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arkaiveofurown · 3 months ago

Text

he was harsh to you

Pairings: Crocodile x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader, Mihawk x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 - 2,000 words each

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

my masterlist here ♡

----

Crocodile

The tension between you and Crocodile had been building for days. He had been aloof, and his sharp, biting remarks were starting to wear on you. It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle his bluntness—hell, you were used to it by now—but today, it felt different. It felt personal.

You had just come from a successful mission for the Cross Guild, but the celebration was overshadowed by Crocodile’s attitude. You were standing near the map room, reviewing your next move, when he stormed in with that familiar scowl on his face.

“Don’t you have something better to do than stand around wasting time?” Crocodile snapped, his tone cold and dismissive. “I don’t need a babysitter. Get your act together.”

You felt your blood boil at his words. “Excuse me?” you shot back, unable to hide the irritation in your voice. “I’m doing my job just fine, thank you very much. Maybe you should stop trying to belittle everyone around you.”

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening as he stepped closer. “Belittle? I’m trying to get through to you. You’re so damn distracted, it’s pathetic. You’re wasting your potential.”

“Wasting my potential?” You clenched your fists, holding back the sting of his words. “How about you stop trying to micromanage everyone around here? I’m getting things done, but you just don’t want to see it, do you?”

“Getting things done?” Crocodile scoffed, walking over to the table and slamming his hand on the map. “You’re dragging your feet. We’ve got a Guild to build, and you’re too busy pretending everything’s fine. If you think this is going anywhere, you’re living in a fantasy.”

His words stung more than you cared to admit. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m doing exactly what needs to be done. But if you think I’m just here to be your damn soldier, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Crocodile’s eyes flashed with something darker. “Soldier? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re part of the team—if you can manage to act like it. But from what I’m seeing, you’re more of a liability than an asset.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the anger bubbling up in your throat. “A liability? I’ve been working harder than anyone on this ship, and you can’t even see it. Maybe it’s easier for you to blame everyone else for your own failures.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low. “What failure? I’m not the one who’s failing here. It’s you, with all your whining, trying to act like this is a charity. This is a Guild, not a damn playground.”

You could feel the heat rising in your face, but you stood your ground. “You’re impossible. You always think you’re right and that the world revolves around you. Maybe you need to take a long look in the mirror and realize that you’re the one who’s out of line.”

Crocodile didn’t flinch. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. You either get in line or get out of my way.”

That was the breaking point. You took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to lash out. “I’m done with this,” you said, your voice shaking with frustration. Without another word, you turned and stormed out of the room, the slam of the door echoing in your wake.

----

The silence in the ship’s quarters felt suffocating. Crocodile’s harsh words echoed in your mind, replaying over and over, and the weight of the argument was crushing. You hadn’t expected it to escalate like that, but there was no denying it now—you were hurt, and you couldn’t pretend otherwise.

You hadn’t bothered to leave your room, locked in your thoughts, lying on the bed with your back to the door. The sting of Crocodile’s words felt like a constant pressure on your chest. You’d been part of the Cross Guild for so long, fought alongside the others, but why did it feel like Crocodile just saw you as a tool? A tool that he could discard when it suited him.

You hated the feeling of weakness that crept in with the tears you’d been trying to hold back. But when it all became too much, they finally fell. Quietly at first, then in desperate, broken sobs.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed to cry until you did.

Hours passed, and you thought you’d hear the sounds of Crocodile’s usual cold demeanor at your door. But it never came. No knock, no footsteps—nothing.

You sat up from your bed, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Crocodile might not have said anything more, but his absence was almost worse. It felt like he didn’t care enough to even check if you were okay.

----

The next day, things were still quiet between you and Crocodile. He wasn’t avoiding you, but he wasn’t making any overt moves either. The silence felt heavy, like there was more left unsaid, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to approach him first.

It wasn’t until you were sitting alone in the ship’s main hall, watching the crew go about their usual duties, that you saw him again. He was standing near the door, scanning the room as though he was looking for something—or someone. His gaze fell on you, and for a moment, you thought about getting up and leaving.

But then, something unexpected happened.

He walked toward you, his steps deliberate, his usual air of command unmistakable. But there was no arrogance, no cold indifference. Instead, there was something almost… hesitant, as though he was unsure how to approach.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. Not demanding, but more… tentative.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Crocodile sat down beside you, but there was a clear distance between you two. Still, he didn’t break the silence. Instead, his eyes flickered to the floor and back to you, unsure of how to even start.

“I’ve been thinking,” Crocodile began, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t do ‘soft’ well. I never have. I push people away because it’s easier than getting close. But with you… I shouldn’t have done that.”

You stayed quiet, listening. This wasn’t the Crocodile you were used to, and it threw you off. But you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I treated you like you were disposable. Like I could just push you aside because I don’t know how to handle emotions,” he continued, his words laced with the rare honesty he usually kept buried. “I’m not saying I can change overnight, but I… I can try. I can do better. For you.”

For a moment, the room felt too quiet, too heavy with the weight of his confession. You weren’t sure what to say, but you couldn’t deny the effort he was showing. It wasn’t just words. It was him trying—genuinely trying—to be someone better for you.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he added, his gaze meeting yours directly. “But if you’ll let me, I want to show you that I’m not just some heartless bastard.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. Crocodile wasn’t the type to offer grand gestures, but this... this was different.

He shifted in his seat, as if he was fighting the urge to stand up and walk away. His usual confidence was tempered by something more vulnerable, and it made the tension between you two feel palpable. Still, there was something unspoken in the air, something you both knew needed to be addressed.

After a moment, Crocodile pulled something from his pocket, a small, worn notebook. He placed it between you two with a rare hesitance, as though it was heavier than it appeared.

“I don’t usually carry things like this,” he started, his voice rough but not harsh. “But... I thought you might find it useful.” He tapped the notebook once. “It’s full of notes—things I’ve learned, strategies, things about our crew that could be useful. Not much, but it’s something I’ve kept for myself. Thought it might help you... since we’ve been working together.”

There was no flashy gesture, no grand promises—just this small act of vulnerability. Crocodile wasn’t one to share his notes or insights with just anyone, much less someone he had been pushing away. It was his way of showing he trusted you more than he had before.

You stared at it for a moment, processing what he’d done. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t over-the-top, but it was honest. It was him offering something personal, a piece of his world that he didn’t usually share.

“I know I’m not great with words,” Crocodile continued, looking away, his usual guarded expression back in place. “But I can do this. I’ll show you I’m not just some cold bastard.”

You let the silence stretch between you as you reached for the notebook, running your fingers over the pages. It was simple, but it meant something—he was trying. And that was enough for now.

"Thank you," you said softly, glancing up at him. "This is... more than I expected."

His eyes flickered to yours for a moment, something unreadable in them. "It's just a start," he muttered, standing up. "I’ll keep trying. But you’ve got to meet me halfway, too."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. It wasn’t perfect, and there were no sweeping gestures, but this... this felt real. And that was a good place to begin.

---

Ace

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting golden hues across the ship. You and the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates were enjoying a rare moment of calm as the ship slowly drifted across the sea. The deck was lively with the crew, but you found yourself chatting with Thatch, who was always kind and welcoming.

The conversation was lighthearted, the two of you laughing over some silly story. But through the corner of your eye, you noticed Ace’s figure standing by the mast. His eyes were fixed on you and Thatch. You didn’t think much of it, assuming Ace was just being his usual quiet self. But then, you saw his expression—dark, his jaw clenched, fists tightly gripping the railing. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, and it felt like a cold gust had suddenly blown through the deck.

Before you could finish your conversation with Thatch, Ace stormed over. You barely registered his approach before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from Thatch.

“Hey! What the hell, Ace? What’s going on?” you said, trying to pull your arm from his grasp.

“Don’t hey me,” Ace snapped, his voice low and seething. He was angry, and it was obvious. “What the hell was that about?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, confused. You looked back toward Thatch, who was watching the exchange, a slight frown on his face.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ace growled. “You’ve been all over Thatch today. Laughing, touching him, flirting like it’s some fucking game. What, am I not enough for you?”

Your heart dropped at his words. “Flirting? Ace, we were just talking. It’s nothing like that. You’re making it into something it’s not.”

“Really?” Ace scoffed, his eyes darkening. “Don’t act like I’m blind. I’ve been watching you. The way you’re acting with him, it’s obvious. You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t see it?”

You felt the heat rise in your chest. “Are you seriously accusing me of something right now? You’ve known Thatch for years, and now you’re acting like this over nothing?”

Ace’s grip tightened on your wrist, his face flushed with anger. “Nothing? You think this is nothing? You think I’m stupid? You’ve been laughing with him, leaning into him, all damn day! It’s like I’m invisible to you when he’s around!”

“Ace, calm down!” you snapped, pulling your arm from his grip. “You’re overreacting. This isn’t about Thatch! I’m not doing anything wrong!”

Ace stepped closer, his voice growing colder. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You don’t get it, do you? I’m standing here, and I’m watching you smile at him, touch him, like I don’t fucking matter. And what the hell am I supposed to think?”

You couldn’t believe it. “You’re acting insane. You know I love you, right? You’re my partner. But you can’t just jump to conclusions like this—this isn’t jealousy, this is possessiveness. It’s not fair to me.”

“I don’t give a damn what you call it,” Ace sneered, crossing his arms. “It’s not just a little joke anymore. It’s like you’re fucking ignoring me every time he shows up, and I’m tired of it.”

You clenched your fists, feeling your frustration boil over. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re the one I want. Not him, not anyone else. I’m not some fucking flirt, I don’t need your jealousy getting in the way of everything. You’re acting like a child.”

“A child?” Ace barked out a laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “Look at you. You’re so fucking perfect with everyone else. But when it comes to me, I’m the one left questioning if I even matter to you.”

“Ace, you’re being ridiculous!” you yelled, your anger flaring. “This isn’t how you should be acting. You’re pushing me away with this shit!”

“I don’t care if you think I’m ridiculous!” Ace shot back, his face turning red with fury. “I can’t fucking help it. It just hurts to see you giving attention to someone else when you’re supposed to be mine. What am I supposed to do with that? Just ignore it like you’re not doing anything wrong?”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you couldn’t even find a response. You stared at him in disbelief. The person you knew, the Ace you loved, wouldn’t talk to you like this. He wouldn’t accuse you, wouldn’t twist everything into something ugly. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief.

Ace ran a hand through his hair, his expression shifting from anger to frustration, but his tone was still harsh. “I’m just saying what I feel, alright? Maybe I should just stop caring. Maybe I should just let you do whatever the hell you want without giving a damn.”

You felt a sting in your heart at that, but you didn’t let him see it. “Fine. If that’s how you want to be, then go ahead. Push me away. Make me feel like I don’t matter. Do what you need to do.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!” Ace snapped, his voice getting louder. “I’m just tired of feeling like I’m not enough for you! Like you don’t need me anymore!”

“Ace, stop acting like I’m the one who’s wrong here,” you said, stepping back from him. “This is about you—your insecurities. You need to figure this shit out before you start blaming me.”

“I don’t need your lectures right now,” Ace spat, his eyes wild with frustration. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m the one with a problem. You’re the one making me feel like this!”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the tension between you two, thick as smoke. You didn’t know what to say anymore. His words hurt more than anything, and you could feel the emotional distance growing between you.

“Ace,” you began, your voice quieter now, though still edged with anger. “I’m not going to keep fighting with you like this. If you want to think that I’m the problem here, then fine. Do whatever you want. But I won’t be dragged down by your jealousy. I won’t.”

You turned to walk away, but Ace’s harsh voice stopped you. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m trying to make sense of this! Don’t pretend like you’re innocent in all of this!”

You didn’t stop. You kept walking, not giving him another glance. If he couldn’t see how much you loved him, if he couldn’t get over his own jealousy, there was nothing more you could say.

And in that moment, the distance between you and Ace felt wider than it ever had.

----

The moment Ace walked away, everything felt cold. You didn’t know how long you stood there, just staring at the spot where he had left you. Your hand was still aching from his grip, but it was the sting in your chest that hurt more. He didn’t trust you, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

You didn’t want to cry, but the tears started anyway. It wasn’t just that he’d been angry—it was the way he’d accused you, made you feel like you weren’t good enough for him. His words burned like fire in your mind, and they refused to go away. You rubbed your eyes furiously, wishing it would stop, but it didn’t.

You made your way below deck, avoiding anyone’s eyes. But even in the silence, the weight of Ace’s accusations pressed against your chest.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden floor interrupted your thoughts, but you didn’t look up.

“Ace…” you whispered, voice barely audible, as you heard him stand in front of you. His figure towered over you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

He stood there for a long moment before letting out a long sigh.

“I messed up.” His voice was quieter now, filled with regret.

You didn’t answer right away, the hurt still raw. He continued, as if to reassure you.

“I know I was harsh,” he said softly. “I don’t know why I reacted like that. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You finally looked up, his face full of guilt. It wasn’t the same anger you had seen earlier, but it didn’t make it better.

“Ace, I don’t deserve that,” you said, your voice shaking. “You’ve been treating me like… like I’m the one doing something wrong. You don’t trust me.”

“I know,” Ace muttered. “I was jealous, and it made me stupid. I didn’t think. I just… acted.”

“You can’t just accuse me like that, Ace. I thought you knew me better than anyone.”

“I do,” he said quickly, kneeling in front of you. His voice cracked slightly. “I do know you. And I’m sorry. I… I don’t know why I overreacted like that. It’s just…” He paused, staring down at the floor, lost in thought. “I get scared sometimes, you know? That you’ll leave me. Or that I’m not good enough.”

His words were quieter now, as if speaking them made the weight of them hit him too.

You swallowed hard, still trying to hold yourself together. “It’s not about you not being good enough, Ace. But you made me feel like I was the problem.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. I promise. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

He reached out then, carefully pulling you into a hug. His arms were warm around you, and despite everything, it felt like home.

“I’ll prove it to you,” Ace whispered against your ear. “Just... please don’t leave me.”

----

Later that evening, Ace approached you once again. He wasn’t going to let this slide with just words. This time, he was determined to show you how much you meant to him.

He found you on the deck, staring out at the sea. The sunset had painted the sky in shades of orange and pink. He hesitated for a moment, but then walked up to you, standing still for a few seconds before quietly sitting beside you.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how I’ve treated you,” Ace started, his voice calm but serious. He wasn’t going to let this be a quick fix. He had to prove he was serious. “I was an idiot before.”

You didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t pull away either, so he took that as his sign to continue.

“You deserve better than me just saying ‘sorry,’” Ace continued, looking at you with those soft, apologetic eyes. “I want to show you, not just tell you.”

Without waiting for a response, Ace stood up and reached into his jacket, pulling out something small wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a beautiful hand-carved wooden pendant—one shaped like a flame, a piece of his own soul carved into it. He placed it in your hand, his palm warm against yours.

“I made this for you,” Ace explained, his voice low. “It’s not much, but it’s a reminder. Every time you look at it, I want you to remember that I’m here. I’m trying to be better. For you.”

You stared at the pendant, surprised that Ace had gone this far. He wasn’t known for his sentimental side, and seeing him take the time to make something so personal was a first.

But that wasn’t all.

Ace lowered himself to one knee, taking your hands in his, his usual cocky grin gone, replaced by something deeper. “I’m not perfect. Hell, I’m far from it. But I’m gonna fight for you, every damn day, if it means showing you that you’re mine and that I don’t take you for granted.”

His eyes held sincerity, not just for a moment but for what felt like eternity. He wasn’t asking for immediate forgiveness; he was showing you that he understood the weight of what he’d done, and he was willing to carry that burden.

“I’ll be better. I’ll prove it to you, one step at a time,” Ace added, squeezing your hands gently. “I’m not gonna run from it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You felt the weight of his words settle between you, but it was the actions—the carving, the kneeling, the rawness of his apology—that made the difference.

And in that moment, something shifted. His effort wasn’t just in the words, but in the way he had approached everything differently. The care, the vulnerability, the openness—it was something you hadn’t seen from Ace in this way before.

“Thank you,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze.

Ace’s face softened, and he pulled you into his arms gently. “I’ll never stop showing you, okay? I’ll never stop trying.”

You could feel the warmth of his embrace, but it was different now—sincere, unwavering, and full of effort. He wasn’t perfect, but this was the Ace you had always known, the one who, when he cared, gave everything he had.

“I know you won’t,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, knowing that even in his flaws, Ace’s heart was real and his effort was exactly what you needed.

----

Law

You were in the medical bay, carefully organizing the supplies, running through the routine tasks that kept you busy and, for the moment, kept your mind off the chaos of being aboard the Polar Tang. The quiet buzz of the ship’s engine was a subtle backdrop, almost soothing, but it wasn’t long before Law entered, his heavy boots echoing in the small space.

“Are you seriously doing this now?” His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You turned, surprised to see him standing there with his arms crossed, a frustrated look on his face. "What? I’m just getting the medical supplies organized," you said, trying to keep your tone neutral. You had been with him long enough to know when something was off, and you could feel the tension in the air.

Law didn’t even spare a glance at the supplies. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you, sharp as ever. “It’s a waste of time. Don’t you have something more important to do?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What’s wrong with organizing the medical supplies? We can’t afford to let things get disorganized—especially if someone gets hurt. You should know that.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “This again? All you ever seem to do is waste time in here. We have real problems going on, and here you are, playing nursemaid.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you tried to stay calm. “I’m not just playing nursemaid, Law. This is a crucial part of the crew’s well-being. You might not see it, but when someone gets injured, we need everything in place.”

Law snorted, walking further into the room with no regard for the way his presence weighed on you. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been the one patching up the crew for years. I don’t need some reminder of how ‘important’ this is.”

His eyes glinted with something cold, making you feel like you were the one being irrational. “And yet, every time I come in here, I see you fiddling with bandages and vials like it’s some hobby. Maybe if you spent more time actually being useful, we wouldn’t be in half the mess we’re in now.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your face, your patience wearing thin. “Useful? I’m always useful, Law! You’ve never seen me just sit around and do nothing. I’ve been with you through thick and thin. What the hell is your problem today?”

Law didn’t flinch, his gaze cold and hard. “You’ve been off lately, not getting your hands dirty, avoiding the real work. Every time I turn around, you’re in here with your head buried in paperwork or fiddling with stuff that doesn’t matter. Are you even trying to help anymore, or is this your way of slacking off?”

You felt your pulse quicken, the sharpness of his words stinging like a slap across the face. “You know what? I don’t need this right now. I’m trying to do my best, but I guess that’s never good enough for you, huh?” You crossed your arms, pushing back the feeling of betrayal that crept up your throat.

“I don’t need your excuses,” Law replied, his voice colder than before. “You know what this crew is like, and you know what’s at stake. The sooner you stop pretending like this is all a game, the better.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I’m done here.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, stunned. You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

You sat alone in your room, staring at the wooden floorboards, your mind replaying the harsh words from earlier. His anger had caught you off guard, and it stung in ways you didn’t expect. You’d never seen him like that—so cold, so dismissive. What had you done wrong?

You hadn’t meant to upset him, not at all. You were only trying to help, to get through to him, but it seemed like he didn’t want to hear it. The more you thought about it, the more it hurt. Was this how he really saw you? Was everything you did so easily misinterpreted?

The tears came, slowly at first, then in a rush, spilling down your cheeks as the weight of the argument settled in. You wiped at your face, trying to push back the emotions, but it was useless. His words lingered in your chest, heavy and suffocating.

You felt small in that moment. Small and insignificant. He wasn’t the kind of man who wore his feelings openly, but you thought—no, you hoped—that maybe, just maybe, he’d let you in. Now, all you had were the fragments of a conversation that had broken everything apart.

You stood up abruptly, wiping your eyes and trying to pull yourself together. There was no point in crying, not now. But the silence in the room felt like a weight you couldn’t escape, and your heart ached in a way it never had before.

----

The next morning, the air between you and Law was thick with silence. It felt like a weight neither of you wanted to lift, but both of you knew it needed to be addressed.

You walked down the corridor of the ship, your mind replaying everything that had happened last night. His words, his cold tone, and how they made you feel—like an afterthought, like your feelings didn’t matter. You needed to shake it off, but it lingered.

As you neared the deck, you saw Law standing near the railing, staring out at the horizon. His usual composure was gone. There was something about the way he stood there—quiet, almost brooding—that made your chest tighten.

You stopped a few paces away, unsure whether you should approach or just walk by. But you didn't want this hanging over you any longer. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way toward him.

Law didn’t acknowledge you at first. His gaze remained on the horizon, but there was a noticeable shift in the air as you got closer.

“You were right to be angry last night,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. The words caught you off guard.

You blinked, surprised by his bluntness. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the railing a little tighter. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was out of line. I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter, and I… I don’t want to make you feel that way again.”

There was no excuse, no deflection. He didn’t try to rationalize it. The rawness of his admission made something in your chest loosen.

“You fucked up,” you said, voice low but steady. “It wasn’t just about the words, it’s about how it made me feel. Like I wasn’t… important to you.”

“I know,” Law replied quietly, his voice carrying more regret than you had ever heard. “And I don’t want you to feel like that, not ever. I don’t want to make excuses… but I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I couldn’t see what I was doing to you.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. His words were hard to process, but there was something in them that felt different—something that wasn’t typical of Law.

He met your gaze, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the waves. “I won’t pretend I know how to do this right, but I will try. And I’ll show you through my actions, not just words.”

You hesitated, still feeling the weight of everything. “Actions? Like what?”

Law's gaze softened, and he stepped away from the railing, facing you fully. “Tonight… let’s take a break from the ship. No work. Just us. We can go somewhere quiet, somewhere we don’t have to worry about anything else. I’ll listen, I’ll be present. You deserve that, and I want to show you I can do better.”

The sincerity in his voice made you pause, the hesitation in your chest slowly melting away.

He didn’t need to explain it further; you could see the change in his expression, the way his eyes weren’t as guarded. The rawness of his apology spoke volumes, and his willingness to make an effort, to actually show you, made you feel something different—hope, maybe.

The night came, and as promised, Law took you somewhere away from the hustle of the ship. The moment felt intimate, unspoken, and just… peaceful. You didn’t have to say much; the quiet between you two now felt like understanding, not tension. No grand gestures. Just time spent together, away from the chaos, showing each other what words sometimes couldn’t express.

----

Mihawk

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light across the castle grounds as the night stretched on. You stood near the balcony, overlooking the vast, quiet expanse of Kuraigana Island, trying to ease the tension that had been building between you and Mihawk for days. You didn’t understand it. He had always been quiet, always withdrawn, but this... this was different.

You had tried to speak to him earlier, but each time, he shut you down.

You walked up to him now, your voice breaking the silence of the night. “Mihawk,” you started softly, “we need to talk.”

Mihawk didn’t even look up from his sword. His posture was perfect, as always, but his eyes were distant. “I’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

Your stomach twisted. “You’ve been like this for days. I don’t even know what’s going on with you anymore.”

“I told you, nothing is wrong.” Mihawk’s tone was clipped, cold.

You stepped closer, frustration rising. “That’s not true. You’ve been shutting me out. You barely say anything when I’m around. It’s like you don’t even want me here.”

He sighed, setting the sword down on the stone table, the movement deliberate, almost as though he was choosing his next words with care. “I’ve been thinking.”

You crossed your arms, taking a step toward him. “About?”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze dark and contemplative. “About this whole… situation.” He gestured vaguely toward the castle, as if the whole life they led was part of the problem. “About us.”

You frowned, stepping closer still. “Us?”

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed, but he kept going. “I’m not the kind of person who… needs company. I don’t need someone hovering over me, asking questions all the time.”

Your chest tightened, and you could feel the sting of those words more than you cared to admit. You’d always known Mihawk was a man of few words, but hearing him say it like this hit harder than expected. “So, what? You’re saying I’m annoying?”

Mihawk’s gaze flickered briefly to your face before he looked away, uncomfortable. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean, Mihawk?” you pressed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because that sure as hell sounds like you’re pushing me away.”

He stood up straighter, his eyes hardening for a moment, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something raw, something almost vulnerable. “I’m not pushing you away,” he muttered, though the words sounded like they were meant more for himself than for you. “I just… don’t know how to let people in.”

You stepped back, a sharp breath leaving your lips. His words were a dagger in your chest. “You don’t have to be perfect, Mihawk. But this… this is just too much.”

His face hardened again, the vulnerability disappearing behind that familiar, cold mask. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy.”

You recoiled, shaking your head. “It’s not sympathy, Mihawk. I’m trying to be here for you, but you won’t let me. You keep pushing me away.”

There was a long silence between you, the kind that stretched out too long, too thick to ignore. Mihawk stared at the floor, visibly struggling with something you couldn’t quite understand.

Finally, he sighed, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I’m better off alone.”

Your heart shattered with those words. The finality of them, the coldness, the impossibility of it, made it harder to breathe. You turned quickly, not wanting him to see the sting of his words on your face.

Without another word, you walked off, your steps heavy and purposeful.

----

You didn’t wait for him to speak. You didn’t need to. Mihawk’s words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating everything between you. “Maybe I’m better off alone.”

You walked away before the sting of his words could settle, the sharp edge of them cutting through your chest. You didn’t care that he was still standing there, staring after you.

Your feet took you to your room in the castle, but even as you closed the door behind you, the world outside seemed to close in. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your hands, trying to push the burn behind your eyes. But it was useless. The tears came, slow at first, then faster. You pressed your palms against your face, desperate to stop them, but they kept coming.

Why? Why did he say that?

Your heart ached, and you couldn’t figure out what hurt more—the words themselves or the realization that he didn’t want you around. Mihawk. The man who had kept everyone at a distance. The one who had never once asked for anything. And you—you—had thought maybe you could be the one person to change that. But you were wrong.

----

Meanwhile, Mihawk sat in his study, his mind tangled in his own thoughts. He stared out at the night sky, trying to drown out the regret gnawing at him. What have I done?

He had never been good with people, never good with emotions. I didn’t mean it. She shouldn’t have to feel like that.

His words had come out too easily, without thinking. He had pushed you away when all you had done was show him care, patience... love.

He let out a frustrated breath, the weight of his mistake pressing harder on him. She doesn’t deserve this.

He rose from his seat, walking to the window, gripping the ledge with clenched fists. What now? He had always been alone, but the thought of you not being there, of losing what little connection he had with you, hurt more than he could admit. He wasn’t sure how to fix it. He never knew how to fix things.

She’s not going to forgive me easily, is she? He sighed, the silence in the air heavier than the night sky before him. I have to make this right... somehow.

----

The following morning, Mihawk woke with a single thought in mind. He couldn’t stand the tension, the silence between you two. The words from the night before echoed in his head, but now all he could focus on was the idea of making things right.

You were still distant, and he knew he couldn’t just speak his way out of it. He had to show you, to prove that he cared, even if he had never learned how to express it properly.

He moved to the kitchen of his castle early that morning, preparing a quiet breakfast, his hands methodical as he selected fresh ingredients from his garden. He was no stranger to cooking—having lived alone for so many years meant he’d developed the skill, even if he didn’t often share it with anyone. But this time, it wasn’t about the food. It was about showing you, in his own way, that he didn’t want to lose you.

Mihawk worked in silence, chopping vegetables and herbs, carefully preparing a dish that, though simple, was made with genuine effort. He took his time—something rare for him, but he knew it was necessary.

Once everything was ready, he set the table, the soft clink of porcelain and silverware the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

After a long moment, he took a breath, walked down the hall, and knocked on your door.

“Y/N,” Mihawk’s voice was quieter than usual, almost tentative. “I’ve made something. For you.”

You were sitting at the small desk by the window when you heard him. You turned slowly, your expression unreadable, and saw him standing there with a plate of food in his hands.

For a moment, there was silence between you, and Mihawk seemed to hesitate, unsure how to approach you. Then, finally, he stepped forward, setting the plate down on the small table beside you.

“I... I don’t know if this is what you wanted, but it’s what I could do,” Mihawk said, his voice steady but softer than usual. “I’m not good with words, but I wanted to show you I’m sorry.”

You stared at the plate for a moment, then back at him. You could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—his posture was less rigid, his expression more vulnerable than you’d ever seen before. You hadn’t expected this. He was never one to cook, and yet, here he was—offering you something he had prepared himself.

Tentatively, you reached for the fork, your fingers brushing against his as you took a bite. The taste was simple—fresh vegetables, some herbs—but it was good. Better than you expected, considering Mihawk's usual reliance on swords rather than culinary skills.

“It’s... really good,” you said softly, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mihawk’s features softened, and for the first time, a small smile played at the corners of his lips. “I wanted to do something... something more than just apologizing. Words aren’t enough.”

You set the fork down, your hand resting on the table between you. “Mihawk,” you began, your voice barely a whisper, “I know you don’t always know how to show it. But you don’t have to shut me out. I just... I want to be here for you.”

Mihawk stood still for a moment, looking at you, taking in your words. It wasn’t easy for him to admit his feelings, but here, now, in the quiet of his castle, he finally let his guard down, even if just a little.

“I... don’t know how to do this,” he said slowly, his voice low. “But I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand gently. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest with me. That’s all I want.”

For the first time, Mihawk let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he sat down beside you. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“I will,” Mihawk said, his voice steady now. “I will try, Y/N. I’ll try harder.”

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of a simple meal and the weight of unspoken promises, you both knew that this was just the beginning—Mihawk, for the first time, letting someone in, and you, ready to stay by his side, no matter how hard the journey ahead might be.

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vyxated · 1 year ago

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The Sims 2 Inspired UI for The Sims 4

After making my own UI override, I've been itching to look back in time and try to recreate The Sims 2 UI in TS4, and here it is!

I tried to capture the look & feel as best as possible, so I hope you can enjoy this mod and reminisce a bit c:

General Info

Changelogs Current version: updated for Businesses & Hobbies patch ✅ Latest mod update: 2 March 2025 PC/Mac: 1.113.277.xxxx Older game versions than the ones listed will not work with this mod.

UI overhaul in the style of The Sims 2's UI.

Over 500+ additional icons recolored for CAS & BuildBuy!

Sims 2 style cursor recolors.

Most text are kept in their original color, though they might get changed/updated down the line.

To install:

// Main mod

Before installing/updating, remove any old versions of Sims 2 UI whenever there's a new mod update and clear your caches.

Download & extract the zip file within your Mods folder.

Install the latest UI Cheats Extension mod and make sure it loads after the Sims 2 UI mod. Current version needed: v1.47

// Extras

Main Menu Override - now separated from the main mod.

Loading screen: download only one loading screen file. Available in: 4:3 - 16:9 - 16:10 aspect ratio.

Opening screen: file to replace the intro TS4 screen. Choose the file that pertains to your game language.

Phone icon addons: pick & choose depending on which mod you use.

TS2 Cursor: recolored TS4 cursor to match with TS2's cursor. Unfortunately, some cursors are missing their recolors (rotate cam & grab+arrows in CAS).

EA Notif: optional file if you prefer to keep the notification in its original color scheme.

Mod-related Info

// Recommended mods for more immersion:

CAS overrides: bodyshop room & icon + CAS organizers, TS2 room by simsi45

buildbuy gizmo override (outline mesh + ts2 swatch)

TS2 buildbuy boundary box texture override

TS2 font & want sound replacement by thepancake1

TS2 music for TS4 by buurz

Map replacement by 20thcenturyplumbob

Taxi mod & sound override (same object as the loading screen taxi)

// Compatible Mods ✅

UI Cheats Extension by weerbesu - original mod required

Fully compatible w/ UI Cheats Extension v1.47. To avoid any issues, keep the original mod in your mods folder (both .package and .ts4script) and have it load after the Sims 2 UI mod.

Other major mods are also compatible (BetterBuildBuy, TOOL, More Traits in CAS, etc.)

// Known Conflicts ❌

UI overhaul mods (Chalk'd UI, Dskecht's UI mods)

Main menu mods (Minimalist Main Menu, Skip Main Menu, TMEX's Clean UI, and other similar mods)

Custom wrench icons

Searchable menu mods by TMEX (Better Inventory, Searchable Pose Player, Searchable Restaurant Menu, and Smarter Save Menu)

Smarter Pie Menu by TMEX (choose between standalone or compatible version)

Phone icon override

Credits/Resources

S4Studio, UI Texture Squasher (CmarNYC), Image Viewer (luniversims), JPEXS Flash Decompiler

Loading screen tut, splash/opening screen, UI/world map override tut, UI setup, phone icon resources by xosdr

Base files from the UI Cheats Extension mod (weerbesu)

📂 DOWNLOAD .zip

SimFileshare / Patreon

#ts4 mods #ts4 ui override #ts4 #the sims 4 #my dl #sims 2 ui #aahhh enjoy!#gonna sleep it off #let me know if there are any issues!

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vexwerewolf · 9 months ago

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If we talk about the aesthetics of technology in Lancer, we can divide each of the Big 4 along lines of form and function.

IPS-N: Pure Function

IPS-N cares only what a mech does. It doesn't need to look good or pretty doing it - it only needs to be able to do that thing well. It's notable that the Raleigh, arguably the most form-oriented of the IPS-N frames, is also considered to be the company's biggest commercial failure - they strayed from their core design principles and got punished for it.

Harrison Armory: Form Follows Function

Harrison Armory still leans pretty heavily towards the functionality side of things, but it isn't satisfied with doing a good job alone. Yes, the mechs have to perform well, but they also have to look good doing it. There's no practical application for the Sherman's sleeveless coat or the Tokugawa's dainty little tassels, but they don't hinder combat functionality and they make the mechs look dashing. In comparison to IPS-N's coarse, industrial, almost unfinished look, HA mechs look stern, austere and imposing. There's a smoothness to them that you just don't get on IPS-N frames.

SSC: Function Follows Form

SSC is where we start to plunge into aesthetics-forward mech design. The Death's Head isn't six-legged because it's a sniper - the Death's Head is a sniper because it's six-legged. SSC came up with a mech design and asked: "what would this do best?" A six-legged chassis provided a more stable firing platform for precision weaponry, so that was what it did. Shapes and appearances are invented, and then a use case is discovered for them.

HORUS: Pure Form

It might seem weird to classify HORUS as "pure form" when their mechs largely don't have a consistent visual identity outside of the examples in the book. However, if we look a little deeper at the definition of "form," the explanation becomes clear: in some ways, HORUS is in the business of making statements, not mechs.

For anyone who's actually played a HORUS mech in Lancer, you may have noticed how awkward they are to actually pilot. Their statlines are, on paper, often very poorly suited to the sort of work they have to do. The Gorgon is built to attract attention and draw fire but has no armor. The Manticore is meant to be a front-line fighter but is quite slow. The Minotaur is meant to be a tech platform but has a low sensor range. The Pegasus' one functional trait doesn't apply to any of the weapons in its equipment package!

This is because HORUS mechs are designed purely as a testament to a certain discipline of technology. I remember expressing irritation with a friend's NeoGeo-for-X-Box emulator once, that you couldn't reconfigure the controller mapping so that it was easier to play with the X-Box controller. He remarked that it was meant as a historical preservation tool that perfectly duplicated the functionality of the NeoGeo, and that the only reason you could even play games using it at all is because that was a function of NeoGeo arcade cabinets.

That's how HORUS mechs are - their usability as chassis is broadly a side-effect.

#ips-n #harrison armory #smith-shimano #ssc #horus #lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #in golden flame #design aesthetics #form vs function

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maybefae · 9 months ago

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How do others perceive you?

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

Pile 1

Tarot: Page of Cups, The World (Life on Earth), Queen of Cups, The Hermit (The Cosmic Tree), The Chariot (The Spirit Plane), Page of Wands, The Star (The Veil), Four of Wands, Death (Past Lives), Wheel of Fortune (Life Map)

There is an air of being from the energy of the Earth itself. Not necessarily in a grounded way but in a more light way. People definitely think you have a beautiful smile and you have a laugh that almost sounds like bells ringing. I don’t remember if there’s a scene like that in the Tinker Bell movie or if her voice/laugh sounds like bells, but that’s a message.

They think you’re really connected to Earth, to the energies that be, and that’s something maybe you don’t even notice about yourself. Since I’ve pulled the cards, I had a feeling of “they don’t even believe it” even when they were telling me all these lovely things. This feeling is something I wish for you to feel, and you can! Especially since it’s your energy.

There is a feeling of familiarity with you. You flitter in and out of people's lives for brief moments, and if you believe in past lives (since energy is continuously recycled), you probably have met a lot of the people you come in contact with in lives before this one. There’s a safety, like stopping by a fire on a long journey. Strangers may get reminded of loved ones when they meet you.

They see you as a healer. And this may be something you notice about yourself actually. You may get tired easily because it seems like you have to help people all the time or people ask a lot of you. And I do wish you returned this energy to yourself, even if it’s for a small time in the day. Set boundaries. This could also be a reason why you filter in and out of connections with people.

I also wanna add that this deck was really excited and wanted to be the first in line. People are probably really excited to see you and talk to you. You may have a really bubbly energy and like being a social butterfly. You may also be the subject of friendship crushes, like people really wanna become friends with you.

Pile 2

WARNING: This pile was more on the “negative” side. If negative readings aren’t for you, I would suggest not reading this one.

Tarot: Three of Wands, King of Wands, Queen of Swords, Two of Wands, Eight of Swords, Five of Swords, The Star, Seven of Cups, The Magician

Before I even pull cards, there is an air of seduction. It’s like I made eye contact with a feline in the wild or a snake just slithered in. A large portion of the deck was in my hands but the other half was stuck in the box and fell onto my desk very noisily. You probably don’t give a lot of tells right away and it takes a lot of time for you to show your other self. The air of mystery is what makes you seductive; people want to figure you out. And, from experience, this could drive you absolutely insane because once they figure you out, they leave.

I’m going to be honest, I think a lot of people perceive you as “bitchy.” It could honestly just be because your stubborn and you know what you want, you go for it, and achieve it. A lot of men see you as a threat just because of your strong personality. In some ways, you could be seen as selfish because you won’t bother looking from someone else’s view. If you are an ex-people pleaser, this could be an absolute compliment. You know your worth and you want to achieve your dreams, people being threatened by it are none of your business.

If you are actively being selfish and not bothering to have empathy, well…I would do some self reflection.

Something about this pile seems so angry? There’s an aggression about this reading. Some people could take you as someone that constantly feel like you have to defend yourself, in an angry way, or you’re someone that has a hard time taking accountability.

I’m getting Kat from 10 Things I Hate About You, “Planet Look At Me, Look At Me.” Some people think you have to be the center of attention. They acknowledge that you definitely can get whatever you set your mind to, but they might not think you deserve it.

There is an air of being very misunderstood, my loves. For the people that don’t mean to come off this way, I feel like you have probably gone through a lot in the past. You’re defensive due to past hurt. You honestly may not even love yourselves and it comes off as anger to others. I couldn’t move on to Pile 3 because I kept over thinking. You may feel really bad with how you react…There’s heartache. I wanted to come back since I felt the need to hug you all. For readers (and you don’t even have to like this series or author), but you give me Nesta vibes (iykyk).

Pile 3

Tarot: The World, Three of Swords, Five of Cups, Seven of Swords, Page of Swords, The Hermit, Knight of Pentacles, King of Cups, The Star, Ten of Cups

Ah, this is my melancholic pile. People see you guys as troubled, wounded from your past. You are well loved! But I think you have a hard time accepting it or you don’t see it. There is a feeling of always having to fight, sword raised, but you are very tired from battle. I’m getting the image of a knight falling to their knees after a battle is over, some with their heads looking up at the cloudy sky and others with their heads lowered.

There had been a painful heartbreak where you went into hermit mode. You turned into yourself so you don’t get hurt again. It’s not that you aren’t friendly! But you certainly keep everyone at arms length. You’re constantly looking at the past, at the empty cups, at what you don’t have anymore…I don’t even think you’d even see new and beautiful things and people that will come into your life. You could, unfortunately, have had things pass by you without realizing.

You are ones to focus on the material world. I don’t necessarily see back-breaking work, but enough to get by. You’re numb and can only exert as much energy as you can. You don’t have any battles with others, more of the battles come from yourself. You beat yourself up. But you don’t realize the potential you have.

There is an older man here. A wise man. This could be someone in your life or someone who has passed…he watched over you. He has so much love for you and it pains him to see the turmoil you cause yourself. He wishes to share the burden with you. He wants you to talk to him and seek his comfort. And honestly, he could offer you very good guidance/advice.

Decks Used: Ophida Rosa Tarot by Leila and Olive, Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot Deck by Matt Hughes, White Numen Tarot: A Sacred Animal Tarot Deck by AlbaBG

Dividers: @inklore

#maybefae tarot #pick a card #tarot #pac #pick a pile #tarot reading

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itoshiierae · 2 months ago

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STITCHED INTO YOU 🩹🩸

ᡣ𐭩 ft: bonten!kokonoi hajime x underground!nurse reader

ᡣ𐭩 notes: he’s your least favorite patient. you hate the way he talks. the way he smirks. the way he makes himself comfortable in your space like he owns it.… and you also hate the way your body betrays you every time he opens his mouth.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: mdni, nsfw, smut, f!reader, oral (f receiving), creampie, size kink, cursing, praise kink, unprotected sex, brief mention of akane, possessiveness, emotional denial, angst if you squint, overstimulation, soft aftercare, brief wrist grab, slight power play

This clinic wasn’t on any map. There was no sign outside. No receptionist. No insurance paperwork. Just an old, half-sunken building tucked two blocks off the main underground strip-cracked concrete, flickering lights, and a silence thick enough to choke on. Inside, it smelled like sterilized bleach and something older.

The walls weren’t painted gray, they’d just surrendered to it, almost faded until the color gave up. Filing cabinets leaned in the corners like dying soldiers. Metal trays cluttered with half-used supplies balanced on shaky stools. And in the center, under a cracked light fixture that buzzed like a broken heartbeat, stood a single battered examination table.

Your clinic was never holy, just sterile enough to swallow sins. A place where you sutured bullet wounds, stitched over knife gashes, and never once asked where the blood came from. Because some people, you save even when they don’t deserve it. You weren’t there to judge. You were there to stop the bleeding. And some nights, you couldn’t tell whose pain you were numbing more — theirs, or your own.

──★

You heard him before you saw him. The heavy drag of boots on tile. A low chuckle echoing down the hallway like a warning you’d already learned not to ignore. And then, there he was. Kokonoi Hajime. One of Bonten’s golden boys. Bonten was a criminal organization dressed in designer suits and bloodstained ledgers, and he was the one trusted to balance both. Their treasurer. The man who could make money bleed and wear pain like it was stitched in silk.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, snapping on your gloves.

He wore that grin again — lazy and lavish, like he was used to owning the room before he even walked in.

“Had some business to finish,” he said, dropping into the chair like it belonged to him.

You glanced at the wound; a deep, jagged gash running from rib to hip, torn open at a sharp angle like it had been carved, not cut. The bleeding had slowed, but the damage was clean enough to tell it came from a blade, not a brawl. It was probably unavoidable, given the kind of lifestyle he led.

This was the fifth time Kokonoi Hajime had stumbled through your doors in the past two months — always bleeding, always smirking, always carrying enough cash to make you look the other way. You sighed, already reaching for the tray of tools — antiseptic, gauze, suture kit. He wasn’t your favorite patient. But he kept your clinic open. Paid for your silence. And in your world, that was loyalty enough.

Treasure the treasurer. That was the unspoken rule.

──★

You stood between his legs, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air as your fingers adjusted the overhead surgical light, its glow casting harsh white shadows over the angry gash carved along his side. The moment it illuminated his skin, you leaned in, eyes narrowing, inspecting the wound with clinical precision while pretending not to notice how close you were.

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, wiping away the blood oozing out. “Half an inch deeper and you’d be paying for your own funeral.”

He chuckled. “Would’ve made for a hell of a headline though, yeah?”

You didn’t laugh, just continued threading the needle with steady, cold, precision almost like this was just another routine stitch and not the fifth time you were sewing him back together.

“You talk too much,” you muttered.

The first stitch sank into his torn skin. He hissed through his teeth, muscles tensing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in closer like he craved the pain, or maybe just the attention wrapped inside it.

“You’re good with your hands,” he murmured.

“Do you tell all your nurses that?”

He grinned wider. “Nah. Just the ones I wanna keep.”

You pulled the last stitch tight, snapped off your gloves, and turned away.

“You’re done. I’ve got other patients coming soon.”

You didn’t make it two steps before his hand wrapped around your wrist — not tight, but firm. Possessive in that quiet, undeniable way that didn’t need force to be felt. It’s his silent way of saying you’re not going anywhere.

“You fix me up,” he said softly, “You don’t get to walk away after that.”

You froze.

The warmth of his grip, the weight of everything unspoken between you, it all hit at once. And then, barely above a whisper, sharp with something fragile underneath: “I’m not your property.”

He smiled — slow, crooked, like he already knew how this would end.

“Maybe not yet,” he murmured, voice low and full of promise,“but you will be… after this.”

His fingers ghosted along your skin, sliding from your arm to your throat as if every inch of you was forbidden — a secret he’d waited too long to touch.

“You’re good at fixing broken things,” he murmured.

“Ever wonder what happens when one of them decides to keep you? You think you can stitch me up then walk away like you didn’t leave a piece of yourself in me?” he breathed against your throat, mouth dragging heat down your skin.

“You touched me. You bled into me. And now —there’s no getting you out. You’re officially mine.”

His mouth found your collarbone with slow intensity, branding the skin there like a signature — a claim, a quiet kind of madness wrapped in heat.

“I don’t give back what’s mine.”

Afterwards his rough fingers slipped beneath your shirt, calloused palms gliding across your skin like they were tracing something sacred, and the whole sensation made your stomach flutter with something unnameable.

“You should run,” he said. “But you probably won’t.”

Then he pressed you down against the examination table — hovering over you with a hunger that felt carved from restraint and his gaze devouring every inch of your body like it wasn’t enough just to touch. He knew he had to consume.

“You stitched yourself into me,” Kokonoi growled, voice low and final. “Every fuckin’ breath. Every pulse.”

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

──★

Your clothes hit the floor one piece at a time, each one peeled away with quiet reverence. Kokonoi stripped you slowly — not out of hesitation, but with intent, like he was learning you by touch. His gaze never wavered, drinking in every inch like your body was something sacred.

"You walked in here like it was just another job," he murmured.

"Poked my ribs. Threaded your hands through me. And you didn’t flinch — you didn’t look at me like I was just another paycheck. Another weapon," he said, voice breaking.

He stared at you with a kind of intensity that made your breath catch. Dark eyes locked onto yours like he was searching for something only you could give. There was no escape in that gaze, no room to look away — just the weight of it, heavy and unrelenting.

"You looked at me," he whispered, "…like I was someone worth saving."

His fingers glide along your curves, slow and possessive, memorizing the shape of you like he’s claiming it.

"I had someone once, long time ago. She was soft, kind and beautiful..." he said, voice rasping.

His eyes twitch, just slightly, like some long-buried memory clawed its way back to the surface — something unresolved, still lingering somewhere at the back of his mind.

"And when I lost her," he said, "I lost every fuckin' thing that ever made me worth saving."

"But you," he murmured, dragging his mouth higher, "you made me want to stay breathing."

He laughed — low and broken.

"Stupid, right? One touch from you — and I’m bleeding all over again."

"But this time," he said, voice dark and sweet,

"I’m dragging you into it too."

His zipper came down with a harsh, deliberate sound — sharp as a match strike against the thick tension coiled between you. His eyes never left yours like he’d been pacing the edge of this moment for far too long. “Tell me you want it too,” he said, voice rough, almost hoarse — the words breaking at the edges like they were tearing out of him. “Tell me I’m not the only one losing my mind over this.”

You meet his gaze with a heat that says: ‘Do it. Wreck me.’ And he doesn’t hesitate. Your breath catches the moment you get a proper look at his erection — long, thick, painfully hard — big enough to make you second-guess every reckless thing you’ve ever said to him. Especially now… knowing it’s about to be inside you.

He pushed his tip into you slowly — inch by devastating inch — dragging out breathless, broken sounds from your throat like he was coaxing them on purpose, savoring every twitch, every soft plea coming out from you. The stretch burned in the best possible way, a sweet ache that pulled desperation straight from your lungs. And he just smirked — eyes locked on yours watching you unravel around him like it was the only thing he came for.

“Yeah… that’s it. My good girl,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked as he kept grinding into you.

“Ah— it hurts… you’re too deep—” your voice cracked between gasps, a half-whimper escaping as you struggled to breathe through the fullness of his length.

“Too deep for you, baby?” he taunts, dragging his cock deeper just to hear you whimper. “Then take it. Take it like my good fuckin�� girl— yeah, just like that.”

His pace was slow at first, then faster, rougher, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. Your thoughts blurred, concentration slipping with every snap of his hips because all you could feel right now was the way he’s filling you up like he was trying to carve himself into your body.

“You like it,” he pants, voice ragged. “Fuck—say it. I want to hear you say how good I make you feel.”

“Y-yes… you make me feel so good, Koko,” you gasp, voice catching between moans, eyes fluttering as your fingers curl tighter around him.

The way he was driving into you bordered on punishment — every thrust so precise it left you breathless, the kind of ache that blurred into pleasure until you were seeing stars from how perfectly he kept hitting all the right spots that made you fall apart.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusting into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

“Say you fuckin’ belong to me.”

You barely managed a gasp, mouth parted, eyes hazy — and that’s when he crashed his lips to yours. It wasn’t gentle. It was devouring. All teeth, tongue, and desperation — like he needed to taste the words from your mouth before you could even say them. His rhythm never faltered, still slamming into you as his kiss swallowed every moan, every whimper, every broken syllable of surrender. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath hot, eyes blazing — staring straight through you like he already knew you were his.

“Say it,” he whispered again.

There was no denying it now — not with the way he made you feel, not with the way he was filling you completely it left no room for reason. In this moment, you knew it with aching certainty: you were already his, and there was no coming back from it.

"I’m yours," you gasped.

"I’m fucking yours, Kokonoi."

He didn’t answer — not with words, at least. He dropped to his knees between your thighs like he was always meant to be there. His hands spread you open, and then he was tasting you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. Slow at first. Drawing soft circles with his tongue, lips wrapping around your clit like he was kissing you there. But when you moaned — sharp, needy — something in him shifted. He groaned into you, messier now. Hungrier. Tongue dragging up and down, flicking fast, unrelenting — like he needed to memorize you. To ruin you from the mouth up. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Your hips bucked. But he didn’t stop. He only held you down, pulled you wider, and looked up at you with eyes already gone dark like he was daring you to come undone just for him.

“Be good,” he breathed. “Come for me. Show me who you belong to.”

And when he slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right — you immediately shattered from the overwhelming sensation. You came on his tongue with a broken cry, trembling as he licked through every wave, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

“Koko,” you whispered, voice still trembling, “I want you inside me again. Please…”

His gaze dropped to his length — still hard, even after eating you out and fuck, he smirked.

“Say no more, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked as he dragged his lips from your shoulder to your neck. “I’m not done with you yet.” And then — with a slow shift of his hips, his body was already twitching back to life inside you. Every thrust was slow and deep, like he wanted to make sure you feel every inch of him clench around you. The way he was moving inside you was so deliciously good that you forgot everything else — who you were before this, what you said you wouldn’t feel, what you promised yourself not to need. Now??? All that you knew was him.

And not long after that, he came with a low, broken groan — the sound ripped from somewhere deep in his chest, raw and involuntary, like he’d been holding it in for too long. His body shuddered as he stayed buried inside you, hips pressed flush like he couldn’t bear to let go, not even for a second. And then quieter, almost trembling — he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

"You’re not her," he whispered. "But you’re the first thing, since her that made me want to live."

He curled around you — the aftermath of longing and quiet possession, clinging onto you like you were the only thing keeping him whole.

"And you’re not getting away," he muttered.

"Not now. Not ever.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #kokonoi hajime x reader #kokonoi hajime #tokyo revengers smut #bonten x reader #bonten #tokyo revengers kokonoi #hajime kokonoi #kokonoi x reader #bonten kokonoi #bonten smut #tokyo rev smut

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dirtbagwitch · 5 months ago

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MAGIC FOR THE CITY DWELLER

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME TO THE CONCRETE JUNGLE, WHERE MAGIC NEVER SLEEPS

magic isn’t just for the deep woods and moss-covered stones. it’s not limited to candlelit covens or ancient runes etched in a sacred grove. magic is where you are. in the humming neon signs, the flickering streetlamps, the rhythm of bus doors opening and closing, in the energy of walking amongst a crowd on a busy street.

urban magic is about finding the mystical in the mundane, harnessing the city’s restless energy, and using every graffiti tag, liminal space, cracked pavement, and forgotten coin as a tool for enchantment. the city is alive—a churning, breathing, chaotic organism—and if you listen closely, it’s whispering spells in the wind between skyscrapers.

this isn’t some high-brow, ceremonial magic doctrine. here, we work with sigils written on coffee shop napkins, metro card protection spells, and phone screens charged as scrying mirrors. this is magic for the streets, for the punks, for the witches in walk-ups and studio apartments, for the ones who find the divine in the hum of a dive bar at 3 AM.

WHAT MAKES URBAN MAGIC DIFFERENT?

the biggest shift between traditional and urban magic is the environment. instead of sacred groves, we have community gardens. instead of rivers, we have storm drains. instead of bonfires, we have neon lights and power grids pulsing with raw electricity.

but just because the setting is different doesn’t mean the magic is weaker. city magic is potent as hell, because it’s charged with movement, history, technology, and millions of lives overlapping in real-time.

ELEMENTS IN AN URBAN CONTEXT:

• earth → concrete, bricks, asphalt, parks and park dirt

• air → the wind between high-rises, the whispers of overheard conversations, the endless streams of information moving across the city

• fire → electricity, neon lights, the heat of a crowded bus, a match or lighter

• water → rain pooling in the streets, sewer systems, fountains in public squares, water dripping from rooftops

• spirit → the city itself, the collective energy of its people, the ghosts in old buildings, the echoes of everyone who’s walked these streets before you

this practice isn’t about forcing the old ways into a modern setting. it’s about adapting magic so that it fits your world, your reality, your city.

THEORY & FRAMEWORK: CHAOS MAGIC, QUEER MAGIC, AND CITY SPELLS

urban magic thrives on three key principles:

1. ADAPTATION – use what’s around you. city witches need to be resourceful as hell. your “wand” can be a pen, a drumstick, or a crowbar if that’s what speaks to you (though a crowbar is a little extreme). your “altar” can be a windowsill, a shoebox, or even temporary like the back of a bus seat where you traced a sigil in the condensation.

2. INGENUITY – urban magic is subtle, fast, and often disguised. your ritual circle might be drawn in spilled coffee, your sigils hidden in street art, your glamour spells worked through fashion choices and body language.

3. INTERACTION – the city is alive. talk to it. work with the spirits of your apartment building, the crows and raven and wandering city cats who see a lot, the graffiti messages that seem to answer your questions in cryptic scrawls, street names that feel like answers to questions. trust your gut, keep watch for the synchronicity

MAGICAL SYSTEMS THAT THRIVE IN THE CITY:

1. CHAOS MAGIC: THE DIY APPROACH TO WITCHCRAFT

urban magic truthfully falls under the umbrella of chaos magic.

chaos magic is sort of like punk rock spellwork. no rules except what works. it’s the belief that magic isn’t just about ancient texts and strict traditions—it’s about belief as a tool. hacking reality, using symbols, and experimenting with what actually gets results. if something stops working you chuck it and move on to something new.

• create sigils from street signs, corporate logos, and subway maps.

• use “reality hacking” spells—like placing intent in a QR code or whispering an incantation into a social media post before it goes viral.

• swap out outdated correspondences for modern tools—your phone can be your scrying mirror, your router a beacon for intention-setting.

chaos magic thrives in the city because cities are chaotic. they’re full of random encounters, glitches, synchronicities waiting to be tapped into.

2. QUEER MAGIC: BREAKING RULES, BENDING REALITY

witchcraft has always been the domain of outsiders, rebels, and the marginalized. queer magic embraces fluidity, resistance, and radical self-expression.

• use genderfluid deities, archetypes, and spirits in your workings.

• cast spells at drag shows, pride marches, and underground raves—because those are modern sacred spaces.

• turn self-love into a spell, defying the narratives that say queer people don’t deserve power, joy, or love.

urban queer magic is loud, unapologetic, and built on the bones of those who paved the way before.

TOOLS & MATERIALS: USING THE CITY AS YOUR SPELLBOOK

urban witches don’t need fancy supplies. we use:

• 📱 smart phones – scrying mirrors, digital sigil boards, enchanted playlists

• 🎫 metro cards & transit tickets – protection charms, travel blessings

• 🗝 keys – for unlocking opportunities, closing doors that need to stay shut

• 🖋 pens & sharpies – sigil-making, graffiti spellwork

• 🪙 spare change – prosperity charms, offerings to city spirits

• 🧾 receipts – paper magic, petition spells, glamour workings

if it exists in your daily life, it can be a tool.

EVERYDAY SPELLS & RITUALS

🔮 PROTECTION SPELLS FOR NAVIGATING CITY LIFE

• “doorway ward” – rub salt along your threshold, whispering “no harm may cross this line.”

• “metro shield” – imagine a glowing energy bubble around you before stepping onto public transit.

💰 PROSPERITY & SUCCESS SPELLS

• “lucky coin” – pick up a found coin, say “bring me fortune,” and carry it for a week.

• “resume enchantment” – anoint your job applications with cinnamon for luck before sending.

💡 HACKING REALITY WITH CHAOS MAGIC

• “digital sigils” – set a sigil as your phone wallpaper and charge it every time you unlock your screen.

• “parking spell” – whisper “open the way” as you search for a spot—watch as one appears.

🌀 COMMUNITY SPELLS & URBAN COLLECTIVE MAGIC

• “city-wide sigil work” – drop the same symbol in different places and see what manifests.

• “full moon offerings” – leave a quarter at a crossroads to honor the city’s spirits.

THE CITY IS YOUR ALTAR

this is your grimoire, your spellbook, your guide to turning the city into a magical playground. don’t just live in it—work with it, enchant it, let it enchant you back.

magic is everywhere, babes. you just have to know where to look.

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bullet-prooflove · 2 days ago

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Shawnstown: The Crafty Fox - Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy @storiesaplenty

The premise of Shawnstown...

Summary: Three years after his release from prison Pope has made a home for himself in Shawnstown.

Masterlists:

Andrew Pope Cody

Sammy Bryant

Charlie Reid

Clayton Emerson

Jack Abbot

Stan Rosado

Companion piece to:

Chapter One: The Map That Leads To You - Freshly released from prison Pope decides to start his new life in honor of the woman he lost.

There’s a scratching at the workshop door.

The sound of tiny white paws raking against the wood as the creature tries to get inside.

Pope sighs, setting the paintbrush back down into the heather grey paint can before he forces himself to his feet. He promised himself last night, and the night before that he wouldn’t do this again but here he is opening the door to the beast.

A red fox streaks in through the gap, heading directly past the paint can to the dust sheet he’s tossed in the corner underneath the infrared ceiling heater. It pads the rough fabric with it’s feet before settling down and yawning.

“Alright, just come in like you own the place.” He mutters to Franco, leaving the door ajar so that the animal can leave when it wants to. The fox yips at him and Pope rolls his eyes as he picks up a handful of peanuts from the bag on the work bench before tossing them to him. He snuffles the first one, crunching it between his jaws before he sniffs out the rest.

“We’re running out of these things.” He tells Franco as he holds up the plastic bag for the fox to see before sealing it. “We’ll have to get some more from the store tomorrow, maybe we’ll mix them up with some roasted cashews, give you a little treat before the winter sets in.”

The fox eats another peanut in response to Pope’s words and Pope nods his head.

“That’s a yes on the cashews huh?” He says before placing the bag on the highest shelf above the workbench so Franco can’t get to it.

He learned that lesson the hard way last year when the fox first showing up at his door. The wily thing managed to climb up onto the workbench using the stool and torn the plastic open with his teeth, scattering them everywhere. Pope had ended up yelling at the damn animal because his carefully controlled domain had devolved into chaos and Franco had slinked off into the night, not returning for almost a week.

In the end Pope and become so desperate for company, he’d started to leave a trail of peanuts from the edge of his property leading up to the workshop where he spent most evenings working on the orders that came through for his woodworking skills.

Building shit had started off as a way to keep himself busy in the evenings. Being up here on the mountain alone gave him too much time to think especially when the darkness rolled in so he started collecting sticks from around the ten acres he’d purchased along with the cabin and workshop, turning them into birdhouses and using moss as decorations. He’d dotted them around his property, and spent mornings on his porch sipping coffee, watching chickadees and wrens darting in and out of them.

“You should try selling them.” Ray the owner of the General Store had told him when he’d dropped by after not seeing him for a couple of weeks. Pope had been sick with the flu, too dizzy to make the drive into town and then other man had brought soup. “I’ve got some shelf space opened up, I’m sure they’d go great in the spring. You mind if I take a couple? I’ll give you the cash next time you’re in town.”

“Just have them.” Pope had said gesturing to the growing pile of bird houses, that were taking up residence on his kitchen table, moss piled neatly beside them. It had been the only task he could do when he was sick because he didn’t trust himself around power tools. “I have too many of the damn things anyway.”

“Maybe you should try your hand at something else.” Ray had said, tipping his head towards the chipped coffee table that came with the cabin. “Collect some driftwood from the beach maybe, make yourself a new coffee table.”

Until that moment branching out had never occurred to Pope. He’d become fixated on the birdhouses, which was why his workshop was full of them. He’d never had a chance to explore his creativity before. Everything prior to this was always done with some purpose in mind. An apparatus to help with a heist, a vent set up to practice in. He’d never just done something because he wanted to see if he could. There’s a joy in it he hadn’t expected, which is why he now has an obscene amount of birdhouses.

When spring hits the birdhouses sell out within the first week. He doesn’t expect the phone call asking if he can bring the rest by or the wad of cash Ray hands him when they’ve sold out too.

“People are asking what else you do.” Ray informs him as he wipes down the counter. “If you take special requests?”

“Like what?” He asks as he counts the notes in his hand before calculating ten percent of the sales. He separates the cash before setting it down on the counter and sliding it towards Ray. They hadn’t made formal agreement but the old guy definitely deserves a cut for giving him the shelf space and actively selling his shit.

“Mrs Waynes would like a couple of plant boxes for her porch.” Ray informs him, taking the bills and putting them into the register. “She said to go over and chat with her when you’re ready, she can give you the measurements.”

Pope freezes then. He’s given the people of this town a wide berth since coming here, removing himself from interactions, scowling whenever one of them sidles up to him. He doesn’t know how to talk to people since Dylan’s been gone. She’d brought him out of his shell when the two of them were together and he’s regressed since her death. The only person he really knows is Ray and that’s because dealing with him was a necessity when he first rolled into town.

“It’s ok.” Ray says after a minute. “I can get my daughter to head out there, get the details. She’s the one that makes the lavender wreaths like the one you have on your front door. Mrs Wayne’s loves talking to her.”

The wreath had been a welcome gift from the town, along with a basket full of local produce. It had been so unexpected that he hadn’t known what to do with it when it arrived on his porch, he’d sat there staring at it for an hour or two before taking it inside and carefully allocating the items to their new homes. He isn’t used to the kindness of strangers. He isn’t used to kindness full stop.

His business starts to grow over unwittingly over the next three years. Word spreads that he’s the guy to go to when you want ethical, unique custom woodwork. He starts to get calls from local businesses like Hatterby Farm asking if he wants to reclaim the wood from the barn they’re pulling down for his creations. This allows him to experiment with making bigger pieces like the toddler bed for guy who owns the outdoor activity centre by the lake.

The notes that Ray’s daughter Aubrey has taken are always meticulous and detailed, handed over in an envelope that smells like wild flowers. She always adds a couple of extra things he doesn’t need to know but he appreciates anyway because it makes him feel connected to the town. Like the fact Sammy’s kid has become Houdini and keeps escaping out of his crib by shoving his ‘Wolfie’ against the side and then howling Sammy awake because he can’t get Wolfie out through the bars.

He's pulled from his thoughts by a flash of copper, he tilts his head up to see Franco running across one of the freshly painted slats of wood he has laid, leaving small fox paw prints in the heather grey as he chases after a peanut that’s escaped.

“For fuck’s sake Franco…” Pope mutters before standing above the slat with his hands on his hips to survey the damage.

The piece of wood is laid out in between two others that will form the back panel of the bed that will slot against the wall in little Houdini’s room. Pope finds he actually quite likes the addition to the design, it gives the piece a bespoke twist, perfect for a kid that loves running around in the outdoors.

“Good job Franco.” He murmurs, rubbing his palm across his grizzled jaw before glancing at the fox as he chomps down his prize. “I’m gonna have to start calling this business The Crafty Fox if you keep this up.”

Love Pope? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the Shawnstown taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#shawnstown #stan rosado #stan rosado x reader #the faculty #clayton emerson #clayton emerson x reader #jack abbot x reader #charlie reid #andrew cody #andrew pope cody #andrew cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #animal kingdom #charlie reid x reader #pope cody #chicago pd

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