiently answer all of her questions. Even if the answers weren’t always what she wanted, you had a way of telling her what she needed to hear.

“I think I’ll be asking the gods why, for the rest of my life. And even if they ignore me like they did him, or give me an answer that’s worth the balance of the world, I’ll still never be able to understand it.”

The snow is falling harder now, but neither of you seem to notice. It’s stuck in your hair, dusting your eyelashes as you sit and stare out at the front lawn. She tells you about school, her family, Percy and Grover, and the things you’ve missed about her so deeply—and for a moment you feel like you can be her older sister again, someone who can keep her secrets. Partially, you left home because everyone either doubted you or thought you as fragile. Annabeth would never not tell you other than what she’s truly thinking, and it’s a breathe of fresh air to let yourself just be.

“I’ve never not had the last word when it comes to him, y’know? I guess I have nothing more to say though.”

You both huddle together for warmth under the quilt, sharing secrets and memories of him, things others wouldn’t understand.

“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, and her smile is as bright as the snowflakes in her ebony tresses.

“What I do know is that you know too damn much,” and you both start giggling softly, teary eyed and feeling what you’ve been keeping in for months now, from each other and the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters suddenly, and your name falling from Annabeth’s mouth sounds almost as unfamiliar as her apologizing. It shouldn’t have to have been like this. You’re not going to lose the only person who remembers him like you do, who hurts like you. 

“Me too.”

She leans her head on your shoulder like how she would when you used to sing her to sleep, and deep down Annabeth knows that she won’t let the only good part of her brother go either. What tore the two of you apart brings you back together, because if you don’t have him you still have each other.

The door to the estate opens up slowly, it’s well-oiled hinges silent like the two sad girls’ whispers. Dr. Chase steps out to see you two illuminated by the light of his home, hand in hand over a box of memories and wrapped in a pink and purple quilt that Annabeth will hold close to her like she does her mother’s hat. 

“You two ladies causing trouble?” he smiles, his eyes wild with a thirst to know more and it’s a look you’ve seen his daughter give you one too many times.

You can’t help but chuckle at the irony and though he means well, the all-consuming feeling that comes with the name, Luke’s name for you– ignites in your heart once more. No one will ever call you trouble again, not in the way he did. It burns like alcohol running through your veins almost unendurable and you want to will it away, but Annie’s patting your arm as she tries to stifle the flames with her cold fingers.

“Her?” she says knocking her shoulder against yours, “ Always.” 

Annabeth laughs, and that too, reminds you of him but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore, your body still warm in the winter Virginia air. You feel your chest shake and suddenly you’re laughing and it’s crazy and loud and maniacal and so you that you can barely see Annabeth through the tears rolling down your cheeks. It cuts around the dead skin that’s encapsulated your being these past few months, revealing something brand new—much softer, even if it’s still tender to the touch.

It’s still you, still hurting, but choosing to live despite it.

Because you have to.

—

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Being loved by you is the hardest.“

- Ari B. Cofer

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider

"Mister Beckman"

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,113 Drabble

(Image Source a:)(Image Source b:)

Synopsis: The first mate of the Red-Hair pirates is attempting to relax and enjoy his evening with you, but is rudely interrupted by Shanks' tinkering and clanging within the Captain's quarters.

Themes: First-mate x crew, established relationship, lounging, drinking, smoking, gentle touches, sweet domesticity.

Notes: The Beckman brain rot got me. This beloved first-mate lives rent free in my head, and I adore him.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry

Echoes of clangs of metal meeting wood reverberated throughout the hallway of the Red Force. The ship shook against the metal banging, its source within the Captain’s quarters beginning to crescendo upwards in volume and the drawn out clangs became more erratic and frantic with each shattered bash. 

Benn Beckman sat on the wooden deckchair, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows at each of the beaten clangs ringing in his ears. Reclining against your own deckchair, your legs comfortably rested over his thighs and secured beneath the heel of his left palm. He drew up his right hand and pulled the cigarette from his lips, blowing the smoke away from you before slyly raking his eyes over your body from the corner of his eyes. 

Your brows knit in concentration as you read over the itinerary to be completed within the next port. He gave your calf a gentle squeeze before slowly dancing his index finger over your shin up to the point of your knee. Pursing your lips and arching your left brow, you refused to break your eyes away from raking them over the itinerary as he continued to trail his digits over the cap of your knee. 

“Mister Beckman,” your warning tone rising at the end of his name, your tongue clicking in a small reprimand, “I am trying to read.” His fingers end their small dance against your skin, his firm hand cupping over your knee as he leans forward. The clangs continue to pick up their rapidity and volume, before halting all together with a murmur of angry words strung into loose sentences.

Beckman hums in response, placing the butt of his cigarette within the glass ash-tray and pressing it beneath the pad of his thumb to extinguish it. He joins his right hand against your skin by cradling your calf and moulding the flesh beneath it. The angry vocal murmur continues to rise alongside the recommencing clanging and clashing within the Captain’s quarters. 

“Mister Beckman,” you sighed, turning over the page of the itinerary and glaring at the pages, “Are you going to check on our Captain?” He grunted at your question, a lengthy sigh pulling itself from his chest immediately following. Leaning down in a deep stoop, he placed his lips against your shin, cradling your calf against his chest as he drew his lips up. Pressing several fluttered kisses against your flesh, he continued to trail his lips upwards with his smile felt in each flurry. 

“Darlin’,” he muttered against your skin, “It’ll take nothin’ short of-.” A particularly loud clang of bashed wood meeting metal broke his words away from his lips, his head snapping over in the direction of Shanks within his quarters. 

“Beckman! Becks!” Red-Haired Shanks yelled at the top of his voice. The booming anxiety had Beckman removing your legs from his lap, and rising immediately to his feet to sprint towards the direction of the Captain’s quarters. 

You sighed at his warmth disappearing from beneath your legs, your ears pricking for any indication of the source of the clanging and banging.

Managing to scribe several notes over the itinerary, you glanced up to see Beckman re-emerging from the Captain’s quarters with a look of defeat over his face. Eyes closed, a deep frown found purchase against his brows, with his jaw both tense and slack at the same time. You could tangibly see the pulsation of a vein beating against his temple, his pulse elevated and aggressive in its rapidity.

He withdrew a cigarette from his pack and rose it to his lips, igniting the end and inhaling a deep gulping lungful of the nicotine-riddled tobacco. His exhale was heavy, the weight of what occurred within the Captain’s quarters falling from his exasperated breaths. 

Brows upturning with empathy, your lips pouted at the sight of the first-mate in such a sorry state. You rose to your feet, walking slowly over to him as he allowed a small hushed growl depart from his lips on his next exhale. 

“Why is it always me?” his raspy rumble mixed with his chagrin, prompting a small smile to elevate to your lips. You raised your right hand up to collect his left cheek, his eyes opening at the soft impact. The gruffness of his silver grained stubble danced with the softness of your palms as they drew his face closer to you.

“Because it’s what you do,” you offered him your response, gazing lovingly into his eyes, “And we all love and appreciate you for it.” He allowed a softness to dance in his eyes as he gazed into your orbs, the love dancing tangible within your rounded globes. He removed his cigarette from his lips and hung his hand limply to his side, stooping down to meet your face with his. 

“We?” His lip ticked up at the corner as he continued his descent to meet your face with his own. 

“Of course ‘we’,” you praised him with your wide and innocent eyes floating between half-lidded eyes, “But we know I love you most.” You gave him a small wink, prompting a rumbled chuckle to rise within his chest.

“Thank you, Darlin’,” he leant his forehead against yours, ensuring his cigarette was far enough from both of you to not dance its ignited end against your skin. You closed your eyes, humming at the kiss of your foreheads meeting, before pulling apart from him and gazing once more into his grey orbs. 

“You going to tell me what that was all about, Mister Beckman?” You asked him. His smirk danced over his lips, his hand collecting fallen strands from your forehead and hooking it behind your ear. 

“There you go again. Sayin’ ‘Mister Beckman,’ like it doesn’t rouse somethin’ in you,” his voice growled in a subtle purr down into ear, the follicles on the back of your neck rising to attention. He chuckled into your ear before rising himself away to press a chaste kiss against your temple with a small promise of, “I’ll tell you about it later. For now, let's go sit back down. I need a drink.”

“Aye, sir,” you offered him a two fingered salute, shooting a small wink at him before turning and walking back to assume your prior position reclining against the chairs. He sighed deeply, watching the small swing of your hips in front of him and shaking his head. He whispered below his breath to vocalize his thoughts.

“This is why I went grey before fifty.” You turned and glanced at him over your shoulder with a sly smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. 

“And what pretty grey hair you have, Mister Beckman.”

Listen I think Kaeya playing with a cat is everything I need and everything I want

Bonus failed attempt

NOTES: for @xstarkillerx

You can't conceptualize what's wrong, a combination of things weighing you down as you seek out comfort. BRIAN O'CONNER sits at his work-table, sketching concept designs for the tweaks he'd like Tej to make. He's not a very gifted artist, but he's got the general idea down, at least until you pad onto the scene. As quiet as you are, he's learned your tells, glancing at you after he speaks, "What's up, sweetheart?" he asks, a little curl to his lips at the sight of you rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes. You don't say anything, coming up to his side to fix your hands on his thigh, hoping to silently grab his attention while you wait for him to notice you. It takes him a second, but he does, gazing at you more deliberately this time. You exchange a look, and he adjusts in his seat to accommodate you while you invite yourself onto his lap.

You nestle in, tucking your head under his chin with a sigh. With an arm, he secures you, drawing you into him to get more comfortable himself, he inclines into you, curling his body around you as if you're his centerpiece. Gently, he bounces you on his leg, eyeing the tip of your nose. "S'the matter, bunny? Don't feel like talking?" You're unresponsive, you don't even look at him, and he strokes your back with his big hand. "I got it. Don't worry, I got it." Sweetly, he rubs his cheek on the top of your head, ending it with an affectionate kiss.

Fully becoming the fun police because the tiktok hc devil got some of you believing hcs are canon 😭

No, Soap doesn't have ADHD. As a sniper and demolitions expert, someone with ADHD wouldn't be able to do the work effectively, it requires extreme focus for extended periods of time, and literally nothing in the game or his behavior indicates he has ADHD.

Yes, Ghost passes his psych evals. He NEEDS to be mentally stable in order to be part of the SAS, otherwise he'd be pulled out no matter how much Price likes him. There are no indications in the game or voice lines that show otherwise, he's able to hold his own weight and is likely on therapy and medication to help with his trauma and nightmares.

No, Soap doesn't have 10 sisters. He doesn't even have a family.

Yes, comic Ghost is canon to 22 Ghost. Literally nothing indicates otherwise, every single character in the remake kept their canon pasts, why would Ghost be an exception?

No, König isn't shy. He's snarky and cocky in all his voice lines, not a single trace of shyness in this man.

No, none of these grown men need a pink blanket from their childhood to sleep.💀 Infantilizing grown men is weird enough as it is, and I feel like some of you forget these men are soldiers— the best of the best, used to extreme conditions that could break regular people, they're not babies or mentally unstable teenagers, it's weird to treat them as such.

While we're at it, some of you make Price act like a fucking nonce and it's weird. No, he wouldn't date an 18 year old child. Probably the youngest he'd go to is 30s, some of you forget the huge difference in maturity age gaps always have and how he wouldn't want to date a pouty child, especially with his line of work and how often he's gone. A relationship with this man would require plenty of mutual understanding, communication skills, trust, and maturity.

ANYWAY NSOSNWLSMALQ

shanks def smiles into every little kiss you two share.

#212 “We could run away.” 😭😭😭

“Y’lookin at me like I'm already gone.”

Tears cloud over your vision as he sits on his cot in front of you, a shell of the man he used to be. His eyes are sunken, bloodshot. He’s grown out his beard to hide the gauntness of his cheeks.

You cannot help the escape of those tears down your cheeks, hiccuping a sob as you stare at the ground. He reaches over and takes your hand in his, pulling you closer to him, gently, slowly, like he was trying to calm a skittish horse.

“C’mere, darlin’.” He guides to sit upon his thigh, winding one arm behind your back as the other one clamps affectionally on your thigh, “There we go… ain't nothin’ to be cryin’ about.”

You frown and lean your forehead against his, a fresh outpouring of tears cascading down your cheeks, as your breathing hastens against his express wishes.

“You’re too pretty to be cryin’ like this.” Arthur swipes his thumb across the your cheek to stem the flow of tears, but you swat his hand away before steeling your nerves and leaning in to take his lips.

Arthur frowns, pulling your hips back to prevent you from kissing him.

“You know we can't.” He quietly pleads, his voice pained.

“Its like you're h-half gone already.” You whisper, hiccuping halfway through the sentence, angry and sad and drowning in reality at the same time.

“I’m right here, darlin’.”

“Let’s go - just, let’s leave-”

He frowns. You press onward, desperately.

“We - we could run away. Let me take you out west where it's dry and -”

“You know we can't do that, sweetheart.” Arthur cuts you off quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear affectionately.

The dimple in your chin forms again as your lip quivers, a long breath let out of your nose as he smiles sadly at you.

He draws you in, one hand on the back of your head, shushing you gently as your voice cracks into another sob.

“You’re gonna go on and keep livin’, sweet girl.”

“Not without y-you-”

“Without me. Yer gonna grow into a crotchety old woman and join me years from now.” You can feel his smile against your cheek, and as much as you try not to, you cannot help but laugh at the comment.

“I love you. How am I ever gonna go on without you?”

“You’re a strong girl. Smart. Much smarter than a ol’ dolt like me. You’ll be fine.” Arthur gently rocks you back and forth on his knee, comforting even now as he and you know his time is growing short.

You bury your face into his neck.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You were supposed to be doing jobs. Maybe breaking out on your own. Riding across the country. Maybe settling down somewhere hidden when this life finally paid out.

But now…

Your tears fall on the warm skin of his neck, and he gathers you into his embrace, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, trying to comfort you.

You know you shouldn’t waste this time.

It’s all you have left.

what 141's military personnel file looks like

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NOTE: NOT CANON! most of the information is based off of the wiki/my medical file post

summary: So what exactly were in those dossiers Price gave to Laswell at the end of MW 2019? Here's a look into those, along with some reminders/sticky notes. Answering this ask :)

template if you’d like to try it out!

ALSO! the ages were such a headache this post did a great job explaining how confusing the wiki/some statements are so please check it out

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mention of wounds/wound care, mentions of depression, medical terminology

a/n: these came out better than i thought! also 2004 was such a bad year for Price and Ghost

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

More 1870s Cowboy!Ghost, I saw someone cosplaying his gunslinger skin and lost my mind just a little

Life is quiet here. The sky is wide and blue, the grass is just on the yellow side of green, and the women are as pretty as they are quick with a gun. Well, just the one. Ghost swings off his horse to lead her the rest of the way to the barn. 

“Hey, pretty boy!” You call from the back door, “Come have a drink when you finish up.” He’s still not used to the way your smile makes his heart jump. The genuine fondness behind it. Pretty boy. He wouldn’t let anyone else get away with calling him that, just you. You get away with a lot of things.

Most recently it’s been this. A spare drink to drown out the still uncaught bounty. Never mind that he’s hardly trying anymore. There’s hardly time for it with all the work you have him doing. Work he hardly minds when it’s you asking for it. He likes the animals, likes the warm soil of the garden, likes looking over his shoulder to see you going about your own work. Shaking out sheets as you take them off the line or twisting ripe squash from the vine, the way you brush your hand up the back of your neck to wipe away the sheen of sweat, you’re gorgeous. Ghost’s never seen anyone like you. 

He takes his time unburdening his horse, putting away tack, checking her stall has food and water. Steeling his nerves. It’s becoming harder and harder to ignore your sweet talk. Eventually he’ll find himself stuck in your honey. Then he can’t say what will happen. Maybe you’ll keep him.

Ghost touches the worn cotton of his mask; thinks of the scars under it, the scars under his skin. Maybe not. 

You’re waiting by the back door when he finally makes his way back to the house. You offer a short glass of clear liquor. “You’ll get him tomorrow,” You tell him. Ghost can’t tell if you’re joking or serious. Your usual good humor makes it hard to gauge. 

He pushes his mask up to his nose and takes the offered glass, clinking it against yours. You both tip your head backs, let the alcohol slide down your throats. Ghost sniffs, clears his throat against the residual burn. He checks his glass to be sure he got it all, and looks up to catch you staring at him.

“I got something on my face?” He jokes, voice flat as he wipes the wet edge of alcohol off his lip with his thumb. 

“No it’s just,” you tilt your head with a smile, “Every time I see you like this I can’t help wanting to kiss you.” Ghost stills, you’re forward but not this forward. “That’s probably silly of me,” your smile falls a little, and he can’t have that. He can’t have you losing hope, losing interest. You’re not supposed to be interested in the first place, but- but he wants you to keep it. Wants you to keep sweet talking him. You can’t give up and let him win. Not when he wants so badly to lose to you.

Ghost grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you to him, leaning down to bring your mouths crashing together. He catches a bit of your smile before you can pucker, a little bit of teeth before he kisses you properly. It's not a perfect first kiss, but it is perfect. You're perfect, so warm and sweet and soft. God you're so soft, how can anyone be this soft? Your lips cushion his and your warmth surrounds him in a way that can't just be physical. You part your lips, draw him in for another kiss and another, a slow slick glide of indulgence. His hand cradles your cheek, and it isn't the last drops of tequila he's savoring when you draw back. Stars, your smile could stop his heart. It nearly does.

Ghost tugs his mask back down over his lips to stop himself from kissing you again. Is he supposed to feel so, so giddy just from kissing someone? He can't push down the smile that bubbles up. Another good reason for the mask. 

"I should-" you take a step back, make a noncommittal gesture with your hands. Ghost nods.

"Right, and I should-" he waves towards the barn, both of you smiling like fools for each other.

"Ok," even your voice is soft, so soft. He should kiss you again, he can still feel your lips against his.

"Supper," Ghost tells you, confirms with you. You nod, grip your skirt with giddy fingers.

"Six o'clock," God he wouldn't miss it for the world.

little laurance and his friend ungrth

What You Mean

Silvers Rayleigh x GN! Reader

You were distracting yourself. You knew it, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise. This constant grind of work, projects, and training was your life at this point, only broken up by the occasional collapse onto the nearest flat surface for a quick nap. Meals were eaten on the go. You worked your errands and home responsibilities around everything else. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spent more than an hour or two in your own house. 

And it was all to avoid that one man. 

Rayleigh had blown into your life like a hurricane. He was wild, untamable, and hypnotizing to watch in the most dangerous way. Those fleeting glances had been what got you into this mess. A late night chat at the bar turned into a steamy bedroom affair unlike your filthiest dreams. Night after night, you’d sneak back to his cheap hotel room together or - if the mood called for it - a back alleyway would do. 

It wasn’t just the sex either, regardless of how amazing Rayleigh could make you feel. He was a wise soul, a man with twice the life experience of anyone you’d known and a calm attitude that seemed impossible to rock. That was what truly kept you around him for so long. Plenty of times after you’d had your fun, Rayleigh would let you lay on his chest, playing with your hair as he told you stories of his adventures with Roger. 

You saw him reveal some of his most intimate emotions; anger, grief, joy, and a deeply nostalgic longing were laid out for you without hesitation. A part of you reminded yourself that he probably did this with all his playmates. He was at an age where he saw no need for putting on a macho act. He was who he was and he was comfortable in everything that entailed. Still, the vulnerability made you feel closer to him, like you were a treasured confidant. 

Keep reading

Luffy’s “gotta catch them all” attitude toward friends is hella entertaining

Falling in Reverse (Dazai Osamu x Reader)

There were many hazards with working for the Armed Detective Agency.

The hours were sometimes unpredictable, the possibility of being kidnapped or attacked by enemy organisations or just people who had a grudge against random members, was always a very real threat.  More than once you’ve been forced into some kind of underground bunker or secret location for a few days for your own safety. Plus, Kunikida's incessant shouting had made you start keeping painkillers stashed in your desk as a failsafe. But the real problem was... "Hello, everyone!" ...was him. Your eyes flicked up as Dazai Osamu came waltzing into the room, brown eyes shining. No doubt he'd just found out a thrilling new method of suicide he wanted to try out, or perhaps he'd found somewhere that sold crab meat on the cheap.

You quickly dropped your gaze as he passed your desk, greeting the others with a carefree smile and a wave you didn't buy for a moment. You continued typing busily, sucking on your bottom lip in thought. And there it was. Try as you might to ignore it, to dedicate your time and energy to your work and think about other, more productive things, the feelings would not - refused - to go away. All you could do was trap them and keep them in a box in the back of your head, tucked away and out of sight. Yet your heart still seemed to speed up whenever Dazai was within ten feet of you, like a dog wagging its tail with its owner nearby. And therein lay the problem - having a crush or whatever you called it on Dazai Osamu was nothing but a fool's errand. Suicidal former Port Mafia members were not good material for a relationship. Even a fling might be asking too much. Not to mention, Dazai was a serial flirt who couldn't stop himself from outrageously hitting on every pretty waitress or barista that he came across, he spent most of his time at work fucking with Kunikida and/or Atsushi, he never paid his damn tab and overall was an unpredictable mess of a person. Was he handsome? Of course - he made other men look shabbier merely by existing in the same room as them. Frighteningly perceptive and intelligent when he stopped acting like a crackhead? Undoubtedly. But it was far better to stay away from someone like him as much as possible. After all, a fire might be beautiful, but in order to survive, you learn to get as far away from them as you can.

Fortunately for you, even though you worked in the same building as him, Dazai rarely noticed you, much less held conversations with you in which you might blurt out anything embarrassing. He may have been an incredibly observant person, but he had his eyes on the important issues like whatever the Port Mafia were getting up to or trying to outmaneuver the Guild or dangerous Russian criminals. The possible infatuation of an insignificant secretary who happened to have a desk not far away from him no doubt barely registered in Dazai's busy mind, and you intended to keep it that way. To help maintain your cover, you made sure to treat Dazai with chilly politeness, as if you found him and his antics to be unprofessional and completely inappropriate. The fact that they were wasn't the point. More than once you’d had to sneak away into the ladies to giggle madly at whatever stunt Dazai had pulled on one of his hapless co-workers, then take the time to compose yourself before stepping back out again.

And you certainly didn't secretly resent him a little - for effortlessly making you fall for him without even trying. And leaving you knowing you were doomed to quietly pine over him and nothing more, because Dazai was a disaster, but he was still undeniably special. Like a human comet, dragging everybody else in his wake. He made you painfully aware of how unexceptional you were. I'm not pining. you corrected yourself, stapling together a stack of documents for Fukuzawa with perhaps a little bit too much force, the clicking sound loud in your ears. It's just a dumbass crush. Everyone fancies Dazai when they meet him for the first time, but they get over it. It's a rite of passage. Anyway, you had something else to distract you. Tonight, you were actually venturing out of your apartment instead of curling up in front of the TV - on a blind date. It hadn't been your idea, a friend told you there was some event going on at Kafka's tonight, a bar downtown you knew fairly well and somebody she thought you’d like would be there, so you thought: Why not?

It's not like you had anything better to do. Anyway, maybe if you met someone new, you'd finally be able to shake off whatever feelings you had and redirect them to someone less...messy. The only problem was, it started right after your shift ended, so you'd have to get changed and do your makeup here at the Agency to save time. "Damn!" The stapler you'd been holding slipped from your grip and you hastened to pick it up off the floor. You'd had a manicure the other day in preparation for tonight and you were still getting used to them. "Are you okay?" Kirako asked you, tilting her head, her expression one of mild concern. "You've seemed a little...high-strung today." “Highly strung,” you corrected absently, retrieving the stapler and straightening up. “And I am not, I’m not a horse. I’m just nervous.” “Huh? Oh yeah! You’re gong on that thing tonight, right?” “Right,” you said, partly wishing she’d shut up – you didn’t want people listening and asking you nosy questions. Unfortunately for you, Kirako was not telepathic and kept happily chattering away. “Have you decided what you’re going to wear? It’s important to make a good impression at these things!” “I’ve got an outfit with me,” you reluctantly admitted, since she’d probably figure it out anyway. “It’s easier than going all the way home to change.” “Ooh, show me!” Kirako said – somehow, she seemed far more excited about this than you were. Probably because she didn’t have to worry about what she’d do if the night turned out to be a complete bust or worse. “Absolutely not.” You replied – far from her enthusiasm being infectious, she was making you uneasy, hyping the night up into something far bigger than you’d intended. Fortunately for you, any further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the boss. As Fukuzawa strode in you both stood up to bow. Personally, you’d never been so pleased to see him. He just gave a regal nod to you both before approaching Kunikida and the others, no doubt about to deliver some new job to them. You let go of a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding – you could go back to being invisible. Invisibility was safe.

Kirako picked up some conversation she’d been having with Naomi about her cat and you made the right noises as she showed you some admittedly adorable pictures on her phone. And yes, you did check a couple of times, surreptitiously peeking from behind your monitor. Dazai didn’t look at you once. ~ “Fuck’s…sake!” You grunted as you battled with the stubborn zipper between your fingertips. You were sure you’d been wrestling with this damn dress forever and you didn’t have time for this – you’d go from ‘fashionably late’ to ‘why bother’ if this kept up- Finally! The zipper, which had been stubbornly refusing to cooperate with you for what had to have been at least ten minutes finally gave in to your relentless pulling and closed, tooth by sullen tooth. You might have asked Kirako or someone to help you, but they’d all left, so you were on your own.

You breathed a sigh of relief – you might have to limit what you ate for fear of the zipper bursting, but this dress had to be tight to stay up, so you had to make sacrifices where necessary. You turned and looked in the full-length mirror affixed to the wall. Wow. You didn’t think of yourself as a vain person, but as you turned around to make sure your outfit was all in place, you had to admit you looked good. Red was a pretty bold colour and the style wasn’t something you wore on a day-to-day basis, but you’re glad you went with it. The light seeping through the bathroom window bounced off the shiny material of the dress and you smiled to yourself as you added a final touch – a slick of lipgloss. You should commit to the idea of stepping outside your comfort zone and wearing an outfit like this seemed a good way to do that.

You pushed open the door and stepped out into the office, which looked weird without anybody in it, awash with a peachy-orange glow from the sunset outside. As you turned to leave, though, you quickly learned that you weren’t as alone as you’d first thought. “Oh,” came a voice. The last one you wanted to hear right now. (Yet the one you heard in your dreams, over and over again like a broken record.) Dazai stood there, staring at you and you’ve never seen that look on his face before. He wasn’t grinning or teasing but nor had he slipped into that chilly, calculating look that was known to a few people throughout the Agency as his “Port Mafia face”. Instead, he was simply looking at you with an unguarded look of surprise, his mouth slightly open like he had been about to speak but forgotten what he was about to say. He snapped out of it a moment later, hastily slapping on one of his signature flirty smirks the way other people would throw on a jacket.

“Well, well.” Dazai said and you hated the vaguely sultry hint to his tone, you hated it because you knew it wasn’t real. “Don’t you look lovely.” You swallowed. Dazai threw compliments at women all the time, but you’re pretty sure he meant it – no doubt he’d never seen you dressed this way before. From someone else’s lips, such a comment might range from sweet to creepy, but when Dazai said it, your bones felt like they were turning to water. “Well,” you echoed him, a beat too late, and despite your confidence a few minutes ago, getting the words out proved difficult, your cadence halting and awkward. “Thank you.” The urge to run away burned in your chest, like you had a cough waiting to come out, but the way he was looking at you…it was hard to pull yourself away. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, and you had a peculiar urge to reach for him. To do what, you didn’t know. Rest a hand on his chest? Touch his face? Pull him closer? You tucked the hand behind you, in case it got any ideas of its own. “Got a hot date tonight?” Dazai said in a teasing voice, but there was something else in it that gave you pause, like a shard of ice in a refreshing drink. It made you wary, and you were glad of it – it wasn’t a good idea to get too comfortable around him, even under the guise of friendly banter. Obviously he’d reached that assumption from what you’re wearing and the hour it was, since you didn’t usually hang around the office for this long, but you can’t shake the notion that Dazai doesn’t approve of the idea. Too bad for him, you’re not asking permission. “Just a thing with a friend of mine,” you replied, which wasn’t really a lie, just vague enough to skirt the truth and you offered a breezy smile to placate him. “It should be fun. I’d better go, though. I’m already running a bit late.” Hitching your bag a little higher up your shoulder, you dodged around Dazai, who made no effort to stop you and headed out into the city that was preparing for the evening, your heels clicking satisfyingly across the floor. (Another thing you didn’t wear regularly, but hey, why not go all out?)

Dazai, unusually still, watched you go, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trench coat. He spoke thoughtfully into the empty air, dust motes dancing in the shaft of light pouring in through the window. “A friend, huh…” he mused, and his eyes held a look in them, the slight darkening of his gaze as he looked ahead at something only he could see, his sharp mind already racing far ahead to all sorts of potential scenarios to be countered, if necessary. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Threats

Delivery (pt.3)

I've been keeping this in my docs collecting virtual dust and cobwebs. So for those who love Mihawk please don't roast me if I write him wrong. Still thinking if I should continue writing this.

The reflection of your face mirrors the bewilderment from the brown liquid in the white porcelain cup. The scent is meadow-like with a dash of sweetness dancing under your nose. 

Passion flower tea.

You're not a tea person. You are more like the world is burning and you still prefer a hot cup of coffee that is darker than the cape you saw Mr. Dracule wear last month and two spoons of sugar. 

"Is the tea not to your liking?"

Looking towards the man blinking as if you have just woken up, your jaw clenched and unclenched like you are chewing your words, filtering the phrases thoroughly. 

"No." In the end, you couldn't give a better answer when everything sounded rude in your head. 

You recollect once more how the cup of tea made its way to your hands and the man also sat on the steps near you. The random interaction is throwing you off. It feels like you are missing something but reading too much will lead you deeper into the depths you don't want to dive into. 

So for the sake of etiquette, you take a sip. And the tea didn't fail to disappoint. Still tastes like drinking a bunch of sapped grass. You even stick out your tongue but it only makes the flavor set off your taste bud. 

"I prefer coffee, dark, and two spoons of sugar. But thank you for the tea." You place the cup beside you before standing up. "I better get going Mr. Dracule. See you next… month?"

As usual, he didn't give you a reply and you are off the perimeter of his castle still bothered by his abrupt tea time. How awkward and rude for leaving but there's something with the tea you were not vibing with. What a strange choice to share with someone. 

…

"Y/n spill it!" The petite brunette screamed right at your face. 

"Aya for the last time I don't have any idea who sent those flowers." 

Glaring at the bouquet of apple blossoms, savory, and daffodils right beside the spearmint flowers innocently placed in the vase from the corner of the bar counter. You're not well-versed in the language of flowers but you know damn well what apple blossom means. It's clear from the unusual combinations of flowers that the sender was conveying a message. 

And it wasn't the first bouquet you received. Last week it was only savory flowers. You didn't think too much about it, until today when Aya and Dave found the bouquet first. 

"Aren't you curious?" 

"The only thing I'm curious about is if I rob a bank will it be enough to pay my debt?"

"You are not robbing a bank, y/n!! Dave y/n at it again!" 

You scoff as if your uncle can even do something about it. 

Dave walks out through the backdoor looking conflicted. "Arson?"

"No! But stealing banks."

Your uncle didn't say anything, very typical of him. As he went back through the back door presumably to hole up in the office. You allowed it as long he did his job; counting numbers and deception. 

"So, are you gonna tell me anything?"

Rolling your eyes you continue reading the book in your hand. It's a slow day anyway, no new customers to deal with or the usual rowdy patrons. An annoying sigh drags out of your throat when Aye placed her hands on top of your book pushing it down. 

"What are you, my mom? Demanding shit like I'm doing things behind your back?"

"I'm younger than you! And shorter! And cute! How–"

You grab her cheeks pulling her closer making her entire upper lean on the bar counter. Squishing her cheeks, Aya starts to panic. 

"You surely feel comfortable working here that you forget who's the real boss, brat."

"Eeep!! Nooh, um soowee!"

Letting go of your coworker, you return from reading your book. 

"Jeez, you're no fun. Kill-joy!" 

"Wipe the table instead rather than annoying me with something I don't know," you ordered. 

Aya huffed mumbling strings of complaints she only stopped when you gave her a glance at the top of your book. 

You do a double-take on the paragraph that caught your attention. Regard, warmth of sentiment… your gaze moves towards the vase again. 

Daffodils are right next to the spearmint flowers, intertwined as if to complement each other. 

Shaking your head you return from reading. Whoever sent the bouquet is the least of your concern, after all, you hate flowers. 

…

You whistle upon seeing the gloomy island from afar looking significantly bright for the first time. The thick cloud looming over the island has a thinner portion where some of the sunlight manages to pass through. 

Ah, here we go again. 

Strangely no attack nor any signs of weapon-wielding baboons scurrying in the shadows. Not even the snipers shooting at you like a ragdoll in a practice range. 

"What's going on with this island today?" You whispered not letting your guard down, after encountering traps in your path. 

As if you're gonna fall for an obvious trap, you snort at the thought. 

Okay, something wrong is going on with this island. Is it the sunshine? Are the baboons afraid of it? What is it? You've been coming to this island back and forth, unfazed by the horror vibe it's going for. But this, this silence is so dense you can breathe it in. 

On a good note, you got to the castle without breaking a sweat for the first time. However, as you close the distance to your destination, your guts rumble from the sudden surge of trepidation. Now what? There's no way you'll be needing a bathroom break because there is no freaking way you'll enter Mr. Dracula's castle!

"Uhm, I'm wondering if it is normal for the humandrills to be absent when the island is experiencing sunny weather. I haven't encountered any of them on my hike here," you can't help but ask before taking a sip of your coffee. Yep, coffee, and you politely accept the break he offered. 

"The humandrills are busy tending the farm today," Dracule answered as if he was just talking about the weather. 

You spat the coffee in your mouth and coughed trying to alleviate the sting in your throat. Damn, that hurts. 

"How? Like I thought you don't have authority over them? And those baboons know how to farm now?" 

The string of questions earns you a raise of an eyebrow from the stoic man while he looks at you. 

"I don't. The humandrills just copy what I've been doing."

"That's a stalker-level kind of shit." 

"It's how they learn from watching. But humandrills believed to live peacefully if they lived with peaceful humans."

He didn't have to say anything because you'd already recognized what came next. You stare at the brightened sky, trying to avert your attention away from the brooding thoughts. "It's such a shame they had to witness that part of humanity." 

The silence is easing the brewing storm in your mind. Such a nice break from your haunting reality. 

"The old fool, why are you still keeping him around Delver?"

"Don't call me by my father's last name. Please, Mr. Dracule. Y/n or anything else as long as it's not offensive will be fine."

"I don't understand. You are calling me by my last name."

"It's for business reasons." You placed the cup beside you and stood up. Still trying to be polite you look away from him. 

"Still–"

"I can't stand hearing it! You shouldn't even know about it! Please, it's all I ask." 

"Very well, y/n."

Wiping your eyes you smile at him in appreciation. "Thanks, and sorry for being emotional. Just a mention of my old man rattles me quite easily."

"You are still grieving. That is understandable."

The sky is growing darker again, a reasonable escape for you from this unexpected exchange. "Thank you for the coffee. Anyway, it's getting dark again. I better get going. See you later Mr. Dracule." 

As you walked away his voice drifted from your range but it was faint making it indiscernible. And when you turned around he was halfway from entering his home. But you swear you heard him. You shrug and carry on walking toward the shore. 

...

Sleep is still in your eyes with a cup of newly brewed coffee, you walked out of the bar entrance to breathe some morning air. It becomes a habit you can't shake off even when your father couldn't be there to share this serene moment with you anymore. You take a seat on the steps, as usual, but now alone. 

Even your uncle grew used to this habit. After all, it's always been the three of you. The store bell chimed again. You didn't have to turn around and check who it is.

"I'm cooking pancakes, do you want some bacon too?" 

"Yeah, and please don't cremate it like last time," you teasingly said. Trying to fill up the quietness of the morning. 

"May I remind you I'm hangover because of those party maniacs."

"And I didn't hear you complain the entire night while you took on bets."

"Ugh! It's only a one-time y/n. I–y/n?"

You only hummed still in a daze. 

"You received another bouquet again."

The cup hovers in front of your mouth as your body goes rigid. Another one… again? 

"You didn't notice?"

"It's too fucking early Dave. No, I haven't noticed shit since I came out of here. For fuck sake that's getting annoying." You sneered, after seeing the flowers. 

"Can you stop cursing so much this early in the morning?"

"Make me bitch." You grumbled. 

Dave rolled his eyes. "Brat. Anyway, I feel pity for whoever was sending these flowers. It's such a waste." Dave picked the bouquet. 

"Eat it if you want." 

"You are hopeless, y/n"

You groan, tempers rising. "Tell me something I didn't know already."

Dave only sighed at your retort and went back inside. A scowl crumpled your features, all the while trying to remember what you read from the book you stole from Dave. Your uncle is well-versed in the language of flowers. You didn't like how ecstatic he was when he saw the first bouquet you received. But you didn't ask him what was the meaning of those damn flowers since you act indifferent about it. You don't want them to think you are interested. And it's getting more annoying that the flower shop owner delivering the damn flowers refused to give you an answer. 

Yes, you managed to trace who's delivering those flowers. But it only led you to a dead end. 

Pink camellia and white roses. Shudder raked over your body from the absence of heat leaving your paling body. Just the thought of somebody getting lovey-dovey over you is making you cringe. 

The explanation is at a young age, you became repulsed by romance because of your old hag. It's a story for another time and you don't want to recall those memories now. 

You can only hope that if you continue ignoring this secret admirer they eventually stop, whoever they are. 

...

"So, boss, you have an admirer now?"

"Don't call me that, it's gross. And no, it must be for Aya. Do I look admirable, kid?" You glance at your cousin beside you, and he immediately looks away. "Right. I don't think so. I have had enough of the two idiots bothering me about those damn flowers," you answered as you checked the basket of grapes. 

Getting tired of the relentless interrogation from your uncle and waitress you decide to give the family's vineyard a visit. Unfortunately, the issue you are running away from has also gotten over to the attention of your other relatives. 

Liam is one of Rachel's kids who likes to follow you whenever you are around. The teenager with dedicated brown eyes was enthusiastic about learning everything about agriculture and cultivating the vineyard into a prosperous farm, he already earned sun-kissed skin and a toned body from years' worth of work. 

"Are you gonna stay here for a while?"

"Yeah, just for tonight, kid."

Liam brightened up from your reply already looking forward to tonight's dinner. You laughed as you watched the teenager run toward the house, while you choose to stroll, just taking your time. 

Soon you will be in the ocean once again to deliver Dracula's expensive wine and have a cup of coffee with the said recluse on the stairs of his doorsteps. Because you refused to accept his invitation inside his domain the second time. 

It became a routine whenever you got there and waited for the payment, he would be back with a tray of drinks. You weren't sure at first how to strike up a conversation with him while drinking and sitting next to him. You didn't even know if the small talk would start a proper conversation with him, but you give it a shot. So you take off with what you left unanswered from the previous encounter. 

From there he told you the reason why he dislikes your uncle. In the end, you both agree Dave should grow a pair and be a man now that your father is gone. 

A decent conversation with Kuraigana's only local human was something you weren't expecting since he isn't the type to talk a lot but he wasn't selfish in giving you the necessary answers. As long as he knows the answers or wants to answer of course. 

But the man seems to lean more toward listening than talking. One time you were talking about the vineyards. Just like that, you were talking to him like a long-time friend exchanging notes and catching up with each other. You were so into the topic that you didn't notice you were smiling and talking nonstop about a fond memory you had of your family vineyard. And when you momentarily stopped you were taken aback when being coaxed by him that you continue the story. Which you did for an entirely different reason when you saw something else in his eyes. 

Maybe it's just you, caffeinated, or maybe just the dreariness of the place finally getting into you. Seeing some fleeting softness in his usual deadpan stares. The conversation flowed back into a smooth transition when you decided to just roll with whatever that was. He was lonely even if he didn't show it on the surface level, the man obviously craves company. So, you just continue. 

Although you are not known for your generosity, his company isn't equally bad for you. Especially in those quiet moments. His silence is comforting and it quite becoming a solace you've been longing for. It sure is an equal ground for two equally lonely adults. 

Now that's a head-scratcher, you aren't usually friendly with men like him. Having connections with dangerous people is surely the lifeblood of your family business. However, the relationship should remain within the bounds of professionalism. So, why did your father go this far in serving this man? And you only discover this deal when Zake left. 

…

You took a whiff of the scent constantly teasing your nose every now and then. It is stronger than usual. Calmly intoxicating and warm like a drink of wine near the fireplace on cold nights in winter. You find the combination oddly comforting. Which rarely happens because everything is simply too much for you. 

"I am quite aware you have a sensitive nose y/n. But aren't you being obvious right now?"

Startled by what you heard, you whacked both of your hands on the lower part of your face, instantly covering your nose, while you leaned further away from the man. You've been found out. He knew. But how much does he know about your sensitivity?

"I'm sorry Mr. Dracule, I didn't mean it. I swear it's not what you think." You tried to explain defending yourself from obvious humiliation. 

"Then, please, do tell me what it was you were doing."

At this point, your cheeks must be the warmest part of your body right now. With how much blood may be rushing in your head. Your flustered deposition only intensified when Dracule glanced at you and to your horror, there was a glint of amusement perks in his golden eyes. 

"You should relax or you may end up fainting with so much blood rushing through your head. Although it is a fascinating sight that you are almost a shade closer to the color of a wine. I don't want you losing consciousness on me." 

Unable to hold yourself you turn your back on him while holding both of your cheeks. You take your time composing yourself back, taking deep breaths and a bunch of happy thoughts. He really caught you off guard when you thought you were being discreet sniffing the air around you. Well, what do you really expect from a man of his caliber, of course, he will notice even the subtle change in your breathing and not to mention you are only a few feet beside him. 

Well, it is what it is. You've been caught, might as well just be fucking open about it. 

"You smell nice today Mr. Dracule." 

Not physically but emotionally. He is calm and content right now. The scent of his emotions draws you for more, lulling you into comfort. But he doesn't have to know entirely the effects of his scent on you. 

You kept your gaze away from him while you lean on the heel of your palm. "Did you perhaps change your soap?"

And when you thought the day couldn't get any weirder you heard a sound too foreign for your ears. Abrupt without any further ado or introduction necessary the stoic man laughed. It's not a full belly laugh, no that would be too much for this man and definitely be out of his character, or even a giggle for he is too refined for such a reaction. It's just short, simple like being lightly tickled. 

It's a jaw-dropping moment in the grand line to hear a man known for his menacing bitch resting face, a composure refined as white sugar, and goth fashion you could scope a distant mile away with his coffin boat that if you fail his vibe check there is a high chance he can slash you and the island you are on in half. 

Must be the end of the world. 

Unfortunately, your jaw didn't drop since you froze in your position and the only movement your rigid body can operate is your neck to swivel toward his direction and blink owlishly, because what the hell just happened?

Dracule Mihawk just laughed. 

"I admit there are some changes," he said, while nonchalantly taking a sip of his tea. His lips curled higher between the rim of his cup. "And you're turning red again, y/n."

Ah, no shit Mihawk you just laugh, is what you wanted to blurt out. But it shouldn't be a big deal. He is still a human being, entitled to human emotions. 

Although embarrassed by the obvious flush on your cheeks you didn't hide it this time. What's the point of hiding the reaction you don't have control over? 

"Yes, I'm aware. Thank you for pointing it out Mr. Dracule." Even if you are being passive about your situation there's a hint of sass in your tone. 

You are anxious about the future. Working in the bar since you were a teenager alongside your father and your uncle, the occasional brawl was a typical scene you'd grown desensitized from the endless display of manly savagery. The constant piss contest and who's greater than who game, you'd seen it all. The week wouldn't be complete without those arrogant bastards and wisenheimer, picking on each other's business until those smug faces had been pulverized and beaten into a disgraceful ugly pulp. That's why you don't find men appealing anymore or maybe you are simply an ace. 

But lo and behold, when the amused grin is still plastered on his face as you glanced at him. A sign of apparent trouble showed itself in an unexpected form, at an unsuspected time. You realize how attractive smug confidence is on the face of Dracule Mihawk. 

And you can't emphasize the expression, "oh, no" enough in your recent predicament. 

compilation of the one piece royal au designs i came up with

cant believe they added marine bounties in the latest patch this is gonna change the meta

🥺🥺❤️

POV youre Chopper

Another one made for this wonderful fanfic

lord i am not your strongest soldier

taking a hiatus from one piece but i wanted to draw the boys again. idk what they are running from but i assume it’s Nami lol