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noahnopesbest · 7 days ago

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Something to hold onto

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,800+

Synopsis: After a particularly mundane and excruciating shift aboard the Victoria Punk to ensure smooth sailing, you felt as if your body was going to buckle and give up on you. All you wanted was something to hold onto: whether it a hot beverage or a warm body to engulf your own in a friendly embrace to share that burden - but you'd rather die than admit the latter.

Themes: Killer x gn!reader, sfw, undisclosed chronic pain (reader), hurt / comfort, platonic love, friendship, Kid Pirate Dynamics, no prior romantic relationship, just friends hugging.

Notes: For all the folks who really, really want to be held by Massacre Soldier Killer and sink your face into his broad chest to hear his heartbeat clearer, and especially for @autumnnjoy. I hope you enjoy, love. Get hugged by this first mate.

The day had dragged on, your knees bending with the lagging fatigue the longer the sunlight continued to alert you of your duties. There were moments throughout the shift you felt your body giving up. Even though each member of the Kid Pirates took their turns to pay their dues to hold their position, this particular day had your body screaming at you to stop.

The minute you heard Heat bellow down that it was time for shift change, you could already feel the call of your bed ringing in your head to heed its call. However, there was something you needed far greater that the weight of a single layered duvet could provide.

You needed to be held.

But in the true Kid Pirate fashion, you would rather die than admit that fact to anyone.

Bracing yourself against the railing, you felt your bones grind on one another in the shroud of eclipsing agony. There was no true reason for this. No injury; none present, former, or future. You simply felt the full brunt of living in your own head while droning through your shift with the smog of sorrows crippling you. Sometimes it hits you mentally, other times, when disregarding caring for your mental health, your body decides to showcase just how much weight you carried mentally in the physical.

Each bone-screeching step drew you closer to the kitchens. Should you not manage to garner access to an embrace, you deduced the next best thing was a cup of your favourite hot beverage while gazing out of the circular, port side window. You just needed your hands around something, whether simply just a mug in lieu of a friend. Simply something to hold onto would be more than enough for you. Finally finding the familiar archway entrance to the Victoria Punk kitchen, you halted your movements upon finding the familiar mane of gold falling in sunkissed waves down the curvature of the commander’s back.

Massacre Soldier Killer.

Standing and scrubbing at a few pans and plates, the masked first mate continued to wash up after what you assumed was his late afternoon, early evening protein fix after his workout. It wasn’t that you were in tune specifically with his routine. He was just incredibly predictable.

His routine was down to a fine art, one that inspired you to do better within your own. Meet with the captain before breakfast, coffee with the commanders, communal meal, start shift, eat packed lunch, complete shift by mid afternoon, hit the rec room for his weight training and sparring with either Heat or Mosh, go to the kitchens to have a protein fix before engaging in the fastest rinse off known to mankind, begin cooking dinner.

Killer never deviated from the plan, only ever if docked at an island or given extra duties to take care of. Predictable, dependable, reliable, comfortable: the four aspects your body screamed that it needed for the world to again make sense. Just as you made to quietly walk to the stove to boil water for your beverage, you felt the deep tenor rumble beside you.

“You’re not even gonna say ‘hello’?” he concluded with a mention of your name, gently bumping your shoulder with his bicep. You could tell he was expecting a little bit of your usual verbal sparring, not the pained yelp that clawed its way out of your throat against your will. Immediately, Killer turned to face you with his hands moving to cup your shoulders. His large palms and fingertips mapped along your arms, searching for anything to cause you grief.

“Broken?” Killer asked softly, feeling along your joints for elevated skin or welts bubbling over your flesh.

“Not externally,” you quipped in response with a soft smile, “Honestly, Commander, I’m fine. Just… Just need a hot cup of something.” Although you attempted to brush aside his worry with a few choice words, your voice held that hidden longing deep within. The pain grew more apparent, and gritting your teeth to bear through the worst of it wasn’t enough this time.

“Internally?” Killer asked softly, tilting his head to press his forehead down to brush the tip of his mask against your head, “Or mentally?” His hands moved back up to cup your shoulders and slowly added more weight to you. Just this brush of connection alone had you whimper out a soft plea without words. Everything was showcased in your eyes gazing past the darkened ports of his shielded face, witnessing the blues of his sapphire eyes glimmering beyond its border.

“Need something to hold onto, don't you?” Instinctively, Killer moved his arms to snake around your shoulders, ushering you towards the full span of his broadened chest, “C’mere. I've got you.” His whiskered chin met with the top of your head, fully welcoming you into his arms and smothering you there within. You immediately felt your body go limp, feeling Killer hold onto you physically while you released every excruciation encumbered by the delay of your needs being met.

The scent of body musk masked with fragrances to halt his perspiration hit you in a comfortable wave. His entire mass consumed your smaller frame, almost hidden within the bulk of his muscles. The larger palms of the massacre soldier caressed and soothed your shoulders with one hand, while the other held your face firmly clutched against his heart.

“Does it make me weak to need this?” you asked against his chest, lips tasting the salt against his torso as it brushed with your pouting lips. Killer chuckled at a squeaked pitch, as he soothed you with his arms circling your frame.

“No,” he uttered softly and gently, “Although none of us really express our needs all that often vocally, everyone on the crew needs this. We're not omnipotent.”

“Big word,” you teased him with a grin, still feeling that hard ache linger on between you. Killer shook his head and held you more firmly against himself, his tangible smile being heard and felt in every gentle and uncharacteristic motion.

“Reading,” his gruff voice squeaked more on the edges, all smile halting back a hitched laugh, “But I mean it. We don't talk about feelings often, but everyone needs this shit from time to time.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

Taking a moment to inhale deeply, you exhaled while feeling that slow and steady rhythm you had come to anticipate from the first mate. His heart beat slowly, his body warm and the perfect combination of softness with the hardened muscles remaining beneath.

“And now I'm gonna squeeze you,” he whispered softly, “And when I release you, I want you to give me what you've been feeling. Try it with me, ready?” he moved his hand from cupping the back of your head to moving both beneath your armpits, “Inhale now, and release that breath when I squeeze you.”

“Why?” your question was so soft, something so simple yet laced with uncertainty of his actions. Killer chuckled, locking his wrists behind your back over your spine, and leaned his masked face close to yours.

“Because it's nice,” Killer nodded at you, his goatee softly bobbing alongside his head, “Lots of reasons, but the main one is because it's nice. Captain likes it when he's stressed, Heat likes it when he's lonely, Wire likes it when his discs are slipping and his whole body feels like it's falling apart, and you're gonna like it because you're in pain," his voice was soft spoken, calm, staying facts as if it's common knowledge though it's not, "It grounds you, and gives me a bit of what you're carrying figuratively. Symbolically. Now lemme squeeze."

Killer began increasing the pressure to your back with his clenching forearms. His knuckles knotted with your spine, clutched wrist in his own hand as he pulled you in close.

“Inhale.” Doing as the first mate commanded was easy enough to follow in every way in battle, on the ship, and when communicating with locals. This was no different. You balloon your lungs, and just as he increases the pressure, he whispers softly against your ear.

“Now, exhale.” Like an overfilled well, your emotions and that pain you felt begin to pass to that warm mass of Massacre Soldier Killer as he squeezed you. The swarm of emotions and that pain never left you completely, but the connection your body felt with Killer's was enough to dampen that pain just for a second.

“More or are you done?” Killer asked softly as he pressed soothing circles against your back. Your brows knit together in a hard line as you locked your arms around his neck, drawing him closer while tucking your head into his neck.

“More please,” you whispered softly, holding him ever nearer while simply lingering in that warmth you feel liberating you from that crippling pain and leaving you with simply a dull ache in its place, “I just need-.”

“-Something to hold onto,” Killer finished for you, simply electing to lift you up into his arms and walk you throughout the hallway, “I know. I've got you.” He moved his hands to your lower back, giving you a soft squeeze while his legs carried you both down the hall, “Just taking us out of the space while Heat works on his snack. The amount of chilli flakes, lemon juice, garlic and onions he uses is enough to destroy your tear ducts. Don't wanna subject you to that while you're already feeling vulnerable.”

As if on queue, Heat passes you both down the hallway and stops to give Killer a clap on the shoulder beneath your arm.

“Did your dishes?” Heat asked softly.

“Yep,” Killer answered with a nod while pausing his walk, “On the rack drying. Don't fuck up my kitchen.” Heat nodded back, taking a moment to look at you clutching Killer.

“Giving out squeezes again?” Heat nodded with his lips downturned in thought before turning to you nestled into his neck, “They're good, right?” You barely let out a word in response before Killer uttered quietly.

“I want to get ahead of dinner, Heat, so clean up when you're done,” he ordered softly while slowly readjusting you on his torso, “I'll be back after you've fumigated the damn kitchen with your comfort food.” Heat chuckled, waving him on with you clutched onto to him tightly.

“I'll do my best to air the shit out when I'm done.”

Killer carried you as if you were weightless. There was no straining in his breath, no grimace in his muscles, nor any indications that you were burdening him at all with any of your pain. Killer simply held your frame firmly braced against his own without complaint. In fact, he almost seemed chipper about the fact you were clutching his chest and hanging on.

“You just hang on tight, possum,” Killer uttered softly into your neck, “You just hold onto me as long as you need to, and I'll be right here to take what you need to give me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @nocturnalrorobin

#one piece #fic

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