Captain John's treasure is one of the longest running active plot threads in One Piece and I'm still not sure if it's actually going anywhere. It seems like it has to after time was set aside during the God Valley flashback to show the origin of it but we're kind of at the eleventh hour here and Buggy's going for the One Piece now.
Wrong, 😤John Price who's an over excited labrador when you give him affection.
18+, mdni
At the end of the day, John isn't just tired, he's exhaust. A day of hard work, covered in sweat and grime, always leads to him feeling he's serving his purpose. A sense of acomplishment some days, a great deal of other things, too.
A deep, dark well he dives into over and over again on repeat.
But with you it seems to melt away. You seem to coax those easy smiles out of him it the halls. You're just nice. Really fucking nice.
Nice to talk to. Nice to look at. Nice to smell. Something new. Sweet and warm.
Then at a certain point your swapping books and he gets to read your little annotations and doodles in the pages.
John thinks to himself, he doesn't have nice things, hasn't wanted nice things in years. But you... you're nice.
The worlds "Go on a date with me?" Tumble from his mouth when he can think of a single reason to not want you. You weren't expecting it while you were leaning over your work and slurping up ramen noodles from the vending machine down the hall. But even looking up at him has your heart stammering.
His eyes holding you with gentle intent, his little quoka smile going. Even rosey cheeked across from you. That wasn't a face you could say no to.
The change in him was sudden, almost frightening.
While dating him is allowed given you're different companies, it is frowned upon so you both ease in slowly. Toes first. John kissed you after the first coffee date on the temple. Bristly and sweet. Dry lips lingering st the hairline in the gentle display of affection.
Months of sneaking lunch dates to late dinner dates and stealing tender little kisses has you growing frustrated. He gets deployed often. Months at a time, but never has a man taken his time like this.
He's just happy to be along for the ride. You startle him with the little, "John, are you attracted to me? Sexually." You seek to clarify whilst wound around his arm in the back row of a movie theatre.
"Quite," he rumbles, chuckling quietly before thumbing more popcorn into his mouth. His eyes skirt to you, subtly.
You wait a beat, listening for a moment to focus on the movie before turning towards him with an almost annoyed look. "Then why haven't you tried to... you know?"
"You haven't asked me to."
You sputter a bit at his response.
"I'm not- you want me to ask you?" He shrugs, takes a sip of his drink, and turns to nose into you hair. He smells like butter and salt and popcorn. His mustache tickles your ear as he hums.
"I like an active participant."
"You're not putting it off then?"
"No, just tell me when you'd like-"
"Now."
"Now?" He chirps in surprise. His brow crumbles as you rise from your seat, tugging his hand. As he realizes you really mean to leave, he's hardly containing his laughter as he draws you back.
"Dove," he coaxes up at you as you whirl with that annoyed look again. Impatient thing you are. He clasps both your cheeks in his hands and pulls you down to kiss him at the edge of his seat. "Can we finish the movie first?"
"No."
He does laugh this time, earning some dirty looks as he rises in disbelief. He's grinning the entire time you drag him out by the front of his shirt, the pitying looks from the staff aren't needed.
so i finished knocker trying to work on kevin Spencer and captain john
tho i found something evennnn better i just got introduction to mcsm... HEAR. ME. OUT. ON. ROMEO HELP-
i love his personality its so related tbh
might also work on romeo x reader After i finish sassoon 2! i hope nothing bad happen also it's might take long help i can't watch a full 7hrs bruh but i will try to finish it FOR THE SAKE OF ROMEO!!!
Cw: John is the most incorrigible man when injured, leading to the most embarrasssing moment of his entire existance. Briefly suggestive. John being a fucking idiot once again. (Sorry I can't help it.)
You breeze into the Captain's office, frowning upon seeing the clear distress on his face when you knock on the open doorway to be polite. He rarely closed his doors since he'd been on desk duty for his injuries.
"Hey, Cap, you doin' alright?" You ask as you make your way over.
He sends you the stankiest side eye as you approach. "Would be better if you took me off desk duty, Corpsman." He sniffs hard and shoves his current stack of paperwork back on his desk. "I'm going mad in this office. I close my eyes and see paperwork. It's never-fuckin'-ending."
You don't blame him for his irritation and ignore his grumbling as stop to lean against the desk beside him. You give a sparing glance over the stacks that do, infact, look much better than you've ever seen them.
"Give your eyes a break," you sigh and lean across to open the top drawer.
"Put the bloody thing back!" He hisses as you reach for the incentive spirometer. You ignore him then too, and he trys to snag your wrist. "I'm not fucking doing that!"
"Captain, it takes two minutes-"
"I don't fucking care," he barks, leaning back in the chair stiffly.
"Are you five?" You demand dryly at the man who is certainly acting like it. He nearly snarls at your accusation.
"I don't fuckin' need it."
"I can smell the cigars," you bite out and his eyes dart away in guilt. But even guilt doesn't wash away his bad mood. So after a moment you opt for something else.
You stand up, round back to his office door and gently close it. He watches you, frown deep, as you return to where you'd previously perched. Only this time you reach for his face, cradling it in your palms, you stroke ovee the coarse hair their.
You're a little surprised by how well it works. His brows switch their peak, turn up in the middle as he melts nearly the entire weight of his head into your hands, eyes closing, cheeks squishing up.
It's the cutest thing you've seen in your life. It sends your heart leaping.
"John," you coax as softly and sweetly as you can. It flashes his hooded blue eyes open on you, anger evaporating at the gentleness you hold, but he still tries to hold a weak glare. "While, I'm not thrilled about you smoking while your ribs are broken, it just means you have to do your breathing exercises for your recovery. If you don't your risk of pnemonia goes up and I hate seeing you injured. Can you imagine the coughing fits while your ribs ache?"
He eyes you like you're trying to get him to sign a deal with the devil and not just breathe into a tube for a minute. However, you are aware of how effective this trick works on people. The soft explination, the gentle voice. Especially on soldiers.
And something tells you there aren't many people who try this on your Captain.
After a long moment of consideration he presses your palms harder, making your biceps ache under the weight of his skull. A grunt leaves him, a reluctant, "Give me the damned thing." And you carefully cradle his cheek with one hand as you reach back for it.
"Thank you, John," you murmur and give him your warmest smile.
He recieves both of them with an irate shake of his head. "That fuckin' look..."
"You don't like it?" You tease, in that same, buttery sweet tone. The deeper notes, relaxed and warm, your best impression of a kind grandmother.
"Opposite, it's simply evil." He spits like he wants to be angry.
You slide your hand down to cup his neck in as he bites down around the end of the tube. You can see him wince against the drag in. No doubt, the stretching of his lungs against broken ribs unpleseant.
And on the out, the disc inside shoots up and hovers as he maintains an out breath almost perfectly. It cuts off just a smidge before you'd like, but he pauses to hack a pained coughing fit.
"Good job," you insist. He snaps a glower at you.
"I'm not a child." He reply to you hoarsely through weak coughing. He looks cute in a pathetic kind of way, trying to hide his reaction to that.
"Did you like that, Captain?" You ask, voice far too warm, and you both startle at how sultury it purrs from you.
"Em, I'm sorry, that was-" you're cut of by harsher coughs coming out of him now. His entire face having turned red. He holds up a finger with a wince.
"Christ, woman-"
"I'm so sorry," your hands flutter around your face before you cup your hands over your mouth, utterly mortified now.
John is a little winded when you go to frantically right yourself to storm out of his office. He catches your wrist in one hand an catches his cough in his spare elbow, keeping you from fleeing.
"Wait-" a few more coughs seem to rattle him free as he grits his teeth against the agony of his jostling ribcage. His rough hand squeezes your wrist tight. Finally, his lungs don't catch."Just a couple more weeks 'fore I'm back in the field right?"
You scrunch your nose at him. That was his concern. "I just nearly killed you from saying the wrong thing. Ask me when we get there." And you pull away. Marching to the door.
"What if I wanted to take you out?" He calls. Your head snaps over your shoulder so fast you stumble a step. But his lips are pursed. His brows lifted.
You narrow your eyes. This is not the face of well intentioned man.
No, you know your Captain well enough that if he really wanted to ask you on date, he would have dangled it in front of you like this.
"John," it rolls off your tongue dangerously and he squirms in his seat. He's seen that look before. Like distemper on fox. Prowling towards his desk with empty eyes. "I understand your recovery, you might be ornery. You hate being stuck behind a desk. But I swear to whatever higher power is out there. Try to seduce me into letting you off the hook early, and I'll chain you to the fucking desk and snip your achilles. Am I understood?"
He blinks at you for a moment, and you can see the deep red creeping over his face. When you lean your palms onto his desk, his own clasp the edge of the desk to drag himself closer to it, even as he leans back.
"Yes, ma'am." He offers without any volume.
"Good boy." You say it mockingly this time and he turns his cheek away, eyes intensly focused towards the window but his brow pulled tight.
He's turned on, you realize with a spike of delight. And then a weak sort of horror that he likes your threats of violence. You straighten and make for the door feeling oddly light.
"Don't worry, I'll close the door on my way out for you to wank."
"Wank!?" He barks too quickly at your back. It has you laughing as you snag the door handle. You can't help but spare a final glance over your shoulder to see him pinching the bridge of his nose. His hand a completely different color than his face. He looks like one of those hand painted pictures of Santa you remember as a kid. "I will have you know, Corpsman-"
Cw: Second hand embarrassment, oogling, sweaty John Price that's pretty much it.
You shouldn't be watching your Captain this way. All week you've been watching him. It's not fair that since the incident last week he's been cast in the most cinematic light.
You'd been playing it on repeat for seven days. His quick shut down of the disrespect, his casual check in. He didn't even ask more beyond you just informing him that the pissant needing a relocation of his limb was the spitting image of your dad, straight down to his lofty entitlement. Offering to jam the idiot's shoulder into the correct spot, most likely incorrectly, should not have made you as giddy as it did. Watching the blood leave the face of a man who looked an acted a little too like your father by your Captain's thinly veiled threat should not have made your crush on him blossom like this is. Worse, when your palm caught the pounding of his heart when you put hands on his chest to hold him back. Beating strong, fast andsteady until you touched him.
This. Is. Madness.
Because the main symptom being put forth is embarrassing, for one, and inconvient for two. Yet, your Captain with ruddy cheeks and a sweat stained shirt is down right pornographic. You can nearly taste the sweat that trickles down his brow. He swipes that rediculous bucket hat off his head and his hair is plastered down and glistening under the mid-day dessert sun, and John lifts the bottom of his uniform shirt to wipe his face with one of the few dry spots on the fabric. Hair curls over his chest and thins a bit at the bottom of his sternum before plunging into a dangerously delicious navel, and curling down into his belt. It clings when he flippantly flops the fabric back down himself, leaving it untucked, though watching him shove his hands into his trousers to fix that might actually buckle your knees.
Your mouth is so unbelievably dry, head stuffed with cotton at the way his marine issue teeshirt clings to his torso, twists with the marbling of fat and muscle. Have his shoulders always been so broad? God, even the sweat trickling over the trimmed stubble on his neck looks tantalizing where he runs drills with the recruits-
"You keep staring, and your eyes will get stuck."
You jolt at the dry rumble of your lieutenant, puffing on a cig directly next to you. Your face flares with more heat than was already in from the sun.
"Lt! I wasn't- I wasn't staring." You deny quickly, and then wince because you know how obvious your staring is. He offers only a dry huff of amusement, dragging another long puff. "Okay, I was... but... the sun's getting to me and I was watching him show that private how to do the hand-to-hand technique... for the- er, technique..." you offer lamely.
You don't have to guess that your Lieutenant is grinning by the crinkle of his eyes. His split mouth is wide over his crooked teeth as he parts with his cig to chuckle. Scar tissue crinkling his cheek as he laughs at you. You advert your eyes so you don't stare at the keloid scars covering his jaw or the mangled tissue of his exposed gums.
"Should really learn to lie bettah," he grunts, passing you his canteen so you can drink from it. It tastes like the cigs he swears to his wife he doesn't smoke on deployment. He always quits a week before they're scheduled back, something about her refusing to kiss him... it eased you, his clear devotion to his wife. You'd walked in once to admin to find him literally on his knees to fix a jam in her copier and pretending not to notice her slipping extra bits of her lunch to her guide dog, Riley.
"How would you have lied?" You huff at him in irritation, pushing the adoring voice of the adminastrator calling him handsome out of your mind. Especially when it puts the image of the Captain, lounging at your desk back in your fantasy, at him calling you darling. At the thought of his reassuring smile and curling fingers to beckon you. At him calling you 'good girl'-
You shake your head and swing from the canteen again. Mentally hitting yourself with a newspaper.
"No lie'll cover up your drooling, Corpsman." He grunts at you smuggly. "You're more obvious than blood in snow."
"Oh god, I know," you say, passing his canteen back to him. When you spare another glance up, the Captain is watching you both like he's weighing you up. It's all you can do to look away before you start drooling. "You think he knows?" You manage, terrified of the answer.
"Probably. You're his pet project, right now."
"Huh? What do you mean?" You demand. But he doesn't have the opportunity to ask. Not when your Captain calls out.
"Simon!" And when you both look up, he's got his arms crossed in inquiry.
"Cap'n! This one says she's curious about hand-to-hand!" Your liuetenant calls back.
"That so, Corpsman?" Your Captain's brow arches in surprise and you cannot supress the quick glare at your Lieutenant. "Why don't you come join?" Not a request.
"I hate you," you hiss at Lieutenant Riley as your feet drag you closer to the sweat-drenched Captain you've developed an enfeeblingly-inappropriate-mega crush on. This is going to be the absolute worst.
"Don' worry, Cap, made her hydrate already!" Riley calls out.
