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3xmcanopies · 1 year ago

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Comparing Ford Canopies with Competitors

Choosing the right canopy for your vehicle can be challenging, given the variety of options available on the market. Ford truck canopies are known for their durability and versatility, but how do they stack up against competitors like Toyota and Nissan?

This article explores the key aspects of Ford canopies and compares them with their main rivals to help you make an informed decision.

Ford Canopies vs. Toyota Canopies

Ford canopies offer robust construction, ideal for both off-road adventures and daily use. In comparison, Toyota canopies are also well-regarded for their durability but may fall short in terms of customisation options. Custom Ford canopies allow users to tailor their canopies to specific needs, making them a versatile choice. Ford’s focus on providing comprehensive Ford storage solutions gives them an edge in functionality and convenience.

Toyota canopies, while durable, often lack the variety of customisable features that Ford offers. This is a crucial factor for those who require specific configurations for their outdoor or work activities. Additionally, Ford canopies often come equipped with advanced security features, such as reinforced locks and tamper-proof designs, which are not always standard in Toyota models.

Ford Canopies vs. Nissan Canopies

Nissan canopies, much like Ford canopies, are built for rugged use and reliability. However, heavy-duty Ford canopies often outperform Nissan in terms of strength and load capacity. Durable Ford canopies are designed to withstand extreme conditions, making them a preferred choice for those who need a reliable solution for challenging environments. Additionally, the secure Ford canopy options come with advanced locking mechanisms, providing an added layer of security over many Nissan models.

Ford’s commitment to innovation is evident in its canopy designs, which often incorporate the latest materials and technologies. This includes weather-resistant finishes and corrosion-proof coatings, which are essential for maintaining the integrity of the canopy in harsh conditions. Nissan canopies are reliable but may not offer the same level of protection and durability as Ford’s offerings.

Material and Design Comparisons

When comparing materials, Ford truck canopies typically use high-quality aluminium and fibreglass, ensuring longevity and resistance to corrosion. The design of Ford canopies is often sleek and integrates well with the vehicle’s aesthetics, providing not just functionality but also an enhanced look. Toyota and Nissan also use quality materials, but Ford's emphasis on seamless integration and aesthetic appeal often sets it apart.

Ford’s use of high-grade materials ensures that their canopies can withstand heavy use without showing significant wear and tear. The aesthetic integration means that the canopies do not look like an afterthought but rather a natural extension of the vehicle, enhancing both its appearance and value.

Price and Value Comparisons

Regarding pricing, Ford canopies offer competitive rates that reflect their high quality and durability. While they may be priced higher than some competitors, their long-term value and reduced need for replacements make them cost-effective. Ford's comprehensive canopy installation for Ford vehicles also ensures buyers get a perfect fit, enhancing the overall value.

The initial investment in a Ford canopy may be higher, but the return on investment comes in the form of longevity, reduced maintenance costs, and a higher resale value. Toyota and Nissan canopies might offer lower upfront costs, but they may not provide the same long-term benefits as a Ford canopy.

Customer Satisfaction and Reviews

Customer reviews often highlight the robustness and reliability of Ford canopies. Users appreciate the off-road Ford canopy options for their performance in tough terrain. In comparison, while Toyota and Nissan canopies receive positive feedback, Ford’s focus on customer satisfaction and after-sales service often garners higher ratings.

Many Ford canopy users report high levels of satisfaction with the durability and functionality of their canopies, particularly those who use them for off-roading and heavy-duty tasks. The strong customer support and warranty services provided by Ford also contribute to their positive reviews.

Durability and Longevity Comparisons

Durable Ford canopies are built to last, often outliving the vehicle itself. This is particularly true for those designed for heavy-duty use. The longevity of Ford canopies ensures that they remain a valuable investment for years. Nissan canopies, though reliable, may not offer the same extended lifespan under similar conditions.

The robust construction of Ford canopies, using top-quality materials and advanced manufacturing techniques, ensures that they can handle significant wear and tear. This makes them a preferred choice for users who need a reliable and long-lasting canopy solution.

Customization and Accessory Options

Ford offers a wide range of custom Ford canopies, allowing buyers to select features that best suit their needs, from additional storage compartments to specialised racks and mounts. The flexibility in customisation makes Ford a preferred choice for those seeking bespoke solutions. Toyota and Nissan also offer customisation options, but Ford’s extensive range often provides more tailored solutions.

The ability to customise a Ford canopy to fit specific requirements, whether for work, travel, or recreation, adds significant value. This level of personalisation is less common with other brands, making Ford a leader in this aspect.

Market Trends and Innovations in the Canopy Industry

The canopy industry is evolving, with new materials and designs being introduced regularly. Ford remains at the forefront with innovations in weatherproof Ford canopies and advanced locking systems. Market trends show a growing preference for canopies that offer both functionality and aesthetic appeal, areas where Ford continues to excel.

Ford’s commitment to innovation means that their canopies are always at the cutting edge of design and technology. This includes the use of smart materials that provide enhanced weather resistance and structural integrity, as well as incorporating modern design elements that make the canopies more attractive and functional.

Conclusion

Choosing the right canopy involves considering various factors, including durability, design, and cost. Ford canopies stand out for their robust construction, extensive customisation options, and superior customer satisfaction. Whether you are looking for a heavy-duty Ford canopy or a sleek design for everyday use, Ford offers a range of solutions that cater to diverse needs, making them a top choice in the market.

Investing in a Ford canopy ensures that you get a product that not only meets but often exceeds your expectations. With their focus on quality, durability, and customer satisfaction, Ford canopies represent a reliable and versatile choice for any truck owner.

#Ford canopy #Ford truck canopy #Heavy-duty Ford canopy #Ford storage solutions #Canopy installation for Ford #Off-road Ford canopy #Durable Ford canopy #Secure Ford canopy #Custom Ford canopy

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abyssyby · 22 days ago

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what are your opinions on syslus getting jealous? like i usually don't consider him as someone who would get jealous, but i do eat those fics up and wonder in what circumstances he might actually experience jealousy (as in romantic ofc)

wanted to know your opinions because i love your characterization of him the most (you could write something with that too if you're comfortable, id be very grateful)

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi anon! dw, i eat those jealousy fics up too— love it when he gets all huffy n puffy over someone else getting your attention ngl.

i personally think, given his draconic qualities of wanting and needing to hoard, claim and possess, sylus is inclined to be one to get jealous. not simply because he’s petty and he doesn’t like others looking at or touching what is his (though i see him disliking that very much too)—but because he will always have the wounds of isolation in his heart. Though he portrays himself to be incredibly secure and collected, he still hoards each ill-gotten memory of abandonment and rejection like etchings in his bones.

and now that he has you— who chose to be with him, to belong with him, to bind your soul to him so that he would never live or die alone—he bears the incredible weight of being unworthy of the one who loves him.

so to me, his jealousy is rooted in this: this belief that no one has wanted him before you, and so why now? the pain of not being all you need, because you should be able to lean on him, rely on him on anything your heart desires. the trauma of being seen as a monster; when will you snap out of it and find someone easier to love?

and though he tries to keep himself in check, communicate as much of the things that shake his heart and wound his loyalty, sometimes in can get a little much for him too

sylus x reader | angst, comfort, fluff, jealous!sylus, clingy!sylus, exploring a few deeper wounds of his jealousy!

“You like him—your partner.” he points out one evening as he walks beside you beneath the canopy of falling golden leaves. dried foliage crunch beneath your feet as you stroll down the paved path between the rows of overarching trees.

He’d come to pick you up at the association, one hand occupied with a canvas holder with two tall cups of boba tea.

He waited on a bench across the street, mindful of how people perceive him. Considering how you’ve stressed about your colleagues seeing him out in the open and fraternizing with you.

So he wears his cap to hide his hair and his sunglasses despite the sunset to hide his eyes, changed his leather coat into a long, brown velvet one. He waits until you notice his presence, instead of ambushing you into their territory, as you so colorfully put.

There, as he waited, he saw you emerge from the double doors speaking lightly to another man he recognized as the one you are paired off with often. One you’d mentioned was your hunting partner— assigned, designated, and in someways, chosen.

You slurp at the straw, boba congealed into a mutated blob restricting any airflow into your mouth. “Hm?”

He knows you’re listening, he resumes his musings. Needs to keep speaking, fueled by the bubbling bile in the base of his throat he absolutely despises feeling. “You seem comfortable.”

The tone is unmistakable— it wasn’t accusing or a jab, but a mindful observation drenched in a distant dismalness. Giving your lungs a rest at trying to inhale your drink, you look up at him. His eyes are far off, the smoothness between his brows are crumpled, so minuscule only you could have caught it. And his soul, intertwined with yours, flickers like a candle disrupted by a breeze.

“We’re friends,” you tell him, preferring his warm hand now to the cup, lending an icy one to his searing touch. His shoulders melt, fingers close in on yours like he’d been dangling from the edge of a cliff, now relieved to have found leverage.

You continue. “He’s very kind.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie.” he says, although it comes out monotonous. Words from a script he simply read on cue. Your brows furrow, and you feel that flicker again.

You dig your heels into the dirt and tug him to a stop with you. With a sigh, he parallels you and meets your gaze.

“Sylus—,”

“Your day is the most important of all the reports I listen to, your gossip, your rants, your rambles.” he knows he might be talking too much now, that it might be overdoing his sorrow, but…

When he saw you exiting with your partner, laughing hysterically at just a single word from him. So simple, so basic. Likely taken out of context, an inside joke or a tail end to the rest of an unheard story.

But when he heard such a laugh for the first time from you and he was far from the cause of it. When he saw how much you actually talked with your hands and your face more than your words, how you spoke and spoke and spoke to your partner in those few moments more than you ever did to him.

He felt it in his chest—muscle tearing open fiber by fiber. In his lungs that fill with smoke. And in his mind, the beast, snarling at him to take you away.

And to what? back to him who could never make you do the same? to him who grates on your nerves? to him who is so difficult to remember, however more to love?

His face is a mixture of anguish and disappointment, a storm raging behind his carmine eyes that focus on your face. Eyes that search yours for any confirmation, any indication that you want to go—leave. Because you should prefer ease, you should prefer comfort and security.

While he can give you all of that, he can give you anything you wish for and all it takes is for you to say it out loud— it will always come with a cost.

His life is danger. His being is monstrous. His love is scorching.

Your cold boba-tea frozen hand is a balm to the world in his mind that alights itself in flames as you cradle his face. His hand comes up to hold yours, press it closer to his skin. He shuts his eyes, breathes in the scent of your wrist— pulse and perfume. “Do you wish more from me?”

“Oh, Sylus.” you frown, quick to pull him down and plant a cold kiss on his cheek. A grumble escapes his throat as he leans into you, fully lets his head fall onto your shoulder. Closer, closer, closer. “No.”

“I want to claim all your laughter. Have my ears be the only one that hears it.” his words rumble in his chest, rough and aching—like it hurts him to admit.

His voice is reminiscent of a tremble of thunder, rattling stained windows of a cathedral; such power in a whisper.

“I want to be all you need. All you want.” he grounds out into your ear. Your knees buckle at the weight of his confession. He holds you to him by your waist, positioning you in a firm cage of his arms.

Outside, you are a picture of two bundled up lovers sharing an innocent embrace, caressed by the autumnal breeze. Seeking warmth in each other.

But beyond appearances, you are a raft Sylus is desperately clinging to as he is cast out to an angry sea. Inside, he fights the battle between making sure you are his and being a reasonable, rational partner.

He nuzzles his nose into your neck, uses your scent to keep himself from causing a scene or saying something that might scare you off more. He only wants to do right by you, only wants to be what you deserve.

And he’s stronger than this petty jealousy that courses through his veins at the sight of you giving someone else a smile he wants to have too— like the morning sun he wants to usher into the darkness. He wants it, like a deprived child, he wants it to be mine, mine, mine.

“What did he say to you?” he asks plainly, resolve slipping from his fingers at the memory of your laughter. Growls it. Cringes as he says it, but his head is too filled with smoke that he can’t find his filter.

Your throat dries. His voice is entirely different now, a caving of the earth, lightning striking a tree open in a forest. For a moment, fear grips your heart, but it dissipates just as quickly as it comes when you see his eyes.

Red rubies, a diamond slit of obsidian right in their centers. His brows knit painfully together, like he’s warring with something. Holding it back and keeping it from attacking you.

“Nothing.” you say, and immediately you know it’s the wrong answer.

He looks away. Not because he dislikes your answer, although he very much does, but because of the way you say it.

Whispered, careful, guarded.

Proving his fears to be true. How can he ask you to love a monster? He isn’t easy, he’s far from it, he can be meticulous and cold and absent—all of which you don’t deserve. It’s not a choice he’d make for you, so why would you choose him?

“Nothing I can remember now, Sylus.” your voice cuts through his thoughts like bullet in cold air. He finds you catching his gaze, begging him to look back at you. Your fingers catch his chin, like he does to you so many times, and guide him back home. “Not now that I’m with you.”

His heart swells thrice its size at your reassurance. At how your careful fingers remove his hat and brush away the matted down hair by his ears. How you kiss his cheeks, his nose, his mouth—uncaring of who might see or catch you. Uncaring of getting caught. So willing to show the world he is yours.

How you see right through him. That despite his humiliating show of possession, you pinpoint its exact origins.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.” you’re so calm and he is filled with gratitude. You lead him to a nearby bench and he practically curls himself around you as you sit. His arm wounds around your shoulders, slips his knee beneath your thigh so your one leg dangles off of his, and his nose is buried back into the junction between your jaw and your throat.

“I want you to be happy.” he says, hesitant. His mouth moves, opens like he needs to say more— but no other words follow.

“I am happy.” you nudge him gently. “My boyfriend picked me up from work today, and he looked handsome in his new coat. And he gave me boba tea.”

He snorts, fingers splaying out on yours as you begin to play with the ring on his middle. He’s keenly aware of the wind that blows your hair in your face, his other hand comes up to shield your eyes and hold some bundles back behind your ear. Painfully honest, he whispers, “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”

You lean your cheek onto the top of his head. You feel his lungs draw breath, even and slow, but know his heart is racing. He seems to fixate on the ring you spin on his finger, brushing his thumb over the nail of yours as if to encourage you to keep doing it.

Leaning deeper into his frustrations, you ask, “Does it sound different?”

He snuffs, a dragon puffing smoke out his nostrils. “It was radiant.” he says, breaking your heart even more.

You pause, scooting that little bit closer to him as the dimming sky turns the air into a nipping chill. You huddle close and lend him your undivided attention.

“I hate that it was for someone else.” he confesses quietly.

You brush his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t make me happy, sylus.”

His eyes squeeze shut as you ask, “You’ve made me laugh plenty of times, my love, help me understand why this shook you so much?”

You’re lost. After everything you’ve been through, all you’ve shared, you can’t help but feel the sting of distrust as he worries for your loyalty. And rarely is he like this, aside from the times he acts on his jealousy— pulling you close, making sure whoever tries his or her hand at claiming you knows who they would be up against by a press of his lips to your temple or a caress of his hardened fingers to the soft curve of your jaw.

But the way he is now—genuinely upset, wary and at the verge of a quiet surrender he struggles not to make a show of—makes you mourn something that looms in the distance. What if he thinks you’ve but put a mask on before him? or does he not believe that who you are with him is the barest form of you there is? You believe firmly he does not think so little of you that you would prefer someone else over him, but…

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing to push his anxiety down. You’re relieved to see him so open to share, at least. Look forward to him bringing you some clarity. But you don’t expect clarity to come in the form of jagged shards of broken glass.

“In the worst of my nightmares, there is one thing that truly petrifies me.” slowly, he takes your fingers in his and brings them up to his lips to cool them with his breath. thawing the freeze, keeping you comfortable. “And that’s when you look at me, turn and walk away.”

You hold your breath, because you’re sure that the next one you let out will usher with it the tears that burn behind your eyes.

“When you see—truly see—the fiend I was. the monster I am.” he mutters, a muscle in his jaw feathering at how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. “How shameless and greedy I am—how proud I am to be.

“And you, my dove. Beautiful, brilliant sun. Why burn to ashes when you can burn in light?”

It’s silent.

Whether it was the cold or the tension, you don’t have time to figure it out before you’re trembling. Ribs rattling, muscles tensing. It is your turn to use him as a raft as you drown in his devotion. For now, you see—that as much as he loves you, he thinks he is poisoning you. Knowing that, his fears then lie there: that his poison has begun to spread and will be the cause of his loss of you.

“Stupid.” you choke, squeezing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your tear-streaked face into his neck. Then, you laugh, grim and wet and raw—a laugh you yourself had never heard before. “Idiot dragon.”

He wraps you in his coat and rubs circles on your lower back. The park has cleared, a single streetlamp illuminates the pair of you. There is no sound but the rustle of leaves and the thrumming of your hearts.

“I burn where I want to.” you grit—not angrily, just through the uncontrollable rattling of your jaw. “I burn with you.”

He stares. To say he was taken aback by your words would be an understatement. He is dizzy, knocked back and shattered into a wall. He could crumple at your feet, he could kiss you until you both see stars.

“We were talking about some dumb lunch thing where another hunter took the last empanada right before his eyes and before he could cuss her out, it turned out to be the captain and I thought it was funny because it happened to me last week and now it’s all so trivial and it’s not even funny—“ you ramble, words stuttered and stumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall. explaining yourself, doing everything you think will soothe the earthquakes in his mind.

As you speak, Sylus watches you with the softest of looks. wiping stray tears away with light fingers, brushing more of your hair back from your eyes, placing his palms over your cold cheeks, your frozen ears—you barely notice, too engrossed in telling him everything. Anything, really, to show him that he will always be ground zero. He will always be the only one ever to witness you as your purest self.

and you doing so means worlds to him.

“And this afternoon, Tara was supposed to—don’t, don’t kiss me! I have snot!” you shriek as he leans to press his warm lips to your freezing face. he chuckles as you scream, drawing you closer, closer, closer. Saying I don’t care with his actions as he kisses you anyway. Slow, warm and consuming. I love you.

And so easily, he forgets why he ever doubted you, feared you’d love him any less than what you already show him. When you so simply complete his day with your voice, when you so effortlessly choose to love him then and now. He places his heart back in your hands, unconscious how he’d clutched it tight in his, and feels the weightless joy you wash over him once more.

He tucks your squeals into the chest of treasures in his mind, along with the atrocious laugh you gifted him as you called him stupid. Never mind the one you gave your hunting partner now, his is much better.

Your light is his to hold, keep and hoard for eternity—and you, yourself, offered it to him as you burn.

✧˚ ⋆｡ more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for sending in this ask & for reading! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

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quarterlifekitty · 29 days ago

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Okay but being Nik’s little kitty and crying and yowling when he takes from home during your heat and back to John’s house

(Not sure I read this right— I think a word or two was missing?)

While you would be crying and yowling, I’m sure Nikolai would insist that Simon be the one to travel for your heat. You’re far too sensitive and delicate during your estrus to go anywhere— the stress alone would absolutely ruin you, not to mention any chances at conception (a happy, secure kitty is a breedable kitty. Who said that)

Simon barrels through the front door as soon as it opens, his shoulders crashing into walls as he rounds the corners of the still-unfamiliar house to find you. It does not matter how many doors or locks are in his way. When he finally gets to you, in your cute little room, you’re perched in your canopy bed, naked apart from your collar and grinding onto a pillow with his blanket clutched in your arms.

You’re pinned almost immediately by the shoulders, his cock clumsily pulled free until it lays hot and leaking against your backside.

“Pretty kitty— all sweet an’ leaking f’me? Cunt’s fuckin’ molten— jus’ beggin’ to be filled with my litter—“

#if there’s a diagnosis for whatever this is someone let me know #writing #cod fanfic #cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #hybrid au #hybrids #kitty reader #cat ghost

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samerpal · 1 month ago

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Gaza: The City of the Flour Zombies

My brother and I went out after midnight, like the rest of the starving souls in Gaza. Our first stop was at the General Security intersection, trying to figure out where the flour trucks might pass. Then we moved north, toward Al-Helou Station and Badri & Hania Company, only to find hungry people sleeping in the streets — unconscious, or so it seemed. We had to step over them, stumble among them. There was no light but that of the full moon, which occasionally vanished behind drifting clouds.

We found a somewhat safe spot near Al-Andalus Tower and sat down briefly. Then we decided to move closer to a metal shack known as “Ma’rouf’s Bricks,” across from a bombed-out building with a canopy. We stayed there for a while, talking quietly about how far we’ve fallen and the state we’re living in. We hadn’t even noticed there was someone sleeping right beside us until he stirred, mumbled a few words, and drifted back into sleep.

With no signal and barely a working phone call, someone on the other end said, “Move to the Al-Tawam intersection.” We knew this place well — or so we thought. When we reached it, we didn’t recognize it anymore. We looked east and were stunned to see lights on the border — something once impossible to see.

A sudden explosion in the eastern area, behind a thick smoke cloud, shook us. We tried to see the people around us, but their faces were covered. They were sleeping on the ground, on the ruins of demolished buildings. People were lying everywhere.

We sat on a small hill, trying to map out the path: would the aid trucks come from the west or the north? Would we even be able to get anything? Should we split or stay together? After some discussion, we made a pact — to stick together. If one of us could get something, he would go directly home. We picked a few backup meeting spots, but in the end, we agreed: head home after securing something.

Around 2 AM, we saw people suddenly moving west toward the sea, hoping the aid would enter from there. We didn’t move — nothing seemed certain yet. But five minutes later, thousands started rushing back from the west shouting, “They’ve arrived! They’ve arrived!” We realized the trucks had come from the north instead.

The once-sleeping masses rose in chaos — sprinting like zombies, possessed, desperate. It felt like a scene from an end-of-times movie. But it wasn’t a movie. We were in it.

We moved quickly — half-running, half-stumbling over the rubble, iron rods, and sharp stones left by the bombardment. You couldn’t even walk safely, let alone run. At the far end of the street, lights appeared. People raced toward them. Then, we heard someone yell, “Tank! A tank is coming!” Panic spread — those who thought it was aid now feared it was death.

We froze in place, not knowing what to believe. Then we saw two trucks from the World Food Programme… and behind them, more trucks! They were real — the aid had arrived. We sprinted faster than ever before. My brother and I got separated in the chaos. My heart whispered a prayer: “God, please protect him. Let him get his share.”

The trucks advanced toward us. People surged like a flood. And there, for a brief moment, I was lucky. I managed to grab a sack of flour, threw it on my shoulder, and ran as far as I could from the moving trucks — they didn’t stop for anyone. It wasn’t courage that drove me. It wasn’t recklessness. It was hunger, fear, humiliation, and a desperate unknown that pushed me forward.

Thousands were still arriving, begging, “Is there anything left for us?” But the trucks were emptied in seconds. People searched for scraps. I held onto the flour like it was my own child, refusing to let anything happen to it, dodging looters and thieves, desperate to get to a safe place.

By the grace of God, I made it back to my tent. We had agreed: if one of us gets something, go home — don’t wait.

Another night ended, another nightmare survived. We keep waking up, hoping this nightmare will end… but we don’t know how.

From Gaza — the city of the flour zombies

@dirhwangdaseul @b0nkcreat @tamamita @chokulit @3000s @apas-95 @pitbolshevik @ot3 @punkitt-is-here @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @paper-mario-wiki @valtsv @omegaversereloaded @i-am-a-fish-stinks @catsgifsarefun @spongebobssquarepants @postanagramgenerator @feluka @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @neechees @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @ankle-beez @sabertoothwalrus @meshugenist @isuggestforcefem @hotvampireadjacent @marxism-transgenderism @90-ghost @a-shade-of-blue @nublicious @zagreus @el-shabazzgifted @tamamita @rhubarbspring @heritageposts @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @butchniqabi @socalgal @finalgirlabigailhobbs @newporters @pikslasrce @vampiricvenus @danlous @loumandivorce @jackiedaytona @deepspaceboytoy @autisticmudkip @nashvillethotchicken @femmefitz @pitbolshevik @innerchildabortionclinic @omegaversereloaded @hotvampireadjacent @boobieteriat @mens-rights-activia @ot3

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qingyuns · 9 months ago

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— i won’t let you fall down, unless you’re in my arms

alternatively, the 3 times kinich saved you from falling and the 1 time that he was the one who fell

pairing: kinich x gn!reader, wc: 2.8k, two or three swear words, reader has a pyro vision because mualani kinich reader burgeon team is a funny hc i have, ajaw makes 2 brief appearances, fluffy but ig they don’t do that much?? pre-relationship and confessions (does this count as a confession), title from an nct dream song (rains in heaven), pls reblog ty

1) The fall that was Pacha’s fault

You were never one to back down from a challenge, not when your pride was on the line. And presently, it was. It was an unfortunate mistake on your part when you’d been a little too cocky, bragging about your rock climbing skills, and as an even more unfortunate result, a friend of yours from the Scions of the Canopy had decided to dare you to climb an actual cliff near his village.

“I’ve got all the equipment,” Pacha had exclaimed. “If you’re really that good, then this should be no sweat.”

You’d narrowed your eyes at him. You couldn’t tell if his smile was mocking or not.

“No problem.”

But now, as you looked up and tried to find another edge to grasp at, you were wishing you had backed down. Seriously, this cliff was just a flat canvas of orange. What were you supposed to hold onto?

“Stupid Pacha,” you hissed to yourself as you reached for a bump in the cliff face. “Stupid cliff.”

Man, you wished you had a Geo vision. Then you could probably create some kind of ledge to rest on. Or maybe an Anemo one would be more useful. You could make yourself float to the top.

You were also never one to be afraid of heights, but as you glanced down, your heart jolted at the distance between you and the ground. Too high. Much, much too high. Your Pyro vision hung uselessly at your hip.

A second glance told you that Pacha was no longer anywhere to be found, and you cursed him under your breath.

“Okay, don’t panic. Just don’t panic and don’t fall,” you huffed. “Easy enough.”

Your palms were moist, your fingers were suddenly too smooth. And just when you risked a second to wipe your hand dry on your leg….

….the other one slipped, and you were falling.

The organ in your chest seemed to stop. This is it, you thought, I’m dead. You were falling, and falling and falling, until suddenly, while your eyes were squeezed shut and your stomach was leaping like a wild Koholasaurus in water, you were flying.

It took you a second for your brain to orient itself, to realise that you weren’t in fact dead yet, but when it did, you felt an arm wrapped securely around your waist, so tight that it was almost painful. You peeled your eyelids open. In your limited view, your saviour was nothing more than a head of dark hair and a blur of green attire. The surrounding cliffs were reduced to blobs of colour as you were swung through the air, down then up, down then up, until your feet were once again on solid ground.

Your knees almost collapsed once you were, and both of your saviour’s arms moved to steady you. A blink. Two blinks. You waited for your breathing to return to normal, then your eyes flitted up to meet theirs.

A kaleidoscope of green and gold greeted you. Huh, pretty.

Your saviour let out a strangled sound, something between a choke and a grunt, and released you. Oh. Had you said that out loud?

“Uh, sorry,” you coughed awkwardly. You took a step back, fiddling with your fingers. “Thanks for saving me.”

With the bandana that was tied over his forehead, it was difficult to discern his emotions. He gave you a curt nod. “You should be more careful.”

A distant yell made both of your hands turn, and you saw the tiny figure of Pacha rapidly approaching and waving his hand at you. By the time he’d closed the distance, which to his credit only took about eight seconds (so he must have felt at least a little guilty about almost letting you die), the guy beside you had vanished.

“Are you okay?” Pacha exclaimed as he skidded to a stop in front of you. You nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief, before looking around curiously. “Was that Kinich?”

2) The fall that was a Tepetlisaurus’ fault

The next time you met Kinich (‘Malipo’ Kinich, a Saurian Hunter who according to Pacha, was transactional, blunt and borderline reclusive), you were on the cliffs by the Children of the Echoes, picking Saurian Claw Succulents as a favour for a new friend of yours, a sweet young girl by the name of Kachina.

And maybe you shouldn’t have been crouching so close to the edge of a cliff, but how you were supposed to know that a Tepetlisaurus burrowing in the earth would come straight for your footing and uproot you, effectively tossing you off the side? Really, it wasn’t your fault! It was just some kind of ninja saurian.

This was only the second time you’d ever fallen off the side of a cliff, but for some reason, you were hardly surprised when the same person came to your rescue this time.

He looked at you blankly as you clutched at the succulent in your hand, eyes darting around to avoid prolonged eye contact. You were sure he probably had an eyebrow raised under his bandana.

“Do you make it a habit to throw yourself off every cliff you come across?”

You flinched. “Well, no.”

His arms crossed over his chest, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to the tattoos exposed on his biceps. The teal suited him, you thought absently.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a screeching voice. “Well, what’s your problem, then!”

A flashing myriad of yellow and green flitted into the air. The creature that had popped up from behind Kinich was … strange, to say the least. A strange, blocky thing. It looked strangely flat, like a hundred tiny, flat, square blocks. Were you going insane?

Kinich sent an annoyed glance towards the creature, before looking back at you to see that your mouth was now agape as you stared.

“Oh, right. You haven’t met Ajaw.”

“Oh,” you muttered, suddenly feeling fainter than you had when falling off the cliff, “so this is Ajaw.”

The blocky creature expanded around the middle (you supposed that was the equivalent of puffing out its chest). “Aha! So you’ve heard of the Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, have you? Tell me, peasant, what have you been told? That I’m ferocious and powerful?”

Kinich sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. You blinked at the creature. You thought back to what Pacha had said – “Ajaw. He’s Kinich’s saurian companion. Really weird little guy. Super annoying.”

“Yeah,” you assented, “something like that.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Kinich sighed. It took you a second to realise that he wasn’t talking to you.

“Maybe you should shut up, Kinich!” Ajaw’s eyes angled themselves into a glare, and he fluttered around agitatedly.

The response he received was a flick of a gloved hand, which sent the Saurian soaring into the sky, until you couldn’t even see him anymore. You were pretty sure you’d never blinked as much in your life as you had in the last five minutes.

Kinich turned to you. “Sorry about him.”

“Um, that’s alright,” you said half-heartedly.

“So how come you’ve fallen off another cliff?”

Yikes. He must have thought you were either insanely insane or tremendously stupid.

“A Saurian knocked me off the side when I was picking succulents,” you muttered, cheeks flushing with heat.

He hummed. You weren’t quite sure what that meant. “And the other time?”

“Um, my friend dared me to climb the cliff. So I did.” You winced. “But I swear, these are the only times I’ve ever fallen off a cliff.”

It was a sentence you never thought you’d have to say. How embarrassing. You waited for the inevitable scolding or mocking to fall upon your ears, but then—

“Alright,” Kinich nodded easily. “Maybe try to avoid cliffs from now on."

Then he turned around, and started walking away. The sudden departure made you recoil in shock. Was the conversation over? Pacha really wasn't exaggerating when he said Kinich was reclusive.

"Huh? Wait a second!" You weren't sure what came over you in that moment, but you had a startling feeling that you couldn't let him leave here.

He paused, and turned to look at you, head tilted slightly to the side.

"Um, hold on." You thought for a moment. How to make him stay for longer? "Are you free right now? I'd like to treat you to a meal, if possible. You know, to thank you."

Your hands clasped in front of you and you fiddled with your fingers.

Kinich blinked slowly for a moment and stared at you. For a horrible moment, you thought he was going to decline, in which case you would have had to turn tail and flee on the spot, but instead, he nodded.

"I have some time."

You brightened. "Great! I know this place that has the best tatacos!"

There was a light skip in your movements as you began to lead the way, trusting that he was following you. You could only hope he didn't eat too much. You weren't sure your pockets could afford it, and you'd hate to make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of him by being too broke to pay. What a horrible first impression...

“Oh, right!” you paused in your steps for a moment. “I forgot to introduce myself!”

And so you did, and you watched as something that almost looked like a smile twitched at Kinich’s lips. Then, as if testing the way it rolled on his tongue, he repeated your name carefully.

Something fluttered in your stomach as you beamed. Yeah, you sure liked the way that sounded.

3) The fall that was the fault of a slippery rock

“No, guys, trust me. I just discovered it. It’s like, really underground.”

Kinich sighed as Mualani giggled at her own joke. As if on impulse, you laughed along with her, but you even as the sound escaped you, you couldn’t tell if it came from a place of pity or not. Underground, because it was literally in an underground cave. Hilarious. Still, a small smile made its way onto your face. This was nice. As much as you loved your other friends, it sure felt great to hang out with people who didn’t always challenge you to risk your life (fuck you, Pacha), though you suspected Mualani was just waiting for a chance to take you Spirit Wave riding, and you weren’t sure you were quite ready for that yet.

Today, however, you were spared. Mualani had promised you and Kinich a relaxing afternoon in a new hot spring she’d found. And so you were following her into an opening in the rock face.

The air was immediately a little cooler than it was outside as you stepped into the darkness. The cave was still illuminated by the sunlight, and you could see more patches of light ahead. It glowed slightly in the reflections of the rock on the ground.

“It’s a little steep here,” your friend warned. “Watch your step.”

No sooner had you nodded to show your understanding than you had placed your foot down on a particularly slippery patch on the floor, and it slid.

A gasp tore out of you, but two arms were already wrapping around you from behind.

“Be careful,” his voice murmured in your ear. You almost gasped again. How glad you were that he was behind you and thus couldn’t see the way you froze up at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

From a little ways ahead of you, Mualani called out. “Hey, you alright?”

Your throat suddenly felt very dry. You cleared it before telling her that you were.

Kinich kept one hand on your waist for the next few steps before removing it after you had found your footing. You found yourself missing his touch upon the removal.

No matter, you assured yourself. Focus on not falling over again. The decline of the slope eased out into a flatter path, and soon the tunnel opened up into an expansive area. The underground spring was much brighter than you had anticipated, thanks to the perfectly round opening at the top. Smooth, round rocks seemed to line the edge, and the water sparkled in the ripples as Mualani crouched down to test it with her hand.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed.

You turned your attention to her. “What is it?”

“It’s cold! It was really toasty last time, though,” she frowned. “It must be because it’s further away. The underground water flow can get unstable and–“

As she rambled on, you crouched by the side of the spring, dipping your hand into the water. It lukewarm at best, but the pool wasn’t as big as most of the one’s above ground. You could work with this. Placing both hands in the not-so-hot spring, the vision at your side pulsed with energy. You let the heat flow through your body to your fingertips, as steam floated just above the surface of the water.

You failed to notice the pair of eyes that were fixed on you as you smiled to yourself.

“Hey, Mualani? Is this better?” Mualani’s eyes widened as she watched the mist rising out of the hot spring.

“Yes, yes, yes!” She squealed. She rushed to your side, squeezing you in a hug, before drawing back immediately. “Ow, hot!”

The girl quickly submerged her arms in the water, sighing in relief. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.

You grinned at your friends, stepping into the water yourself. “Shall we swim?”

The pounding of your heart against your chest was hard to ignore when Kinich slid into the spring and settled right beside you.

???) The fall that wasn’t even you

Kinich wasn’t sure what was wrong with him lately. He’d been sleeping the same, his regimented diet was unchanged, but in recent weeks, he’d found himself feeling a lot more strange.

Hunting commissions had been slow lately, so he’d taken the liberty of accepting ordinary bounties and commissions from the Adventurers’ Guild. When you’d heard about it, you’d insisted on joining him. He hadn’t had a problem with that, but since he started taking on these new commissions, Kinich had noticed that something was happening to his health.

He’d been spending a lot of time with you these days, but that couldn’t be it. How could that explain his borderline feverish symptoms? The heat that flushed his head and neck sometimes, and the weird way that his heart flipped, like it did when he went bungee jumping that one time.

And sure, those symptoms only happened when he was with you, but that was just because he was almost always with you. How could fighting a few treasure hoarders in your presence make him ill?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ajaw growled. “You like them!”

Kinich was too surprised to scoff. “What?”

“You have a big fat crush.”

“No, I don’t.”

The little green dots in Ajaw’s eyes rolled around so hard, Kinich thought they might fall out.

“Fine! Don’t believe me, then! Even though you blush whenever you’re with them, and you stare at them when they’re talking, and you didn’t even complain when they wanted to join your commissions and you’ve been losing half the profit!”

Ajaw’s body doubled in size before he vanished in agitation. Kinich raised a hand to his chin in thought. He needed a second opinion.

“You like them,” Mualani replied simply. “It’s pretty obvious.”

Kinich blanched. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it is,” she grinned. “Dude, you’ve fallen hard.”

There was a twist in his stomach. The tips of his ears turned redder than a hot chili pepper.

“Come on, Kinich. You’re a smart guy. Think about the way they make you feel.”

Despite everything, despite the fact that he was, in fact, a smart guy, and he had always been sure to analyse and prepare for every outcome, and he was always weighing the costs of his relationships and seeing right through people and thinking way too much about everything—

—the realisation hit him like a tidal wave.

Oh.

Mualani grinned, satisfied. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.”

Kinich barely registered her departure.

Because of course. Your relationship had never been transactional. All you ever did was give and give, and without even realising it, he’d poured his all into giving back without a moment’s hesitation. He’d never asked anything of you, nor you of him.

And because Kinich was a level-headed man, and ever-so-straightforward, there was no time wasted before he was at your front door.

If there was ever one thing he would ask of you, it was this.

“I like you, and I need to know if you feel the same.”

A grin found its home on your lips. A step forward and you closed some of the distance. The sparkle in your eyes did nothing to shake Kinich’s nerves, but it did make his stomach flip.

“Guess you’re the one falling for me now, huh?”

#kinich x reader #kinich #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #natlan #mualani #kinich imagines #written works !

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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while working on the case and watching a certain profiler with pretty eyes and a well-tailored coat, you overhear some local cops badmouthing him — and before you know it, you decide to put them in their place.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, unpleasant comments about spencer’s looks and behavior, diva is so diva he should marry her right now fr and hold my hand while i say this and don’t panic joke about morgan's baldness...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8k

𝐚/𝐧: request | i was too much of a lazy bitch to make a header sorry i hope his pretty face makes up for it xx

“How are you feeling out in the field?”

Morgan addressed you with his arms loosely crossed over his chest and a slightly teasing expression on his face. You slowly shifted your gaze to him.

“Absolutely fantastic,” you replied flatly, adjusting your grip on the handle of the umbrella resting against your side. Through the tree canopies spreading above your heads, patches of gray clouds broke through, now and then releasing a few drops as a warning of the real downpour to come. “I love nature.”

He nodded ironically, clearly unconvinced.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you love the mud on your boots too?”

Almost exactly as those words left his mouth, several large raindrops tapped against his FBI jacket, followed immediately by more, falling with even greater intensity. Your friend raised his eyes to the sky, pressing his lips together in displeasure. Rainy weather always made working at a crime scene harder—securing the body and protecting biological and chemical evidence. And collecting the latter was already challenging given the location: a truly remote, densely overgrown spot in the forest, impossible to access by police vehicles. Those had been left at the end of the forest path, as far in as they could get, and you’d been led to the exact place where the latest victim of the serial killer had been found by local officers.

“I’m about to have mud on my boots,” you remarked, already imagining what would happen to the already damp ground after even just a few minutes of such heavy rain. The conditions you encountered had been predictable, so you had chosen footwear suited to them—stylish boots that also perfectly complemented the rest of your outfit. But then again, that was nothing unusual. Even if you had to evacuate during a volcanic eruption, you’d grab something you wouldn’t be ashamed to have melted into your skin by lava.

You opened the umbrella, which had until then been resting with its tip on the ground. Derek took a step toward you, premature gratitude written all over his face—so you stepped back instead, the corners of your mouth curling up mischievously.

“What? Worried about your hair?”

Morgan shook his bald head from side to side, sighing.

“You little witch—”

“Morgan!”

Hotch’s voice called out to you from a not particularly great distance. Even he—who normally never parted with his suit—was now wearing a brown fleece with a high collar and was currently overseeing the setup of a police tent over the recovered body to protect it from the rain.

Derek gave you a nod in farewell, ending the brief chat, but you didn’t even follow him with your eyes. Your gaze remained fixed in Hotch’s direction—or more precisely, on the member of his team who had just approached him. What immediately caught your attention was that Reid was wearing a very well-tailored coat (a detail that made you purse your lower lip in approval, because well tailored coats did have something about them), and he had just begun explaining something, as usual gesturing animatedly with his hands—now covered in blue rubber gloves, lightly dusted with dark soil.

Focused on whatever fascinating theory or analysis he was sharing, he seemed completely unaware of at least half of his gestures, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with the dirty glove in concentration—naturally leaving a mark on his skin.

You rolled your eyes at the sight, but there was something surprisingly gentle in that gesture. You turned the handle of the umbrella in your hand, which also rested on your shoulder—and then the corner of your ear caught a scrap of conversation happening behind your back. Even without turning your head, just by slightly focusing your hearing, you could tell it was coming from two of the local officers also present at the scene.

“Where do you think they even dug him up from?” asked the first male voice mockingly.

“Which one?” the second sounded confused, but a moment later let out a derisive snort. “Alright, don’t even tell me. I already know who you mean.”

Laughter. Real kings of comedy, truly.

“I wonder what he’s even doing in the FBI. I mean, they’ve got to have some kind of fitness tests, right? What’s a beanpole like that even good for?”

“I’ll tell you what he’s good for—pissing everyone off with his babbling. Just look at the other guy’s face.”

Following the suggestion, you looked at the other guy’s face. That, of course, meant Hotch’s face—there was no doubt who the first part of that pathetic, taxpayer-funded conversation had been about. You studied the BAU chief’s expression more closely and didn’t detect a hint of irritation or weariness at whatever Spencer was explaining to him. Hotch simply looked like Hotch.

Your observation was interrupted by the approach of one of your team members, the hood of her raincoat pulled tightly around her head and her glasses nearly completely covered in rain.

“We’re going to have to go back to the car for the equipment,” she informed you, adjusting her glasses on her nose with a sigh the moment she looked toward the path you had come from earlier. That meant quite a bit of walking through muddy terrain, carrying rather heavy items—always packed in sturdy cases for safety reasons.

A certain thought popped into your head, and with a smile creeping onto your lips, you calmed Olivia with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. The woman frowned suspiciously as you turned over your shoulder toward the two men behind you. “Gentlemen, could I ask you for a favor?”

They stared at you for a beat too long, then at each other—and then eagerly stepped forward to fulfill the favor, whatever it was.

“Of course...”

“Anything you wish...”

You cleared your throat.

“You’ll go and bring back the case with number two on it,” you instructed.

Olivia furrowed her brows and parted her lips to protest, but you silenced her with just a look.

“But you need to be extremely careful,” you continued smoothly, “so, very slowly. Ideally, carry it together—for stability.”

The men listened with rapt attention and visible determination to follow your directions. Which, of course, were nonsense—one person could easily carry it alone. But trying to do it as a pair would stretch the trip out nicely in all that rain and mud. Then, well, they were gone, like children you’d promised candy to.

It was so very typical of the kind of men you made use of—just as typical as their pitiful little sense of being useful, irreplaceable.

You watched them vanish between the trees, and when your gaze met Olivia's again, her face showed both surprise and a certain intrigue.

“But we need case number three,” she pointed out, correctly.

You opened your mouth in exaggerated disbelief.

“Really…? Oh, Olivia, why didn’t you say so earlier,” you sighed, making it clear that the whole thing had been a game from the start.

The woman stayed silent for a moment, genuinely trying to figure out your intentions. She gave up shortly after, shaking her head with a sigh.

“And what kind of sadist are you playing today?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” you assured her.

The officers returned, lugging the wrong case and looking like wet dogs, their hair plastered to their foreheads from the rain, which had only intensified since they’d left. They set it down in front of you and Olivia, both sheltered under the umbrella you were holding, visibly relieved they hadn’t dropped it.

You waited a few seconds, during which they stood silently, clearly expecting some kind of eternal gratitude, before raising an eyebrow.

“I said case number three.”

They exchanged a look.

“Um, I’m pretty sure you said the one with number two on it.”

“Um, sounds like you’ve got a hearing problem,” you snapped, sharper than you’d intended, the words slipping out before you could stop them

It wasn’t something you’d planned from the start, and for a second, you were secretly surprised at yourself. But since sharpness and spite had apparently chosen you today, you decided to stick with that version of events and made sure your face reflected the proper level of displeasure.

Olivia glanced sideways at you for a long moment, then nodded with faux certainty.

“Yeah, she definitely said case number three. You must’ve misheard. Not your fault, maybe it was the rain,” she offered in a more sympathetic tone, though still fully backing your story.

The men exchanged confused looks, now with a flicker of doubt that maybe it had been their mistake. So, off they went again—to return the wrong case and fetch the correct one. When they finally disappeared, you gave Olivia a small, grateful smile.

Only to immediately wipe it off your face as the dumbasses reappeared, and declare:

“And what about my handbag? I told you to bring that too.”

And what amused you the most was that the two of them only started showing any suspicion or doubt after their third trek through the rain and mud. Frustration flashed in one of their eyes as he handed you your handbag.

“Was this really necessary for working the case?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Unbothered, and with their eyes still on you, you calmly reached into the bag for your compact mirror and lipstick, touching up your makeup with the faintest swipe.

“No,” you replied, snapping the mirror shut. “But at least you were useful for something. There’s no intellectual work here for two such empty heads, so you might as well make use of those muscles.” You gave them a critical once-over with that last word—because honesty, their physiques weren’t all that impressive either.

They stared at you in complete stupefaction before walking off, muttering something under their breath about a crazy bitch. Well, you had no intention of wasting another word on them. Another thing you had no intention of doing was explaining the entire ordeal to the clearly intrigued Olivia. And the main reason for that was the fact that you hadn’t fully rationalized it to yourself. Maybe you were just running on a higher than usual dose of spite that day.

Maybe there was another reason entirely.

Shortly afterward, Reid approached you, preoccupied with peeling off his latex gloves, only glancing at you with brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Is it just me, or did you send these guys to the cars three times?” he asked.

You merely gave a slight shrug.

“That’s what happens when you have trouble following instructions,” you remarked simply.

And before walking off to rejoin your team, you reached up and wiped that smudge of dirt from his chin with your thumb—the one you'd spotted earlier—leaving him, to put it mildly, completely stunned.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #diva reader ♱#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #criminal minds fanfic

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marvelseries19 · 3 months ago

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RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years.

Three years with no trace.

Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived.

But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.”

“There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.”

“Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics:

“Get her on fluids, stat.”

“We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.”

“Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.”

“She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

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arkaiveofurown · 3 months ago

Text

Kikoku’s Secret Charm

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

“Don’t tell the crew I like this.”

You catch Law admiring a cute keychain in a marketplace. You buy it for him later—and to your surprise, he actually attaches it to Kikoku (his sword) when no one’s looking.

Words Count: ~2000 words

tag: fluff, law likes cute things

my masterlist here ♡

——

The air smelled like sea salt and grilled skewers as the Heart Pirates scattered across the town’s open market. You were trailing behind Law, not because he asked you to, but because you always somehow ended up keeping pace with him when the crew made port.

He didn’t talk much, but his presence was…comfortable. You liked how he moved with purpose, always scanning quietly, arms tucked in his pockets. You weren’t even sure if he noticed you next to him most of the time.

Then something unusual happened.

He slowed near a small stand. Handcrafted trinkets swung from a canopy strung with beads—keychains, hairpins, and other things that screamed cute. That alone was enough to catch your attention. But what caught your eye more was him. Staring. At a chubby white seal keychain with a tiny pirate hat.

You blinked. No way.

You glanced at him again, noticing that he was still staring at the keychain, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his fingers twitched, just barely, as if he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself. A strange flutter tickled at your chest.

He quickly stepped back, eyes scanning the crowd like nothing had happened. But you could feel a warmth spread through you at the thought that he—Law, the stoic and always composed captain—had been admiring something so… cute.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

⸻

You waited until the crew had returned to the ship. When Law had gone to oversee the loading of supplies, you slipped back to the marketplace and made your way to the vendor. The old woman with the sunhat noticed you right away.

“Back for that seal?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You picked it up, holding it in your hand as you smiled at her. “Something like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

She chuckled knowingly and wrapped the keychain in a piece of cloth before handing it to you. You paid, feeling a small excitement building in your chest as you thought about what you were about to do.

It wasn’t much—a simple keychain. But you had a feeling it would mean more than Law would admit.

⸻

Later that night, on the Polar Tang, you stood outside the captain’s quarters. Your hand hovered near your pocket. Nerves bubbled in your chest like carbonated soda.

Just give it. It’s not a confession. It’s just a keychain.

Knocking lightly, you stepped in when he called.

Law glanced up from his maps. “What is it?”

You tossed the wrapped keychain on his desk. “Don’t open it until I leave.”

His brow lifted. “Why?”

“Because if you make a face, I don’t want to see it.”

That got a rare smirk out of him. “You’re assuming I’d react.”

“I know you’d react,” you said, backing toward the door. “And you better not throw it out.”

You were gone before he could say anything else.

⸻

A few days had passed, and the crew had been busy with the usual preparations. You were securing boxes with Penguin when you spotted something strange on the deck.

Law stood by the stern of the ship, his ever-present sword, Kikoku, resting on his shoulder as usual. But this time… something new had been added.

A tiny white seal keychain dangled from the guard of Kikoku. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you rushed over to Shachi, who was standing nearby.

“Wait, is that…?” Shachi leaned in closer, his eyes widening. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

You quickly tugged him away, your face flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “Don’t ask.”

Shachi raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

You smiled, trying to keep the moment between you and Law private. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

⸻

Later that day, you found yourself walking down the hallway, lost in thought. You hadn’t meant to run into Law, but of course, you did. He was standing there, leaning against the wall as if lost in his thoughts.

For a moment, you just watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his usually guarded expression softened just a bit. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you couldn’t resist the urge to speak up.

“It looks good on Kikoku,” you said, your voice quiet but carrying through the space between you.

Law turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment before shifting away again. “You said not to throw it out,” he replied, his voice low, but there was something almost… shy in his tone.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “I didn’t expect you to actually use it,” you said softly, walking toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Law’s eyes flicked down to the keychain, then back to you. He didn’t say anything at first, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered, “Don’t tell the crew I like it.”

You blinked, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if unsure how to continue. And you, for the first time in a while, felt that fluttering warmth deep in your chest. Something had shifted between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniable.

⸻

That night, after the rest of the crew had retired for the evening, you stayed behind in the mess hall. The air was thick with the scent of leftover food and the faint hum of the ship’s engines. You sat at one of the tables, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup.

A few minutes later, Law walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He looked around, and when his gaze landed on you, he paused for a moment, clearly surprised that you were still there.

He walked over to the table and sat across from you, his posture relaxed, as if he’d grown accustomed to having you around. The silence between you was different tonight—easier, comfortable even. It wasn’t heavy or awkward.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Why do you always sit near me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, a playful grin crossing your face. “Because you let me,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips slightly parted as if unsure how to respond. “It’s not that I mind,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So, you do mind?”

He caught your gaze, then looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

Your heart fluttered at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You leaned forward slightly, your hand resting on the table. “Do you like cute things, Law, or just that seal?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his fingers tapped his cup thoughtfully. “…I like some things,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

Law finally looked at you, his eyes intense. He paused for a beat before speaking, his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Like you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t believe he had just said that. The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken emotions.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m cute?”

His lips twitched slightly. “You’re cute when you’re not annoying.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. “Wow. High praise.”

He smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. But there was something softer in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t just teasing.

⸻

The conversation lingered between you both like a quiet melody, filling the empty space of the mess hall. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words that hovered between your breaths. The moment felt fragile, as though it could slip away if you didn’t do something.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you moved. “What’s the matter, Law?” you said, your voice low, teasing. “You going to do something about this?”

He didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Try me,” he said.

So you did.

You leaned down, kissed him gently—warm, slow, real.

And when you pulled back, you caught it. That flicker of red near his ears.

“Don’t tell the crew about this either?” you whispered.

His voice was husky. “Especially not them.”

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