#have never talked themselves... but maybe its for their own good

[splitshard]

I think they should talk and enable each other into self sacrificial behaviour and then make out or something

richie design by AJ

[unproduciblesmackdown]

being alive at the time i gleaned some general elements abt encanto but never actually heard we don't talk about bruno beyond awareness it existed popping off & i think i heard like the title recited off key off rhythm but in a way that indicates speak singing nonetheless lol so upon experiencing it it's like oh but it's the Verses? while the last refrain goes harder but prior to that it's comparatively underwhelming to said verses which feels appropriate like verses / pieces of a larger picture & that a "we don't talk about him" as a disappointing Lid on infinitely richer more characterful & dynamic "but: talking about him" instances. like well personally it'd be like um seven foot frame....anyway besides being able to firsthand go like oh damn Real (the kind of thing you know exists if alive at the time) it's like alright hang on lol. one thing when a core theme is yeah like "is it a refuge if 'especial' vulnerability ultimately gets pushed out rather than made safer" subset like the parties whose even observation of truths (problems) & drawing attention to them is seen as Ruining Things, like if you're painted as Making futures that aren't simply what's desired or reassuring rather than a guidance via just observing & sharing the truth. but then it's like whaddaya mean living in fear of bruno stuttering and stumbling you could always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling lmao like now that's just Association between the Truth Perceiving & Telling behavior & behavior that's just apparently distinctive of the same person. & like Not Accidentally when [what if people were magic] specifics are obviously primarily abt a metaphorical meaning & like, indeed it was made clear like oh this situation isn't Just b/c [boo we hate your prophecies] & that [an Ability that isn't directed towards what anyone Wants / is "weird" even by these magic standards] isn't Coincidentally given to someone who just so happens to already be "weird" in other ways & be set up to have a different perspective & be pushed away due to having the supposed "extra" vulnerability of unmet needs / insufficient support, same as someone who doesn't "correctly" have any kind of magic ability....like yeah banger and also like Oh Yeah Kind Of Devastating re: that metaphorical resonance allowing for like [set the metaphor aside] now hang on with this about this disabled family member lol. misinterpretation to The Ruinerrr / The Problemmm / The Maliciousss etc (i.e. the scapegoatinggg) despite their efforts likely entirely to the contrary. then despite like, efforts aside, Just Existing, always kind of muttering & mumbling like & what of it. & then like oh sorry weird pets. weird [auspicious for adaptable tenacious thriving surviving; either way simply creatures, existing] pets.

truly like As Is The Idea I'm Sure quickly becomes like hands behind back standing at the window Uh Oh Sisters musing on all the [disabled person] metaphorical & already literal elements there. blair witching it in contemplation like We've All Been There whether being so resented for the mere disruption of "existing in a group as the 'abnormal' odd one out" or like people talking shit abt anything associated w/you as soon as you've left the room, which is also made relevant like, this wasn't Only directed at this person when seemingly permanently gone, nor were they unaware / unaffected prior....pacing in the Musing parlor like things don't Have to be compared to billions but i only ever even see so many things & it's like billions sure is like "get scapegoated rword" & then said scapegoating is presented as only beneficial & we hate autists & even beyond that it's like, grabbing billions, Imagine If Things Meant To Be About Something Were About Something. quite a contrast when they are & furthermore like, deliberate thought & Care for [who gets scapegoated & why] & the truth of like, people getting pushed aside & out who have a key perspective & are primed / liable to come through for others similarly vulnerable & the supposedly Ruinous, Problems Generating disruptiveness is actually the strongest effort to make essential changes to a group. & come through with like, it'd be undermining thee point if it was "reassuring" us like oh haha people will be supportive b/c bruno will be more normal, so great that it Didn't like no, no Normality Reassurance(tm), presence of abnormalities(tm), Good, & everyone Can Deal b/c if you don't then it's pushing this person away, is exactly what happens, including even if they're still Around but are being mistreated b/c that is entirely part of that pushing away like anyone's victim blaming is ready to pounce at any time but if someone can't stand to stay / leaves b/c they can't see another option like that's not out of nowhere nor Regardless of what full support & flexibility they were getting lol. these Active Measures everyone loves so much, which are everywhere always & would include Staying & Trying To Make It Work & those efforts would be "disruptive" & resented & Bringing It On Oneself & etccc smh

that is to all say like. Woww when clearly basically the core thread was these beats of like, the crucial site of [thee scapegoated], & why that comes down on someone & how that plays out. endless ideas about how someone weird(tm) & disabled (&/or queer. but there's no Or here lol. & again like it's a Context like, to even be the one person without kids? likely not living up to "full" correct sexuality in that way alone; any oppression's logics of "inferiority" being logics of ableism, ready examples being that "inferior" race, gender, sexuality (& their experiences as people classed as inferior) all being pathologized as disordered) are seen & treated as someone Ruining Things & who cannot belong like whew. bracing. winding. which, i also recall like i was watching with headphones & during this one dialogue pause i was like "?? what's this Extra Sound i heard there" & had to go over it like twice before being hit upside the head like well it Was still the dialogue pause but it was also bruno Stuttering in a very quiet whisper for the duration of that pause before continuing like iiiiiiii x_x

[alchemiclee]

I hate how much i'm afraid to open an art shop because my last 2 failures cost me so much money 😭😭😭😭 especially in this time of great, scary uncertainty! and i know i can't bother other people about this, so i'm in this alone. *sad yippee noise*

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

[tiny-space-platypus]

A King and a Prince

Danny screamed.

He screamed and screamed, using his ghostly wail until his voice shattered and his throat was raw with the echoes of his own agony. He wailed even after the battle was won. After the last of the GIW had fallen, even after Vlad’s final, gasping breath had faded into silence. He wailed as Amity Park crumbled around him, as the last flickering lights of his home were swallowed by ruin.

It didn’t matter.

No one was left to hear him.

No one left to be farmed by his despair.

He had outlasted them all—the Guys in White, Vlad, even Pariah Dark himself. He had survived, clawing his way through blood and betrayal, only to realize, too late, that survival was the cruelest fate of all.

He had lost everything.

His home—reduced to rubble. His friends—gone and buried beneath the wreckage of the school. Their last standing ground from the GIW's control or maybe blissfully scattered to the winds. His family—torn apart, mom and dad dead by his hands. Not purposely but they had picked their side. Jazz dead by theirs attempting to protect him. Their laughter, the happy family they were, now just a ghost in his hollow chest. His city, his obsession, his afterlife—all ashes, all dust. And what had he gained? A crown of thorns, a throne he never wanted. The title of King Phantom, ruler of the dead, sovereign of a graveyard empire.

He built a council. He forged a government. He crafted a system that could run without him—because he could not rule, not when every decree tasted of blood, not when every whisper of his subjects sounded like the voices of the lost. Not when he was so lost.

So he vanished.

Not in triumph, not in secrecy—but in surrender. He would sleep. Finally really sleep. He would sleep for centuries, for millennia even, until the worlds forgot his name. Until the stars themselves burned cold. Until even the memory of his suffering was nothing more than a sigh in the dark. And maybe, just maybe, if he slept long enough… he would forget, too.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Danny awoke to crying.

Not the wailing of the long-dead, nor the hollow sobs of forgotten spirits—but the raw, shuddering pleas of someone new. A voice too young, too broken, gasping between tears:

"Please—"

"Dad, I’m sorry—"

"B, you promised—"

Danny blinked slowly, his limbs heavy from his long sleep. His mind swam in fog, his body sluggish, as if moving through deep water. But the sound, a sound too familiar to ignore, pulled him forward, guiding him through the mist of his own exhaustion until he found the source—a boy.

A small, bloodied thing in a torn costume of green and red and gold, hunched over his own grave.

Danny’s chest ached.

Oh.

A newly dead. A child. One so much like him, once. Danny watched him for awhile. Days maybe? It had been such a long time since he had needed to keep track of time... He stepped closer, his voice soft as settling dust. "Hey."

The boy jerked upright, his masked face streaked with inky tears. "You—you can see me?"

Danny huffed a quiet laugh. "Oh, so he does talk."

The boy stared, trembling, his breath hitching. Danny knelt��not too close, not too far—and tilted his head. "My name’s Danny. What about you?"

The boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "My name? My name is… My name is…?" His voice cracked, panic rising like a tide. "My name—my name—?" He didn't remember. Not many ghostlings did.

"Hey, hey," Danny murmured, reaching out—not to touch, but to offer. With a thought, he summoned a little blob ghost, its form wobbly and bright, and placed it gently in the boy’s lap. The creature nuzzled against him, purring like a gooy contented cat. The boy’s hands stilled. Then, hesitantly, he began to pet it.

Danny smiled. "A name doesn’t have to be a name," he said softly. "It can be anything you’d like."

The boy swallowed. "...Robin," he whispered. "I’m Robin."

"Robin," Danny repeated, like it was something precious. "It’s good to meet you, kid."

A beat of silence. Then, small and scared:

"Am I dead?"

Danny’s core clenched. He let himself float just a little, settling cross-legged in the air, making himself smaller, lesser. "You are," he admitted gently. "I’m sorry, Robin."

The boy—Robin—choked on a sob. "Is that why Dad wouldn’t—why he didn’t—?" Danny didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Robin crumpled.

Without thinking, Danny reached out and gathered him close, tucking the boy against his chest the way Jazz had once held him so very long ago—after bad nights, after bad fights, after the world had been too much. "I know," he murmured, rocking him slightly. "I know. It sucks. It’s not fair. But you’re not alone, okay? Never alone." Robin shuddered, his tiny fists clutching Danny’s cloak of stars. Danny felt the threats forming, a soul bond. He had had one will Elle, with clockwork, with few others. A bond of trust.

Danny didn’t hesitate. He let his ecto unwind, warm and golden green and royal, and carefully, so carefully, began to mend the fractures in Robin’s soul. The pain, the fear, the jagged edges of a death too soon and too violent. The death of someone trying to be a hero—he took them into himself, replacing the hurt with quiet, with safety. Slowly, Robin’s breathing evened. His weight grew heavy against Danny’s shoulder.

Asleep.

Not that ghosts needed sleep. But children did. Danny exhaled, looking around the graveyard—at the other small, lost shades watching from the shadows. His chest tightened.

…He could help them.

Just for today. Just for now. He could make Gotham a little lighter. And maybe, just maybe, it would help Robin, too—to have something familiar.

Robin followed Phantom like a shadow—or, more accurately, like a small, determined firefly, darting after the king’s trailing cloak as he moved through Gotham’s gloom. Honestly the child was a little beacon of light. Bright like a little firefly.

At first, he simply watched.

Phantom moved like a whisper between worlds—guiding lost shades toward peace, nudging lingering spirits toward unfinished business, even coaxing the living, stubborn bleeding-hearted vigilantes, into just the right places at just the right times. They never knew they were being helped, of course. But Robin saw.

And slowly, he began to copy.

A nudge here—a whisper there. A flicker of movement to draw a grieving widow’s eye to a hidden letter. A gentle tug on a cape to steer a batarang just wide enough to avoid a fatal blow. Gotham, ever so slightly, began to brighten.

And so did Robin. So much brighter than the dead boy Danny had met. He had even taught the boy to change his form from his one in death to a Robin in life. He was so much brighter not covered in blood and debris..

Phantom watched, warmth curling in his core, as the boy—his little prince—blossomed. Robin laughed as he flew, spinning through the air like a fallen leaf caught in the wind. He chattered to the other ghosts, coaxing even the shyest shades out of their hiding spots. He guided lost souls with a patience that belied his age, his voice soft but steady—"It’s okay, you’re safe now"—and when they finally faded into peace, he turned to Phantom with stars in his eyes.

"Did you see! I did it on my own!"

Phantom ruffled his hair. "Yeah, kid. I saw."

And oh, the way Robin glowed.

He was happy here. Happy to help, happy to fly, happy to tuck himself under Phantom’s arm after a long night and murmur about all the things he’d seen, all the people he’d saved. Gotham was still dark. But now, there were pinpricks of light—like stars or tiny, stubborn sparks—where before there had been none. And at the center of them all, brighter than any ghost light, was Robin.

[justauthoring]

Necessary Clarification.

Request: Omg can we pls get a sanji comfort fic where y/n is a little insecure bc she notices sanji treats her differently than other girls, she thinks that maybe he doesn’t think she’s pretty enough thinks of her as one of the bros or something. Unbeknownst to her sanji is like madly in love with her and didn’t know to to deal or confront his feelings so when he finds out about her doubts he’s like running to her and putting those bad thoughts to rest. Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Sanji Vinsmoke x F!Reader

A/N: Sanji hurt/comfort???? Sign me up!!

Word Count: 2,636

Also, this header honestly doesn't relate to the fic at all but doesn't my man look so good??????

"Here you go, Nami-swan~! Robin-chan~!"

Trying to make your anticipation less obvious, you ignore the way your body instinctively shuffles as Sanji's voice carries across the ship. As usual, there's a sway to his voice as he calls out to the only two other female members of the crew, a tray of drinks in his hand.

Nami, Robin and you were currently sat by Nami's tangerines, chatting and relaxing under the hot sun. There was still a bit of ocean to cover before you all arrived at the next island to reset the log pose, so everyone on the ship was doing their own thing. You knew Zoro was training, as he normally did around this time, while Usopp, Luffy and Chopper were entertaining themselves somewhere on the ship as usual. You couldn't see Franky or Brook, but clearly whatever they were doing was enough to keep them occupied.

Of course, Sanji's "own thing" involved dining and serving the ladies of the Thousand Sunny to his best ability.

The drink he sets down in front of Nami is a bright blue, topped with ice and a straw and looking something sweet. Robin's drink, although milder, looks just delicious. Both drinks are served to the women with a swish and a smile from Sanji, as Robin nods in thanks and Nami oblidges Sanji's wishes with a gentle; "thank you, Sanji-kun."

He admonishes them with a bright grin, and then, finally, turns to you. The lovesick look in his eyes at your two friends softens into something more tame as he meets your awaiting gaze. You try not to make your hopeful gaze so blatantly obvious but by the way Nami and Robin are both watching the interaction, you figure you aren't be so subtle.

The final drink left on the tray is set before you, with a little less florish but still as presented as nicely. Anything Sanji made always looked delicious, so, that fact isn't all that surprising.

"And here you are, Y/N."

Just like that, the hope deflates. It might seem silly (and you know it is), but the lack of an affectionate honorific like Nami or Robin's makes your heart ache. And it isnt just that--Sanji's actions with you are much more serious and done with far less exaggeration.

You've watched, time and time again, Sanji all but bend over backwards for everyone woman he's crossed paths with. It isn't just your crewmates, but strangers and enemies alike. Sanji rarely didn't have heart eyes when a woman was in his sights and even more so was he ever not declaring his love, care and affection all in one breath at them. He'll call them the sweetest names, speak to them with the softest of tones, always filled with warmth.

But with you? He never did.

When he talked to you, he didn't declare his love for you. He didn't have heart eyes. You were always just "Y/N" and nothing else. He still did anything you asked, but it wasn't in the way he did Nami, Robin or anybody else.

You shouldn't care. And you probably wouldn't, if your own heart didn't soar for Sanji. But it did, incredibly and painfully so. You'd felt that way about him since you'd first laid eyes on him, way back when Luffy had first invited you to join the crew.

And although watching him all but drop to his knees and declare his love for a woman not five seconds later, your heart had already chosen him and you'd been unsuccessful in changing its mind.

But clearly, your feelings wouldn't be returned. Sanji didn't even think you pretty enough to treat you like the rest, let alone actually return your feelings.

Keeping your eyes trained on your drink, you nod; "thank you, Sanji." Your voice is small, muffled. You don't see it, but Sanji frowns at the clear upset tone of your voice, but he doesn't express his concern, meeting Nami's eyes whose strangely glaring at him before heading back to the kitchen.

The second Sanji is out of ear shot, Nami is leaning towards you.

"Y/N--"

"You know what?" You cut off before she can even start, suddenly pushing yourself to your feet as Nami and Robin blink up at you in concern. "I'm actually not feeling well. I think the sun is a bit too much. I'm just gonna lay down, I think."

You're standing before Nami or Robin can get a word in otherwise--albeit they try. You purposefully ignore their calls of your name, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at having not even drank the drink Sanji prepared for you.

But, really, if you thought about it, he probably just made it for you because he felt bad otherwise. Not because he wanted to like he did Nami and Robin. And certainly not because he cared about you in any romantic way.

Really, you should just get over your feelings for him. It was only hurting you more in the end anyway.

-

"Nami, I really don't--"

"Just trust me, please?"

Staring back at Nami, you sigh. You could never really deny her when she looked at you like that (or really ever), so you know you've lost even before the words leave your lips.

"Fine," you huff, letting her continue to drag you back onto the Thousand Sunny despite the nerves twisting your insides. Nami hadn't really told what it was she was planning, but you figured it couldn't be anything good.

Especially after she'd all but dragged you with her the second the Thousand Sunny had docked at a new island that morning. She hadn't given you a chance to argue otherwise or for anyone to even aid you as she pulled you off with her.

She'd ended up dragging you to a clothing store. The first one she could find. When you expressed her confusion, she'd made up some lie about wanting to gift you a new outfit for all that helped you'd given her during your last battle.

When you'd reminded her that the two of you had been separated, she'd simply shushed you. And when that clothing store didn't have what she wanted, she'd dragged you to a different one and then another until she was satisfied.

You knew better than to argue with Nami, so you'd simply let her doll you up in different clothes all day.

Now, with the sun setting and adorned in new clothes that seemed far too fancy for someone who lived on a pirate ship, she was dragging you back to the Thousand Sunny without a single explanation.

Your answer, however, is given to you the second her eyes fall on Sanji.

He turns at the arrival of Nami (because you knew his excited smile wasn't for you), eyes twinkling and grinning ear to ear, only to pause sharply when his eyes fall on you.

You feel vulnerable in a way you never had, chest tightening as you watch him take you in.

"Sanji," Nami calls, grinning ear to ear and purposefully lacking the affectionate 'kun' she adds to the end of his name. "Me and Y/N went shopping today."

Eyes flickering from you, to Nami, then back to you, Sanji visibly swallows. "I can see that."

There's the briefest twitch in Nami's jaw, a sharp sigh leaving her mouth as the rest of the crew watches in curiosity. Then, with a bit sharper of a voice, she asks; "don't you think Y/N looks pretty in her new outfit?"

You breath hitches, turning to Sanji as you wait for him to respond.

Only, he never does.

His lips part as if to say something, but no words leave his lips. His eyes flicker back and forth from you, to Nami, to something past you, clearly uncomfortable.

Something aches painfully in your heart.

"Sanji," Nami calls again, this time her voice has a tinge of anger as she finally lets go of your wrist and stomps towards Sanji. "Just what--"

But you stop her before she can finish, grabbing her by the arm and desperately trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Nami, don't... don't worry about it," you cut in, voice cracking at the end. Both Nami and Sanji's eyes snap towards you, but you focus on Nami, desperately trying to keep what little of your dignity you have left. "It's okay."

"Y/N, you don't--"

"No, please, stop," you all but beg. You know Nami is just trying to help, but it's only making things worse. And Sanji weirded out. "It's clear Sanji doesn't... Sanji is uncomfortable, Nami. So just drop it."

A tear manages to slip past your defenses and the humiliation burns in you.

Nami, parted lips and stunned, stares back at you, unable to say anything. You then realize how the rest of the crew is watching, and the look on Sanji's face as he stares back at you hurts even more.

Without a single look back, you turn and run off the ship.

-

Sanji watches you run off, bewildered.

The entire crew does and silence follows as your footsteps grow further and further away until you're completely gone. And the silence follows for a second more, Sanji still trying to process whats even happened, before Zoro lets out a huff;

"You're an idiot."

Turning to the swordsman, Sanji's eyes blaze; "what did you say, moss-head?" And he moves to step towards him, but he can't even move an inch before Nami is in front of him, the front of his button-up clenched in her fist.

And her eyes burn with anger.

"Nami-swan? What--"

"You absolute idiot!" She cries, eyes blazing as she glances up at him. Sanji's lips part, baffled, as he jerks instinctively away from the rage radiating off of you. "Does your brain just not work? Or is there nothing in there?"

"N-Nami," Sanji breathes, honestly a bit hurt. "I don't--"

"Nami," Robin calls, stepping forward as she sets a hand on the younger girls shoulder. "Perhaps we should--"

"No," Nami argues, shaking her head. "I've tried to be understanding, but now this is really hurting Y/N." She spins back to Sanji, "she's crying because of you, you idiot!"

"I don't understand--"

"You like her, don't you?"

Sanji's cheeks burn instantly, spreading to the tips of his ears as his eyes widen. "I-I--!"

"There's no point denying," Nami cuts him off (again). "We all know it."

And as if Sanji couldn't be any more embarrassed, the rest of the crew adds to her point by nodding. Sanji realizes then it's hopeless, so with a sigh, his head bows.

"I do," he admits, voice quiet. "I really like her."

"Well she thinks you hate her."

Sanji's eyes instantly widen, heart falling to the pit of his stomach.

"Why would--"

"Sanji," Robin calls, distinctively more gentle. "You treat her so different. You don't fall to your knees for her like you do us. Nor do you declare your love for her every other second. If I weren't aware of your feelings for her, I'd think you hate her too."

There's a million of thoughts that run through Sanji's mind then. Racing through them, too fast for him to properly understand. All that's made abundantly clear to him is that he's hurt you.

He's hurt you so bad.

And he has to fix it.

Nami, seeing the look on Sanji's face, finally steps back, letting go of him with a huff.

"Sanji!"

Jumping at the sound of his captains voice, Sanji slowly looks back up at him.

"Go find Y/N!" Luffy smiles at him, extending his hand towards him with a thumbs up. "We'll be waiting for you when you guys are ready!"

-

You know you should be heading back to the ship.

The sun had completely set and the crew couldn't afford to waste time on an island where you'd all already gotten what you needed. It was dark, you were alone and the outfit Nami had bought for you and made you wear was no longer warm enough in the cool night air.

But you were embarrassed. Humiliated even.

How were you supposed to go back and face everyone? Let alone Sanji himself? How could you ever look him in the eyes again after you had made your feelings so abundantely clear and he had made his so as well?

The way he'd just stood there? Staring at you? When you know had it been any other woman he'd have screamed of their beauty to the skies.

Sniffling, you hug yourself tighter, tell yourself you'd head back when you'd cried all the tears you had in you out. Only then would you face that embarrassment--when it was physically impossible for you to cry anymore.

A wave of wind brushes back, pulling a shiver up your spine as you curl into yourself. You're thinking you might have to cry these tears faster or find a shop that's open later, when a jacket falls around your shoulders.

It surprises you, pulling a gasp from your lips as you spin to see who'd snuck up on you.

The last person you're expecting is Sanji.

Tears still streaming down your cheeks, you jump back from you, pushing yourself to your feet as you desperately wipe at your cheeks.

"S-Sanji, I..." But your voice trails becaues you don't know what to say. His arrival here stuns you so stupid and in addition to the tears, you feel like nothing could possibly make this night worse.

"Y/N, I--"

"You don't have to say anything," you cut in, words rushing without thought. "Nami shouldn't have put you in that position and I shouldn't have run off. Luffy probably made you find me, right? I'm sorry. He--... Please, just, I'm fine so--"

"Y/N," Sanji interrupts you, "I don't hate you."

Jerking, your lips are left parted as you blink up at Sanji.

He takes your silence as an invitation to keep going. Hands held in front of him, he steps towards you. "I don't hate you and I don't treat you differently because I think you're... not worth it or anything like that."

Hands falling to your sides, you inhale sharply.

"I... I've hurt you," Sanji whispers, head bowed. "I hurt you and I'm so sorry. The truth was that I didn't treat you the same as other women because... well... the way I feel for you goes beyond how I feel for them."

Brows furrowing, you shake your head. "I don't understand..."

"I like you--no, Y/N. I think I'm in love with you."

Blinking, your breath gets caught in the back of your throat, shocked.

"And I didn't know how to handle those feelings. I've never... felt so strongly about a woman as I have you, Y/N. So I acted indifferent and... well, I hurt you." He lets out a heavy breath, eyes imploring and face sincere. "And for that I'm so sorry."

Shaking your head, you step towards Sanji, pulling his jacket closer around yourself. "No, Sanji, you don't have to apologize."

"But I do," he argues, "for ever making you feel any less beautiful than you are. Or for making you think I... hated you."

In a surge of surprise, emotion and want, you reach for Sanji, taking his hands in yours as you shake your head again. He steps closer to you, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek. "Come back to the ship with me, love. And I can show you how much I truly love you."

Heart soaring at the pet name, you lean into Sanji's touch, nodding.

"I want nothing more."

Smiling gently, Sanji caresses the skin of your cheek. "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you look absolutely beautiful."

[starlitscars]

Made of ice

Jackson era! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you.

Word count: 5.2k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, implied age gap, canon-typical violence, Joel Miller needs his own warning, protective! Joel, soft! Joel, angst, fluff, smut, finger sucking, fingering, pet names, praise kink, language, no use of y/n, soft dom! Joel, negative thoughts, dea*h wish, self-doubt, self-confidence issues, Joel is a sweetheart here (but he doesn't think he's worthy of peace), rain, lots of rain, lightning, stormy weather, kinda established relationship, let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: This is my very first attempt at writing for Joel Miller. I've had the idea in my mind for a few weeks now and it's hard to resist when it comes to him (did I say Pedro Pascal?) So I hope the details are accurate and if you decide to read this one shot, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it. If you want to be mutuals, I'll be more than glad <3

Divider by: saradika-graphics

Made of ice

You should've seen what you made of him.

The calm, slow beats in his chest are strikingly different from how he remembers them. In fact, he vaguely recalls the way those racing, dreadful patterns had carved themselves into his memory. With a rigid heart made of ice, it was nearly impossible to find the pulse in him, even at his most frightened, disappointed state. 

Joel used to walk into the face of danger with a rifle clutched in his dying grip, a life to save and thousands to destroy, and in all those moments any sign of life was nonexistent in him. There used to be rage, hatred, regret, and frustration... Oh lots of frustration, running through the veins in his body. He used to walk, talk, and breathe. But he wasn't alive.

Now he doesn't find it in himself to call it miracle. But somewhere between the lines, you happened. You happened and fuelled the dying fire in the far corner of his heart. He used to keep it empty and dark, like a deserted house with no furniture, a perfect place for the noises in his head to become loud and maybe help him stand the never-ending days of what everyone called life. 

You entered his life and now most of what he feels in these old veins is warmth, safety and attachment. Yes, he doesn't call it miracle, because his past doings are too  stained and unforgivable to deserve a miracle. To deserve you. The real miracle. The fathomable idea of what it feels to be alive.

Joel feels alive.

Some days, it feels like his wretched past is clawing its way back into his mind, calling those demons to end his days of peace with you. Some nights, he's restless... So terribly restless. What if you get injured on your next patrol? What if the Raiders attack you when you're out of the gates of Jackson? What if something bad happens to you the moment his eyes close? What if these damn what ifs come to life? This old mind tricks him into seeing pictures of what has never happened and probably never will. You always assure him that you'll be careful. He trusts you and your abilities, but he does not trust his fears. Because if life is too good, it scares him. 

It scares Joel Miller, way more than it would if he was trapped in a dark room with all of his fears and demons creeping on the cold hard floor towards him. He'd rather spend every day fighting off the Clickers and Raiders and every nasty threat out there, instead of pacing around the room and waiting to see if your patrols end well or not.

So he has no choice but to either convince Tommy to pick him as your patrol partner every damn time you have to do it – which he makes sure is as limited as possible – or occasionally keep an eye on you from a distance and let his thoughts consume him at the same time. Just like what he's doing now. 

His persistence in being close to you tends to earn him annoyed eye rolls and "She's more capable than that, Joel." comments from his brother... almost all the time. But he simply can't help it, and he thinks that you know it. Because you never complain nor haul him over the coals for his instincts and worries and the immense amount of care his rigid heart feels for you. He's silently thankful for that understanding.

You are safe here, he thinks. Even though he feels restless, his heartbeat has never been this calm. He sits and watches you on nights like this and there's only one thought ringing in his head. All the scolding is worth it. You're sprawled out peacefully on the bed. His bed. It must be straight out of a fucking impossible dream. You're here, in his atmosphere, in his menacing, guilty, dark presence... And you have chosen it knowingly. It's all he can ever ask for. 

The dim moonlight is swimming in through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery shadow over your face. Your hair is falling all around you like you're knowingly doing it... Posing for an artist just to paint this delicate beauty on a canva. 

Despite his bitter mood, a content smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tearing his gaze from you, he downs the remaining whiskey and silently places the empty glass on the table, deciding that he needs a short walk to free his troubled mind. One morning, Maria woke up and decided that Joel needs to stay behind and help Tommy in fixing the issues in the town's only library. So you should have another partner for your patrol days for god knows how long. He fucking hates being told what to do. He fought tooth and nail to prevent that, and if you weren't there to stop him, he would as well turn the mess hall into another ruin that needed to be fixed – which only meant more time away from you. 

So it's going to take only two weeks, at worst. Only a terrible fortnight before things go back to normal. It's almost unbelievable how you have managed to awaken a sense of normalcy in him that he hasn't known in decades. Your absence is an instant threat to this normal life.

Maybe it's about time he gets used to it. He's not that weak. He shouldn't let his angers and worries run him. More importantly, he shouldn't ruin your much needed sleep with his usual problems right now. You've still got the weekend. He'll take a walk and be back here before you as much as stir in your deep slumber.

Oh. The damn library.

...

Jackson is eerily quiet in the middle of the night, enveloped by darkness and as isolated as it can be in this corner of the world. It's a stark contrast to how busy the whole community is during the daylight – bustling with happy greetings, careless jokes, movie days, small parties, and lots of work to do. It all asks for social interaction and he deeply hates it.

He hates when every passer-by's attention turns to you every time you step out in the open. He hates how prying eyes rove up and down your frame every time you walk into the bar. He hates how... He shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes at the loudness of these thoughts. Joel has to remind himself that he is the one you hold onto and introduce to everyone in every social gathering. The proud gleam in your eyes always placates him. There's no need to break a jaw in this town... Perhaps.

Lights flicker by the porches and the sound of his boots on the ground is the only sound that disturbs the silence. The sky is clouding over, distantly promising another stormy night in its gloomy wake. Occasional flashes of lightning light up the road and before Joel knows it, he's passing by the Tipsy Bison. It's 3 past midnight, no wonder why its doors are locked and closed. Either way he comes to a halt, letting the gears turn in his head as he opts for a very familiar path.

Your house. It's a short walk away from the bar.

Joel still recalls that day. How long has it been? Five, six, seven months? It feels like yesterday to him.

He'd had a terrible conversation with Tommy, not at all the way he'd planned it on his first day in Jackson. Things got heated up pretty quickly, leaving a bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue, the burn of the whiskey only worsening his mood.

"Just because life stopped for you, doesn't mean it has to stop for me..."

The words were ringing in his head as he stormed out of the bar. Shrugging his jacket on, all he wanted was to walk as far away from that area as possible. This affronted, begrudging, irrational sting was boiling in him and in that moment he was more than ready to leave the gates of Jackson even if it called for more danger. Life had really ended for him years ago, but to hear it from Tommy right after the hell he'd went through to find him... It really hurt. 

The pain was resurfacing in rapid tides.

If his boots could dig deeper, get stuck in the snow and propel him into the cold biting blanket of the earth, he'd welcome it. If life had really ended for him, he had to make it make sense by ending himself as well. This... There was this distant melody echoing in the air and cutting through his troubled thoughts. The wind was harsh against his ears, and each step brought the melody closer. 

It really could be the last song that played before his funeral.  

Joel was surrounded by all the colors, and all he could see was white, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't pay much attention as he bumped into someone. He barely lifted his head to apologize, and then his gaze settled on the crackling fire on the left side of the road. 

Red and orange and yellow hues. It was a fresh contrast. His eyes were hurting from all the white snow.

He came to a halt, mindlessly waving at the person he'd bumped into. A dozen of kids had gathered around the burning logs in a barrel on the porch, rubbing their hands together and listening to the same melody he was entranced by. The same melody that he thought would be his burial hymn.

Joel's eyes followed their excited faces, wondering who they were looking at. He saw you mirroring their hopeful gleams first, and then he registered the guitar on your lap. 

To make the matters worse, you had tilted your head, shooting him a funnily quizzical look. He might've looked weird back then. The town's newcomer, with a permanent scowl on his face, maybe plotting murder as well (considering that it was the main topic in all the words that already flew around about him).

He didn't answer, still dead in his tracks as if he was immobilized by some invisible force. So you shifted in your seat, silently offering him a spot among the children as if to say "You can come over and join us."

He had two choices in that moment, either a polite decline was on the table or a dismissive frown. He looked over his shoulder at the bar and finally opted for the third choice – or so his mind created another choice for him – and he nodded, joining in on your little gathering without as much as saying a word. He really wanted to hear that song.

He never asked whether you knew the words to that song, but that night when he lay in bed and his thoughts were far from the idea that he wanted to bury himself in the snow, he vaguely remembered the lyrics. And it hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

He wanted to ignore how the words affected him in the middle of the night. It was the first night he could feel some semblance of peace, not sleeping with an eye open in case someone attacked them. Ellie was safe in another room. So he really considered that. He considered the possibility of staying. He was relatively new to the community... And so damn unaccustomed to the whole arrangement. He almost woke up the next morning and started packing before he remembered where he was.

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Those words stuck with him.

And his first encounter with you was a harbinger of different things to come.

One day of patrolling with you led to another, one night of inviting you for a drink led to another. One peaceful afternoon in the stable led to another. One gloomy evening in the clinic did not lead to another. He was way too protective of you to let that happen again.

He truly feels lucky. You could be anywhere else, better off if you picked anyone other than this grumpy, old man. And yet you still want him. You silly girl. You've melted his heart with your warmth. 

But he's like a lake, deserted in the middle of a haunted forest and engulfed in coldness. Even though the center is warm and gooey, he keeps the surface frozen and rigid and menacing. Hard enough to keep his instincts sane and alarmed. Cold enough to let everyone know that you're his and he will not fucking share. 

Lightning strikes again in the sky.

He lifts himself up and off your front stairs with a heavy grunt. An hour has passed since he left for a walk. The clouds have fully gathered in the sky and he thinks that he should be by your side now.

Joel really cares little for the details, always asking Tommy and Ellie to spare him the explanation and get straight to the point. But with you, it's hard to forget a couple of things. One night, a few weeks ago, you were pulling him past the threshold of your house. So adorably drunk and inviting. He was still a little pissed by how the rainstorm had ruined your nightly walk. Despite your complaints about sharing a kiss in the rain, he'd dragged you back to the nearest shelter possible, because he just didn't want to get fucking soaked. Joel didn't find it romantic at all. He was frowning, still pinning you against the wall for a begrudgingly needy kiss. You giggled into his mouth, playful fingers pocking at his chest. "Come on Joel. Let yourself enjoy it... All these neverending drops on the roof, the fresh earthy scent that comes after it... It's just really beautiful. One of the few things that kept me sane before I came here..." 

He's not really against the idea. But the changing weather doesn't bode well with him. One day is sunny, and the next is rainy and it just goes to show how he has no power over the situation.

Hell. A part of Joel is really terrified of the changing weather. One day it was scorching hot, and the next his boots crunched against the white blankets of neverending snow, reprimanding him for his carelessness. Time would pass whether he wanted to or not. He is still terrified, wishing he could stretch the time he could spend with you. God knows he wants an eternity with you. 

He has seen enough rain for a lifetime. He hasn't seen you enough. How could he enjoy getting soaked in tiny drops of water when all he wanted was to bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for a while – maybe forever and a little more?

But he has considered it since then. If there are a few things that keep you happy and rainy days have to be one of them, he'll give you that. He'll get used to that. There's no pattern with the rainfall in here, and the weather forecast is pretty much nonexistent. He has promised himself to tell you whenever it rains, even though he despises the idea of you catching a cold after minutes or hours of dancing in the cold, letting droplets of water wash over you without a care in this wretched world. 

He also despises the idea of waking you up.

But he knows you'll like it. You careless, adorable girl. He lives to see that excited gleam in your eyes. Everytime you show it, this old heart pounds impatiently in his chest and it all feels like the first time it has happened.

He's back home in no time. 

So, kicking his boots off as silently as possible, he trudges over and settles down by the edge of the bed, suppressing a low groan. His knees still ache from all the never-ending effort he's put in repairing the library over the past few days. Jesus, he just wants it to be done as soon as possible. It feels like he's losing so much time when he's away from you. Now that you're still pretty much asleep in the same position he last saw you, all Joel wants is to lie down by your side and melt in your warm embrace instead of having to fight with his thoughts and the world to not take away yet another precious piece of him. He can't afford to even think about losing you.

Each flash of lightning illuminates the contours of your beautiful face and he can't help himself when he lifts a hand and lets his knuckles gently stroke your cheek. Your lips are parted ever so slightly and you look so innocent in your unconscious dream. He almost backs down, part of him hoping that it rains throughout the day, just so he doesn't guilt trip himself for the pout on your face if you miss it. You need to rest.

As if you sense his hesitation, you stir in bed and lean into his touch. A low hum escapes you, and Joel is too weak to deny himself the softness it brings. His wounded knuckles are soon replaced with a calloused thumb and he wonders what's so interesting about these hands that never ceases to catch your attention.

One night at the bar, Joel had caught you actually staring at them and when he teased you a little about it, you just shrugged and grinned mischievously. "I mean... I just like them so much. Your hands are always warm, and... and that's all."

He shrugged it off that night. Ellie had also considered it a flex for him to have warm hands even in the coldest days of winter, but with you and the way you looked at him... It was different. He knew it was more than that. 

And when the nights he shared with you went further than his sinful thoughts had planned, you showed him that it was more than that. It was more than the warmth you found there. If anything, your helpless whimpers were an indication of how capable and strong these hands were.

Heat blooms in his chest. It simply is endearing. The way you always seem to recognize his touch and send his head spiraling with the idea that you want him to do more. You've never been afraid of him. You've never pushed him away. You've never judged him for the horrible things he's done. Jesus, it should terrify him. Joel should've pushed you away at some point, because he knows you'd be better off without him, but how could he muster the strength to do so? Since that fateful moment on your porch, your presence keeps on inviting him for more. More than simply existing. And God, if you knew how he wants to do more than that every second of the day... Only if the world lets him breathe a little.

There's another bolt of lightning and raindrops finally begin to drum against the window pane.

Joel shakes his head to get rid of those worrisome ideas. Propping himself on one elbow, he leans over ever so slightly and lets his thumb trace its way to your chin, up to your jawline, and then back to the soft skin on your cheek. He draws circles over the blooming flush and then his thumb is traveling down to your lower lip. Your mouth parts just a little more, breathing even and content and if he gets a grip on himself, he may notice that there's a ghost of a smile in there as well.

"Baby..." He whispers softly, his gaze drifting all over your adorable face. You really are a piece of art, tangled in the sheets, in the safety of his house, and your innocent hums are doing something to him. Some obscene voice that silently pleads for more. More and more... Just to give you more. 

You stir a little more.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, the sweet, fruity scent he's come to like a lot about you engulfing his senses. He watches every little movement with amusement. "My sweet baby... You want to see what's waitin' for you outside."

"Joel," you mumble sleepily, voice drowsy and laced with a hint of confusion as you rub your eyes and stretch your arms before looking around the dark room with a quizzical expression on your face. It doesn't take long for the realization to hit you and the familiar gleam in your gaze makes him smile. You stare a him, wide-eyed. "Is it- again?"

He chuckles and gestures at the window. "Yes, a heavy one at that."

Again, there's that hum of delight as you follow his gaze. The pitter-patter of the rain cheers you up like a lollipop would do to a child. It's maddeningly adorable.

You should be running to the backyard by now, but instead you stare at him for a while. It's his turn to be confused. Your smile gets broader by each passing second as your delicate hands trace his face and run over the salt and pepper patches of his beard. When you playfully ruffle his hair, your eyes are still droopy and dreamy and so damn kissable that he just can't help himself.

His other hand fondles with a loose strand of hair beside you on the pillow before twirling it between his fingers. You bite your lower lip and lift your head just enough for a brief peck on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, letting his fingers draw a line over the column of your neck, down to your chest, and at last they disappear beneath the sheets, settling comfortably on the warm expanse of your belly. 

Joel assumes that his presence is not too close to lock you in place, and yet not too loose to let you drift back into unconsciousness. You just have the perfect moment to escape. For goodness sake, rain is the one thing you choose over anything else. The thing you like a lot.

But you're still here, dazed eyes flickering all over his face and it just gives him a second thought. A new idea to test your patience. Seeing you still pinned under him and unmoving, was not really in his list when he decided to walk back home and wake you up. He chortles with amusement. If you want what he thinks you do, he could give you that... "Come on sweetheart, what's stoppin' you?"

His fingers drift lower, exploring the bare flesh of your thigh, right where his mouth was hours ago. Still as warm as he remembers, maybe a little bruised too. "It's all rainy outside. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"I know..." You mumble, an undertone of need sewn in your voice as you look down over the sheets that cover every movement of his hand. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway. He could easily toss the covers aside, but it's wickedly satisfying this way. "I'm- um, just feeling a little under the influence...and it's- uh, it's distracting."

His hand caresses its way to where he knows you need it the most, and you barely repress a shudder when his fingertips glide over your folds. But he barely feels you, a ghost of a touch hovering there as a smirk threatens to flicker at the corner of his mouth.

"Wonder if my hand's makin' a good influence or a bad one. What d'you say, baby?"

It pelts down steadily outside, but you don't seem to care the slightest about it. Neither does Joel. A low gasp emanates from you when his touch becomes proper, rubbing circles and spreading the slick over your clit as slow and unrushed as he physically can manage. You're still indecently wet after he'd brought you over the edge again and again before you dozed off... and the fact that some of his cum might be gathering in his hand is fueling his lewd thoughts.

You naughty girl.

"A very bad one, I see." He tuts, feeling your chest heaving up and down beneath him. It's easy to rile you up this way. Desperation is written in your expression... and he hasn't even started yet.

"She needs fixin', doesn't she?" Joel asks, bringing his movement to a sudden halt. You're too distracted by everything he does to form a coherent thought. He lifts an expectant brow, now actually waiting for an answer.

"Yes- yes Joel... need it so bad... so bad it hurts." You breathe, a helpless pout forming on your lips.

"I know baby. I know... Jus' lay down and let me take care of it, hm? How's that sound?" He demands again, but this time he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he pushes two fingers past your weeping hole, burying them knuckles deep within your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, eyelids heavy as you grasp his arm, squirming like a helpless, needy girl.

What a cruel man he is.

"Not off to a good start, angel. I know you can be more patient."

You nod quickly, biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from wriggling and twisting on the bed. For a split second, Joel considers pulling out to nuzzle his face between your legs and let the heat consume him. A perfect place to brave the cold, restless seasons. 

But his fingers aren't shy either. He starts with slow thrusts, effortlessly sliding in and out before picking up the pace. He makes you adjust to his rhythm, and when you let go and open up, the obscene moans and chocked out cries are all that fill the silence of the house. Jesus, he lives to hear them every day. He rewards you by curling his fingertips to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

You shudder particularly hard at that, more arousal pooling inside you and soaking his fingers. You're losing your grip with reality, and he can sense it as your legs begin to shake and your knee brushes over the denim of his jeans, but you still remember to abide by his "No squirming" rule.

You're so pliant and obedient in his hands that it does nothing but to spur Joel to give you more. And so he does.

"I like these sounds," He adds a third finger, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. "I dream about them all the time."

You whimper and tighten your hold around Joel's arm. When he feels that your orgasm is creeping impossibly close, his thumb joins and rubs rapid circles over your bundle of nerves and that's your undoing. You clench around him, walls tightening and squeezing his fingers deeper – if that's even possible – as waves of white-hot euphoria crash over your worn-out body and take over your senses. Your back arches involuntarily into him. A sound between a groan and a curse escapes his throat.

"That's it. Atta girl... that's it, so fuckin' beautiful."

His touch is unrelenting as he talks you through it with a string of sweet nothings. 

Only when you come down and rest back on the bed he slowly pulls out. You're panting heavily, face flushed and heated and so effortlessly seductive that Joel is sure no fucking artist could ever capture it in words of a poem or colors of a painting. Joel is the only one to witness this moment and it swells his chest with pride. He wants to drink it in, let it run through his veins like never-ending liquor.

He lifts his hand, smirking as you gape at the way it's glistening under the dim light. You're in awe. He softly places the tips between your swollen lips and you waste no time in swirling your tongue around them, licking the slick off as if it's a delightful lollipop. And the hazy look on your face says that it's more than just a sweet treat.

His own breathing hitches when you open your mouth a little wider and take him fully in, sucking and humming and driving him absolutely crazy. He shakes his head slightly, catching the playful gleam in your gaze.

"Hm. Still a very bad influence."

When you're fully recovered and satisfied, Joel lifts you up in his arms and walks towards the backyard, chuckling at your confused expression. You give a squeal and wrap your hands around his neck to keep yourself steady, at the same time trying to gauge what his next plan would be. You really have forgotten about the rain, haven't you?

He comes to a halt, making sure the blanket he'd just picked off the bed is not leaving any part of your body uncovered. The rainstorm has eased off considerably over the past hour, but he doesn't want to risk it. Keeping you warm and safe in the cold is and will always be his top priority, no matter if his back or knees protest from how much they ache. Hell, he aches for you and that content smile on your face. Nothing beats it.

"My girl still wants to go out, hm?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the half-open door, filled with excitement and delight and a tiny flicker of doubt. "Yes Joel... but...you sure you want to join in?"

"I don't know," He feigns innocence, pretending to think for a short while before his face lights up with an idea. "Do I get a kiss for it?"

You laugh and lean up to press your lips into his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's so tender and reassuring that he has to pull back before changing his mind and taking you back to the bed.

"Then it's settled."

It has been settled for a long time.

Maybe he can get used to it. Maybe you get a better idea of what you've made of him with your presence at times when he easily complies with things that make you happy. A heart made of ice, molten enough to experience the world with you all over again. Even if he gets soaked in the rain, he's alright with it. You kiss him and all the discomfort is forgotten.

He should give it time and learn to breathe again. Learn to stay, to settle. To let you know that you're all he sees.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world 

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

The words are carved in his head. He chances a glance at the living room before walking past the door. Your guitar is placed on the couch. Maybe one day he'll bring himself to play his melodies for you too. He thinks that he's got a lot of time for it now. He wants an eternity with you, and in this wretched world, eternity lasts as long as you'll have him.

One, two... Ten droplets fall over him. He kisses you again, harder and longer. His ice-cold heart melts just a little more at your careless laughter. Just stay with me.

[velaris-fic-repository]

Mishaps in Babysitting

@sjmxreaderweek May 10th Prompt: Free Day

Azriel x Archeron!Reader, Nyx is a menace

“Now, you’re sure you’re alright doing this?” your sister, Feyre, asked you by the door. She and Rhys were going out into Velaris tonight for a much needed date night just the two of them.

Nesta, Cassian and the Valkyries were in Illyria with the non envied task of dealing the camp leaders. Elain had agreed to a little trip around Prythian with Lucien, who had offered to show her all the various court gardens - among other things - and so the two of them could get to know each other a bit better. A chance to get themselves on better footing, as it were. Mor had a date of her own tonight and Amren was visiting Varian in Summer.

That left you at home to watch the Inner Circle’s beloved child, your precious nephew, Nyx.

“Feyre, if you try to talk yourself out of going through me one more time, I’m going to lose it.” You offered her an easy, loving smile. “I know it’s hard to leave him, but you have more than earned this. Go, spend a night with your husband. The little guy and I will be fine. If it makes you feel any better, Azriel said he should be home soon. The two of us won’t be alone for long.”

Feyre shook her head, the pins in her hair glittering like stars in the light as she did so, “I never meant to imply that you couldn’t handle it-“

“-And,” you interrupted her, “I never said you did. Feyre, I promise everything will be fine. Let me do this.” Your face took on a softer, guilty expression. “It’s the least I can do.” You didn’t need to specify what you meant.

Feyre frowned, but nodded, “okay.”

Rhys swept around you to hold her from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ready to go, darling?”

Feyre looked at you and finally nodded, more sure this time, “yes, I am.”

“There you go!” you said, “go out, have fun, we’ll be here when you get back!”

Rhys sent his feline smile your way over your sister’s shoulder. “He’s quite the handful on his own, you know. I’m sure I can call Azriel before we leave.”

You swatted playfully at your brother in law, “I’ll be fine! Besides-“ you put a hand over where your young bond with Azriel glowed in your chest- “if I need him, he’ll know.”

Rhys smiled.

“Nyx is smarter than his own good,” Feyre warned, “don’t let him trick you-“

“-Stop worrying! Both of you! Shoo! Out! Go! Out! Out!”

The couple laughed, sending a few more words of advice and thanks over their shoulders before leaning into each other on the lamp lit sidewalks of their beloved city. You watched them go with a soft smile before pushing off the door and walking back inside.

You rounded the corner to Nyx’s room shortly after. “Alright, Nyx what are you and your favorite auntie gonna get up to?” you teased.

You’d expected to find Nyx playing with his toys where his father had left him. In hindsight, you should have known better.

“Nyx, sweetie?”

Nothing. The room was empty aside from the entire toy box being strewn about. You carefully picked the toys up as you called out to the room, expecting Nyx to be hiding somewhere inside, maybe in the closet, where the toy box was… Hmm…

Okay, you could play this game.

“Nyx? Nyx where are you? Huh. I guess he’s not here. Welp, I guess I could at least responsibly put these toys away.” You were laying it on thick, you knew, but that was half of the fun.

You opened the closet slowly, finding the toy box tucked into the darkest corner with its lid slightly propped up. Little giggles sounded from the box, which was all you needed to know.

You crept closer and then all at once, yanked the box lid off. “There you are!”

Nyx, with his little wings tucked close to him, giggled up at you, amusement shinning in his eyes that looked so much like your sister’s.

“Gotcha!” You said, reaching for your nephew. That was, you did, until the world folded around him and you grasped nothing but thin air.

You blinked.

Had Nyx ever winnowed before? You felt like you’d have remembered something like that.

Dread spiked in your stomach for a moment until you took a deep breath, setting off into the house. This was alright, all you had to do was find him. All he had done was extend - and mildly increase the danger of - his hide and seek game.

You heard rustling in the kitchen and raced there.

Nyx, to your growing horror was spreading his little wings on top of the cabinets, perched like an adorable, little mischievous gargoyle.

“Nyx, honey, this isn’t funny anymore. You could get seriously hurt up there. Let me reach up there and pull you down.”

Nyx shook his head, “nuh-uh, auntie. I’ve got wings!”

“No! No, no, no. Nyx, sweetheart, please just stay there, I’m gonna get you down. Stay there.”

“Better idea!” He shouted in a way that reminded you so much of Cassian. He leaned forward a few times, preparing to launch from the cabinets. “Catch me!”

He launched himself from the cabinets, gliding down towards the counter. You scrambled to catch him, but there was no way you were going to make it in time.

Before Nyx could collide with anything, his descent was stopped by a hand clutching the back of his shirt. Azriel was home, and had Nyx grabbed by the scruff.

“So it looks like someone hasn’t been behaving for his auntie like he’d promised,” Azriel said, wryly.

Nyx flailed a bit but quickly realized that he wasn’t going to be escaping the strength of his uncle’s grip and quit.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Azzie” Nyx said in a sad, deflated voice.

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to your auntie.”

Nyx sent sad, remorseful eyes your way, bringing tears to your eyes as well.

“Sorry…” he warbled.

“Aww,” you cooed getting closer to him. “It’s alright little buddy. You just scared me, that’s all. We all care an awful lot about you, you know that?”

He nodded.

“We want you to be safe,” you said, “and sometimes being safe means not doing every little thing you want to do. Sometimes, a fun idea can be dangerous. That doesn’t mean never do anything fun again, just think about what could happen to figure out if it’s safe. Make sense buddy?”

“Uh huh!”

“Good,” you smiled, “now, promise you won’t winnow away from us and Uncle Azzie will let you down so we can play. Sound fair?”

Nyx nodded vigorously.

“Okay.”

The rest of the evening went by far smoother. You tired Nyx out playing and then set him to bed. You and Azriel sat leaned against each other on the couch not too far away from the little one’s room.

“Thank you,” you sighed, “for coming.”

“I felt your terror through the bond,” Azriel said, sounding about as tired as you felt, “there was nowhere in the world I wouldn’t have left to come to you.”

Your heart swelled, “Az.”

“I don’t know what is wrong with human males for you to think that isn’t the treatment you deserve,” Azriel growled.

“Thank you, Az,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t ever thank me for that again. I don’t deserve praise for what I would do naturally.”

Not having the energy for even this back and forth, you simply sighed and leaned your head on Azriel’s shoulder. His wing moved in to drape over you like a blanket as the two of you rested there.

Rhysand and Feyre came home to find you and Azriel snoring on each other. Quietly snickering, they checked on their sleeping son. Happy to see all their loved ones were safe and accounted for, they draped a blanket over the two of you and left you to sleep.

[secretlypeerless-cucumber]

Lounging on a shelf is not what Shen Qingqiu would have done with his time, before. Before the deviation, before the body snatcher... Before A-Yuan.

But well... He is not quite Shen Qingqiu anymore, right? He is not sure he is Shen Jiu anymore. He doesn't know quite what or who he is.

The other is equally as strange; sauntering around the warehouse picking up fluffy pillows and blankets like he owned it all. Shen Jiu could never get away with something like that, before. But A-Yuan can, and he does.

Xiao-Jiu was an expert at crying prettily for charity; an expert of tugging in heart stings until the weakest link of expecting mob breaks and allows a little coin slip, or a piece of food drop. What he never was, is an expert at being a bratty little shit that flutters his lashes just right to get Qi-ge Yue Qingyuan to ignore everything they are doing and even intimidate Shang-shidi into staying quiet too. He was so mad when it happened... How dare this thief also try to rob him of Qi-ge?!

But A-Yuan only did things in their benefit, and never once tried to get rid of Shen Jiu too. When Liu Qingge tried to parce which one was the one he liked, Shen Yuan just... grabbed Shen Jiu's hand and left.

Just like that, without words, they decided to never let anyone know which one is which. Shen Jiu doesn't really know why A-Yuan did this; surely he must know that everyone preferred him, that they would give anything to keep the good one and throw away the rotten one. But he is grateful to have someone in his corner for once, someone who doesnt flinch at his barbed words and gives as good as he takes. Someone who understands the urge to bask in a comfortable sunny spot and shit-talk everyone who walks by.

Also this shelves are comfy as fuck, like A-Yuan would say.

Dressing as disciples was a weird thing at first. Reasoning being that, as A-Yuan didn't experience being one and Shen Jiu didn't enjoy his turn, they could try and have fun now that their place in the sect is secure and they have convenient disciple age bodies to get away with it. But still weird. Also Bai Zhan is not the first place he'd chose, but it is surprisingly quiet and pacefull in the storehouse.

Maybe its because the little brutes here don't even know what this building is for... Or because they let all of them on a wild goose chase.

A-Yuan comes back with his spoils, smug like the brat he is before Shen Jiu helps him climb to the highest shelf. They then build a little nest to nap in.

His Peak has been attacked.

Liu Qingge is furious.

All barracks and classroom have been vandalized, the comunal eating hall, even the bathhouse! All painted with drawings of pigs and "Brute Peak" writen all over. The fact that not a small part of his kids asked another what it said, in his presence, does NOT mean Shen Qingqiu was right when he said, all those years ago, that his peak was full of illiterate children.

It must have been those brats at Xian Shu, because he still maintains a secure border with Qing Jing and no one crossed over. Or maybe the pushovers at An Ding finally grew some balls and retaliated like they should've done for years.

The worst part is the complete betrayal from Zhangmen-shixiong. He merely smiled like the world was in peace and offered him some tea! Yue Qingyuan! A traitor! The only one who could possibly get away with things in front of Zhangmen-shixiong is-...

Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge still doesn't know what to make of the situation with Shen Qingqiu. First he is a spineless dishonorable bastard, then a most infuriating yet kind man, and now a pair of children than won't talk with anyone but themselves and rarely if ever are at their own peak... It is most infuriating.

He is sure too, that one of them is the bastard and the other the kind man, but they won't interact with anyone or tell anyone their 'new names' either! So they are stuck calling both or them 'Shen Qingqiu'.

Liu Qingge will attend two whole peak lords meetings in a row just to get some damn answers.

Still fuming, Liu Qingge kicks the door to the storehouse. A trail of his kids behind him ready to grab cleaning brushes and soap. This should be An Ding's problem to clean! Not them! An Ding deals with the inconsequential things, but Shang-shixiong is refusing so vehemently to deal with the attack, Liu Qingge is starting to thing he knows who did it.

After watching the kids fumble for a bit he orders them to get to work, and turns to leave. Not before hearing a quiet giggle from up hight, near the roof, where a pair of vibrant green eyes watch his misery with mirth.

"I will tell Zhangmen-shixiong about this!" Because surely, with this new information, he will punish Shen Qingqiu for vandalizing his peak, surely.

"Shidi can certanly try" One laughs at him while the other sticks his tongue out at him most childishly.

This is worse than their actual disciplehood. Liu Qingge is beginning to realize, with horror, that he prefered when Shen Qingqiu would sneer publicly and throw sand in his eyes.

Previous - Next

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 257

Now Danny loves space. He loves everything about it, to the point his core quite literally is space. And he’s also a baby ghost, even if he could argue he’s not in human form. But see, being baby has an honestly great consequence once it’s noticed- despite the Observants’ best attempts at hiding it, the assholes. 

Of course he would be far more worried- and even a bit pissed- if his caretaker wasn’t who it was. Look, he’d never met Clockwork’s siblings before, but apparently everyone was really against Clockwork himself adopting. 

But Clockwork as his uncle is fine. Besides, his caretaker is Space! Space itself is holding him, cooing gentle words in the sounds of the very cosmos. And they’re huge, like parts of their body going through portals so they can fit outside Long-Now sized big- and apparently Clockwork can get just as big and they can get even bigger- 

Okay, he needs to take a breath- even if he doesn’t need to breathe- to stop his squealing because holy Realms this is so cool. 

Space is awesome! And he’s getting so much more rest than he did in Amity- and even if Space sort of shrugged at the idea of school at first, they did help him set up online schooling. So there’s that, and it’s just the start! 

He gets to learn so much about space and it’s honestly kind of… nice? To be taken care of? And he can do whatever he needs for his Core and Obsession with only a few interruptions to take care of his living needs. Erm, sort of living needs? 

But even that gets turned into a bit of play or even a lesson too! He’s honestly having such a good time right now! He’s learning so much about spaaace! And dimensions! And interdimensional portals and- oops! No one saw that. 

Ahem- But he’s learning so much about space and getting to explore other dimensions with Cosmos! And sure he no longer looks as human as he once did and all that, but he’s seen so many people who also don’t look human that does it really matter? 

Of course it doesn’t, and he matches his sort-of-dad! Even though the streaks of color in their hair are more of a brown-red like they’re literally bleeding out the cosmos around them instead of it fading to void and space like his own. But still! They match and it’s fun! 

And they’re going to go on another trip from the in-between to one of the dimension realities! He’s going to start a game of tag this time he thinks! But no cheating with portals or bending space! Tag! 

Look, the Justice League? Not paid enough for this. In fact, technically not paid at all due to being volunteers (not that it stopped them from finding money in their accounts) but still. 

There is some sort of figure… being… thing… zooming around the asteroid belt, about the size of Earth itself. Let them repeat themselves. A planet-sized creature (are those hands or paws? Tail or simply its body stretching? Hair or the Abyss-) is currently darting around the asteroid belt like a child running through grass. 

That is, without noticing or caring if something bug-sized might be crushed. And they are very much bug sized, as the governments are concerned about. Like really concerned about. Like talking about trying to nuke the entity if it wanders closer sort of concerned. 

Which they are all very concerned and very much like, against. Because it isn’t seeming to notice the asteroids it’s knocking into their area. It’s like… not a space whale or eel or anything like that but also is something like that. 

And they would also maybe like to see if they can attempt to talk it down first maybe and-

oh. 

Oh. 

That creature is the baby. And mama just arrived, stretching across the entire galaxy, from them to Pluto and beyond, like something took the cosmos and shaped it like clay into some sort of form. Like reality itself has wandered into their galaxy with what they are suddenly realizing must be a very young child. 

Shit, they really have to make sure no one tries to piss either of these things off-

[mischievousmoony]

𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ you work at the hot spot for all things caffeine on campus, and you weren't expecting your first customer of the day to be so charming ⊹ 2.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: talks of alcohol/being hungover, james and reader do not like coffee, reader's hair is described to be in a ponytail ⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: this is gonna be a 3 part mini series! and james being in a frat isn't very impactful to the story i just love him so that's the version of james you get today!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Most of your mornings start with an assault on your senses. The overwhelming fragrance of freshly brewed coffee, the relentless hum of generic pop songs that lodge themselves in your brain like immortal earworms, the beams of morning sunlight that slice through the cafe window perfectly shining right into your eyes—it all comes together to torment your mornings at Brewology.

Not to mention the morning rush that always comes like a slap in the face about thirty minutes into your shift.

Brewology is arguably the most popular cafe on campus. Your theory is that its popularity is riding on the fact that it resides right in the middle of the academic side of campus. Because, in your opinion, the drinks aren’t that good. But who are you to judge? You never really liked coffee anyway. A fact that, when shared, is usually met with the question, “Why would you work at a cafe if you don’t like coffee?”

The answer is simple. With your packed schedule, the only time you have to work is before your classes. And Brewology offers the earliest shifts on campus.

You’d work even earlier if you could; the cosmos knows you need the money. If it weren’t for your lack of a car, you probably would have found some bakery that opens at 5 a.m. to work at. But starting at 7 a.m. will have to do.

This morning is like any other. You come in, and your manager has already set up the cafe for opening, including flicking on the radio that’s always tuned in to the same station. It’s not that you dislike pop music, but the radio host seems to play the same ten songs over and over and over.

You take your place by the register and close your eyes for a moment. Both to block the intruding sunlight and to brace yourself for the impending day.

When the little bell above the door chimes, thirty minutes before it usually does for the first time, you bite back a groan and open your eyes. You have to squint to bear the light as your eyes land on your incoming customer.

He practically stumbles into the cafe. Sunglasses that he doesn’t take off inside and fraternity letters ironed onto his t-shirt tell you everything you need to know to predict his order. It’s a fun game you like to play, especially when business is slow. Sometimes you include your coworkers, but seeing as your shift partner is running late, you’ll have to play on your own.

So, fraternity guy. And, you have to hand it to him, he looks like he works out. A combination that suggests he’ll start his day with a protein breakfast wrap or two. He’s got messy hair that suggests he just rolled out of bed or he never slept. Someone needs a great deal of caffeine this morning.

And the way he’s stumbling through the cafe—is he hungover? It’s a safe bet: again, fraternity guy. Scratch the breakfast wrap. If he’s smart, he’ll eat something plain.

“Morning,” the boy greets you when he finally reaches the counter.

You’re pleasantly surprised he started with a greeting instead of just barking his order at you.

“Good morning, how can I help?” you reply, keeping your tone light. You’re still warming up to the day, so this customer will have to live without hearing your award-winning customer service voice.

“I need caffeine. A lot of it, preferably. Like, a bucket of it, maybe.”

Bingo. That’s half your guess.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Though I’m afraid we just took ‘bucket of caffeine’ off the menu, so you’ll have to choose a drink.”

The boy's lips quirk into an amused smile. You can’t really tell because of his sunglasses, but you’re sure his eyes linger on you for a few moments before he diverts his attention to the chalkboard menu on the wall behind you.

“Small issue. Not a big coffee guy,” he says, staring at the menu with a furrowed brow. “I… don’t know what half these drinks are. What do you like?”

You hate that question. Telling the customer the truth, that you don’t like most of the drinks here, isn’t exactly good for business. And lying is never your first instinct, so there’s always an awkward moment of dead air as you try to figure out a suitable suggestion.

“Uh, well, you’re looking for something with lots of caffeine, right? But you don’t usually drink coffee? Do you like coffee?”

“It’s… fine,” he says as if it pains him. “I’m more of a Celsius kind of guy, but the vending machine was broken—anyway, I just need something with triple digits of caffeine that hopefully won’t make me feel like I’m drinking out of a black hole.”

His comment makes you laugh, mostly because you find it refreshingly relatable. You’ve been known to say that some stronger brews made you feel like all the happiness was sucked from your body when they hit your tastebuds. All your coworkers call you dramatic, but you bet this guy would resonate.

Of all the sips of coffee your coworkers have forced you to try, you attempt to think of one that was highly caffeinated and went down the easiest.

“If you want a lot of caffeine, your best bet is a blonde shaken espresso. Probably gonna want a flavored syrup. Vanilla? Or maybe brown sugar? And if you want to go full Starbucks, you can do it with oat milk.”

To him, you're speaking another language. Mostly because he got distracted wondering what makes an espresso “blonde.” And maybe the way you swept your ponytail over your shoulder as you spoke stole his attention, too. Is it weird to notice how soft a stranger's hair looks?

James shakes away his thoughts. “Sure. That. Whatever you recommend in a large, please.”

You start punching it in on the register, making any sweetener and milk decisions for him. “Well, for the caffeine content, it’ll certainly be tolerable.”

“That’s all I need it to be,” he says as he takes out his card to pay, a smirk playing at his lips. He leans over the counter slightly, deliberately inching closer to you, and his voice slips into something quieter. “You know, you don’t seem too fond of coffee yourself. Which I imagine is challenging for a barista.”

You bite your lip as you finish ringing him out. You know his eyes are boring into you from behind those dark lenses—you can feel his gaze piercing you. “You caught me. But don’t worry, I have tried this drink, and it’s, well, you’ll manage. I think.”

“I’m putting a lot of faith in this recommendation, you know? If I can’t stomach it, I’m gonna sleep through all my classes. My slipping grades will be on your hands.”

“Well, it can’t be as gross as whatever had you stumbling in here so hungover, can it?” You don’t know where you found the confidence to banter with this stranger so boldly. The wrong person would be asking for your manager.

Luckily, he seems amused. More than amused, judging by the way his lips curl into a wide grin around hearty laughter.

He knows you’ve read him to filth. He is hungover—miserably so. The only comeback is to play the customer card. “Is this how you talk to all your customers?”

He says it—customer—like he’s playing a part. As if that’s not exactly what he is. As if he could be, should be more.

Your fingers fumble with the plastic cup as you pull it out of the sleeve, as his words and his tone hit you.

“Only the ones that might still be drunk from the night before,” you muse as his ticket prints, and you plaster it to his cup, smoothing the shiny paper out longer than necessary.

“I’ll have you know I took my last shot over two hours ago,” he says, very matter-of-factly.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “So… around 5 a.m.? On a weeknight. You know, I’d probably feel bad about what I said if I had been wrong, buuut-”

“Okay!” He raises his arms in surrender. “If I fall asleep in class today, I will take full responsibility.”

“Well, it’s the least you could do,” you say sarcastically, evidence of your smile in your tone.

As you move down the counter to start making his drink, he slides down with you.

“You don’t need my name? For the order?” he asks.

“Oh, no. It’s based on order number, and yours…” You pick up his cup to examine the ticket. “…is lucky number two-hundred twenty-two.”

He hums in acknowledgment as you get back to making his coffee.

“Well, it’s James,” he says after a beat. “In case you wanted it anyway.”

You look up from what you’re doing and are surprised when you meet warm brown eyes. He took off his sunglasses.

“It’s nice meeting you, James,” you say softly.

“You too.” His eyes flicker to your name tag, and your name spills from his lips like warm honey.

You blame the warmth across your cheeks on the heat radiating from the espresso machine.

When you hand him his drink a few minutes later, you pretend not to notice his fingers brush against yours as he claims that he must try it in front of you.

“If you don’t like it, do me a favor and lie,” you tell him.

“You got it,” he winks as he punches a straw through the lid.

As he raises it to his lips, you find yourself wholeheartedly hoping that he likes the drink you made.

The fact that he doesn’t make a sour expression is a good sign. He goes in for a second sip before giving his assessment.

“It’s actually pretty decent. It’s coffee, but it’s not so bad.”

You grin triumphantly. “Well, then I guess I saved your grade today.”

He glances at you skeptically. “So you get kudos if I like the coffee, but it’s not your fault if I don’t?”

“Exactly.”

James’ shoulders bob in silent laughter. “Alright, sure. Kudos to you.”

“Please.” You wave a hand in the air, laying the ‘humble’ act on thick. “It’s just another day on the job.”

James chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Well, thank you for your service. This is truly my saving grace today.”

“It’s my pleasure, James.”

His lips stretch into a smile brighter than the morning light shining through the windows. It’s like hearing his name fall from your lips is the only pick-me-up he needs, screw the coffee.

And you may not know the reason he beams so brightly, but what you do see is a smile you could get lost in.

He’s about to bid you goodbye, but before he goes, he has a realization.

“Oh, almost forgot,” he mumbles, fishing for something in his pocket as he returns to the register. You follow with a knit brow as you watch him pull a $10 bill from his pocket and drop it into your tip jar.

You shake your head immediately. “That’s- your drink didn’t even cost that much.”

James shrugs, already backing away from the counter. “It’s the only bill I have.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want it.”

“Sorry,” James shrugs, not sounding very sorry at all. “What’s done is done. I can’t take back my tip, that would be despicable. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You don’t need to tip at all, really.”

“Of course I need to tip. Especially here. Where would students be without their morning coffee? Where would I be?” he asks as his back hits the door.

It’s apparent this isn’t a battle you’re going to win, so you play along. “Probably not here. Suppose you would have flunked out after sleeping through too many classes.”

“Exactly,” he says through a triumphant smile. James slips his sunglasses back on his face as he backs through the door. “See you around.”

“Thank you!” you call after him about the tip, hoping you really do see him again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

next part

[wysteria-bloom]

▨ "our child is an angel"

JJK characters when called into teacher's office about their child

Characters : gojo, toji, nanami, sukuna

Genre : fluff, crack

Warnings : I use female pronouns

A/n : Toji is not a deadbeat dad in this one because yeah. Wish he was canonical a hot dilf but we can never get what we want where Gege is concerned 😟

⟢ gojo satoru ␥

"When your son was asked to wait to go to the bathroom, he replied 'I will pee on your floor then bitch.'" The teacher spoke solemnly.

Satoru immediately snorted which you gave him a death glare for, pinching his thigh harshly.

You frowned," Well, before I question why the teacher denied bathroom privileges..." you turned to your husband. Your son was pouting next to you both, looking away with narrowed eyes," That doesn't sound like him at all, does it Satoru?"

Satoru immediately agreed with you, shaking his head," N-no. Not at all. Who taught you that language, kiddo?"

His son looked at him with a betrayed expression, pointing at him accusingly "YOU did!" He exclaimed.

Satoru's smile was pained as you slowly turned your head to him, eyebrows furrowing,"... Thank you for your time, Mrs. Fiyumi. I will have a stern talking. With BOTH of them." Then you gave her the brightest smile," I think it's all the candy they've been eating, I think maybe it's time to cut down on it all, yeah?"

The teacher nodded in agreement with a knowing smile," Yes, I agree."

The two males simultaneously slouched back into their chairs with loud groans which they covered up with coughs when you glared at them.

Satoru mustered a charming grin, settling a loving hand on your shoulder," I've been meaning to go on a diet anyways, haha..."

You rolled your eyes and patted his hand with yours in a pitying way," shut up, my love."

"Dad! Grow a backbone, you lanky idiot!" Your son scoffed out disapprovingly.

The white-haired man's charming grin fell instantly and he glared beneath his glasses," shut up you-"

⟢ nanami kento ␥

"Yes, your daughter got into a fight with one of the boys and managed to split his lip." The teacher gestured to the little girl in the chair who was sitting oh so politely.

Nanami hummed lowly, brows furrowed," not good." He said with that disappointed drawl to his tone that could make anybody curl into themselves with shame, his own daughter cringing to herself.

You merely raised a brow at your daughter," That right? So she won?" You asked bluntly.

A warm hand settled on your knee, squeezing lovingly and as a warning," not the point, love." Nanami grunted out disapprovingly.

The girl grinned with her cute gap-tooth, blue eyes glinting with pride as she looked to her mother," I won!!" She chirped," he pulled my hair so I split his lip!"

Her parents stared on in silence before Nanami gave her a small smile filled with warmth," Good girl."

⟢ ryomen sukuna ␥

"Your daughter punched Midori-"

Sukuna held up a hand," Don't need to hear it. Let's go." He began to stand up, tugging his little girl by the hood of her hoodie.

You shook your head in disapproval at your husband and looked to the teacher," I'm sorry, can you give me more context?"

Sukuna scoffed," Babe. Its obviously about that rich kid again. The little shit who bullies her? Yeah. Don't give a fuck. I'm proud of my fuckin' daughter." He glared at the teacher and walked out of the room with his daughter following anxiously behind.

Your eye twitched before you stood up slowly, offering a pained smile to lighten the load," well, you heard the man. Thanks." You left as well, not before tugging on your husband's ear like a mother and giving your girl a kiss on the forehead and a promise of ice cream.

Sukuna crouched down to her level and pinched his daughter's cheek with a bored expression, eyes glinting in amusement at the sight of her nose scrunching up at the actions," Next time? Put her through endless torture and misery. I can teach you a few techniques--"

You had to step in before your husband created a potential serial killer.

⟢ fushiguro toji ␥

"Megumi got into a fight aga-"

Toji let out an obnoxiously loud yawn, wiping away the sleepy dust from his eyes as his wife fretted over their son's messy black hair.

"Ugh, I swear your hair drives me crazy, Megs. You definitely didn't get it from my genes." You muttered as you tried to smooth out the strands.

Megumi merely sighed and pushed your hands away with an uncomfortable frown etched onto his face," Mom. Listen to Mrs. Fiyumi." He scolded lightly.

"I am, I am." You whined to him, turning to face the teacher with a frown on your lips.

"You too, dad."

Toji blinked at his son before scoffing," I was, I was." He let out a fatherly grunt as he sat straight in his chair, large hand resting on your thigh as he did, looking to the teacher in boredom.

The teacher cleared her throat, giving the small child a thankful nod for keeping his parents in check," As I was saying, little Megumi got into a fight with a boy yesterday. This behaviour seems very unlike him, so I was just worried if there's anything going on at home lately that's stressing him out?"

Megumi's brows furrowed but he didn't open his mouth, sitting politely in his chair. You hummed," Well, I suppose he hasn't been getting a good amount of sleep lately. But that's all I can think of." You settled a hand on your husband's that was caressing your thigh gently.

Toji hummed," just apologise, Megs. An' we'll be on our way." He grumbled to his son, waving his free hand dismissively.

Megumi cleared his throat and stood up, bowing to his teacher, which shocked her a little," I'm sorry, Mrs. Fiyumi. I won't hit anyone again." When he stood to his full-height, he looked her straight in the eye," I hope your failed marriage is getting better." He stated in such a polite and genuine manner.

Toji bursted out laughing - cackling like a witch whilst you stared at your son in complete horror, tugging his hair scoldingly.

[bigeelwizard]

i know coming back right is kinda a silly idea but im thinking about it.

what if ranboo came back, and they came back right?

not physically, of course. god, he looks a decade older and has the exhaustion to match. their skin is marred, mostly scar tissue now, from the explosion, from sam, from the endless ocean of limbo, from crying. tubbo hates that they match now. he’s skinnier, too, as if death took everything but the skin and bones of him. they look more monstrous. theres a new streak of white in his hair. it reminds tubbo of wilbur. it reminds tommy of himself.

but he’s just as kind, he still holds their son with tenderness and sings songs of old to him. he still brushes tubbos hair away with a feather-light touch. they still help techno with the dogs. he still visits tommy. they still grow pink tulips.

their memory is... better. ranboo still loses his house keys and forgets where he was going or what they ate for lunch, but they have every scar on tommy memorized, he knows tubbo like the back of their hand, can recite historical events like a textbook, will never lose track of an important date again.

its all they had in limbo. he didnt want to forget for good.

he's still scared, if they're being honest. scared that their sacrifice was for nothing. scared that his family will be destroyed again and again for the sick pleasure of some fucking guy. scared that he'll be used again. scared that they'll hurt the people they care about again. but for now they're okay, they have a team and a family and a second chance.

ranboo comes back and theyre okay, honestly. they move into the mansion with his husband and child. he thanks techno again and again for saving his son. for saving him. techno doesnt accept the thanks, he should've done more. he talks with tommy about limbo, and about grief. they visit their own graves and they grieve. for one another, for themselves. it washes over them in waves. tubbo still waits for the other shoe to drop, for his husband or himself to turn into a maniac and blow the server to bits, but it doesnt come. it won't come. its not the same, it cant be, but its good for the first time in a long time.

maybe the other shoe doesn’t have to drop. maybe sometimes people can come back and maybe they can be okay.

[pink-nostalgya]

Maybe was a bad idea

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem reader! Summary: After the rescue, the group tries to put their lives back together. Natalie, always the sullen one, clings to you because you're the only person who doesn't treat her like a basket case or a victim. But when an old friend from before the accident reappears in your life, Natalie becomes irritating, cutting and definitely jealous…though she'd never admit it. Author's note: Just heard Lorde's new single, what a woman.

Chapter one Chapter two

It has been a few months since you have returned to normalcy, but a part of you is still there, in the woods, in the winter, hungry and cold. All of you despite the events are still quite close, at least in the first months, going to group therapies and calling each other continuously especially when journalists harassed the group to get a juicy story out of you, you felt that you alone could understand each other, and in a way it was true.

But someone was clinging to you, wouldn't let you get away from her and was always looking for you even if it was for a cigarette smoke outside a bar: your dear Natalie. To say that she was the most affected of the survivors is an understatement, as she let it shine through not only by her appearance but by the way she lived her life. She smoked like crazy and drank worse, took any drug you could get her hands on and lived anywhere she could, sometimes it was in motels other times it was at a friend's house she made in one night and most of the time it was your apartment, or as she saw it her own little hideaway.

With everything that had happened to them together and everything they didn't want to talk about, they all forced themselves to go to group therapy sessions where more than talking about their experiences outside, they talked about their current lives, trying to find the security they had lost during so many months. But without a doubt the one who was most against these sessions was Nat, she saw them as a waste of time and a constant migraine, especially because she had to see faces that were not so pleasant for her, but she didn't say anything for the good of all of them.

When she went, it was because you forced her to, you knocked on her motel door and waited until she came out, with her dark circles under her eyes and her messy hair, you forced her to change to go together. In the sessions she was quiet playing with her fingers, and if someone else ask her something she wouldn't answer, but if was you who asked her something she would answer in the most curt way, and to the other girls she wouldn't look them in the face, she couldn't do it, but with you she did. For you she would gave  a longer answer and looked you in the eyes, having a more delicate voice in spite of its raspiness.

You tried as much as you could to carry on as normal if that was even possible, you entered the local university to study literature and despite the constant stares of the people around you, you managed to live a quiet life, until a few months ago you met again with an old friend of yours whom you always assumed liked you.

He was a cute, attentive and recently changed boy with a confident and charismatic energy, nothing like that nerdy and shy guy you knew in high school, but it's college so you didn't mind and started a friendship with him, trying to start connecting with people on the outside. You saw Natalie every day so at one point or another you had to tell her of the new friendship. They were in your apartment smoking a cigarette in the window to your kitchen to avoid stinking of tobacco your place and you were with your hands in the food you were preparing for the two of you.

“That doesn't sound like the Steven I knew, sure it was him or his sexy twin by any chance?” she said incredulously at what you were telling her.

“It's been two years, a lot has happened in that time and people stop being who they once were.”

“Yeah, don't explain it to me,” she said, turning her gaze back to the window. She looked a little distracted after that, her mind full of doubts and thoughts that you didn't know, and no way was she going to let you do that.

Talks with him became more regular as time went on, and you couldn't be happier about it. It became for you the gateway to normalcy and new friendships on campus, becoming a more welcoming and less tense environment, now that people saw you more as the nice girl and not the freak from the accident. On the other hand Natalie became more distant when she noticed that, she no longer visited your house every day and only did so when she had nowhere else to go or missed your company the most, but whenever she did the passive-aggressive comments were not lacking, she looked angry or even irritated by all the socializing you were experiencing and it was only with you, the others could care less in her mind, but you, you were different.

“Him again?” she asked after you told her what you had done for the day, telling her that you had gone for coffee with Steven to study for finals but ended up more talking than actually doing anything ”Good, at least one of us has a life.”

But everything that was going on between you was triggered at a party you had been invited to after who knows how long, it was at the house of a girl you didn't know but you had taken some classes with her. You found yourself in the middle of the room with a drink in hand and everyone around you, you were a ghost in the crowd like before, like before everything happened, but now it gives you a peace as if things had stopped in time, as if nothing had happened. 

"T/n, you came," Steven said as he found you alone, happy to see you in the middle of the crowd. 

You smiled warmly at him and caught up with your days, him telling you about his boring morning and you about what you did with Natalie earlier that day.

"Scatorccio, I thought you stopped talking about her," he said quizzically, but you were confused and didn't understand that, especially when you were always talking about her. 

"What are you talking about, do you not listen to me or what?" you said still joking, thinking he just didn't remember, still not wanting to think of something ugly. 

"It's just... my friends say things about her, nasty things and I just don't put her together with you, cause you're nice, you know?" she said, thinking it was a compliment.

"What?" you said curtly, clenching your plastic cup, unable to believe what he was saying about her you looked at him with pent up rage, one that was out in the woods and now wanted to resurface.

"Okay, it was fucked up what she experienced..."

"We experimented" You corrected him with a tense jaw.

"You experimented" he corrected himself, this time already stumbling in his words, noticing and feeling your powerful look "Anyway, I know you experienced the same thing but she's too unstable and compared to you she's a total basket case, so if you want some advice from me you better stay away from her because you'll most likely become one in the future by her side."

Those who saw you at that party could not believe what they saw, that the pretty girl with everyone else threw a soda with vodka on Steven's polo shirt, and that you slapped him while you yelled at him what an idiot he was, letting out the accumulated rage that you felt inside you, since you came back and never let out. 

You left that party like a beast, with your legs as hard as a rock and your hands shaking from the adrenaline, so you decided to go to the only place where you knew the only person you wanted to see at that very moment was: the bar where you got drunk the first time.

You found her there playing pool alone, with her tank top that made her look sexier than she was with a cigarette on her lips. Seeing you walk in didn't make her move a bit, she just kept playing while you approached her. 

"You look like shit" she said when she had you next to her, watching you from head to toe without releasing her position so she could hit the ball.

"Well, Nat... I had a shitty night so I guess that goes hand in hand." 

"What the perfect Stev wasn't what you expected, or was it his friends this time?" she asked, this time noticing your state by the slurred and slow words, also with her need to look you in the eye, she only had it when multiple beers or half a bottle of vodka were in her system.

"Why do you care so much about who I hang out with Nat?" you asked not wanting to tell her what had just happened, but with doubt that her attitude was so weird since you were starting to have a social life without her.

"Are you here to make a speech or what?" she spits this time, avoiding your clearly embarrassed gaze.

"No, I just want to know why now that my life stopped being so shitty you look angry out of nowhere Nat" you said clearly annoyed.

"I don't care. Do what you want."

"Bullshit."

She left her position and stood extremely close to your face, so close that you could clearly feel her breath on your face and smell the alcohol in her voice "And what do you want me to say! That it drives me crazy watching you creep on someone who doesn't even deserve the sound of your voice? That every time you smile at a call from him it makes me want to shoot something? Well yeah, happy, I'm jealous as fuck! Happy?"

There was silence for a good few minutes, minutes in which you couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth and left you wondering. 

"No, I'm not happy. Because you could have said that earlier. Without me guessing clues like an idiot."

She pulled away from you a little as you continued to stare at her, not taking the intensity out of it making Natalie nervous as she felt it penetrate her to the depths of her soul. 

"I'm... I'm not good at that kind of thing" she said putting her hands in her pockets and with a slurred whisper.

"I know that. That's why I'm giving you another chance. Say what you really want to tell me, please Nat."

She was this time shy, scared of you and with your eyes locked on her she looked up at the ceiling and cursed to herself, while biting her lip trying to contain the wave of emotions she felt. But she decided to trust you, to trust the person she most wanted to see out of that hell and at least try the life she wanted out of there.

So looking next to you, with tears in her eyes, she sniffled and finally confessed to you what she felt deep inside.

"...I don't want him to touch you. Don't let him take the only good thing I have. Do you understand now?"

You don't know why you let her do that but in the end you did, she left you there perplexed and unable to react but a part of your heart was screaming at you not to let her go, the same one that took care of her when she couldn't even get up, the same one that visited her every day to see that she was still alive, the same one that forced her to go to therapy for fear that she would collapse in your arms and the one that that same night defended her to someone who didn't know who she was, your Nat.

[spxllcxstxr]

Fair Winds and Following Seas • R.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: That Roman soulmate fic was sooo good 😭😭😭 argfhh biting my pillow rn. May I request a scene rewrite of your choice of them already in an established relationship? They’d have cute bickering and lots of casual physical contact all the time. Maybe theyre on a yacht together like that one episode and theyre just so intertwined all the time that its hard to tell where roman ends and reader starts 😣-- anon

Summary: Roman seems to like casual intimacy, even in front of his family

Warnings: fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), based on 2x10 “this is not for tears,” established relationship, alcohol, ken suicide joke (one line, nbd), roman jokingly calls something 'domestic abuse' it certainly is NOT that, normal Roman shenanigans

Word Count: 1.1k

A.N: guys, I usually write fantasy so this dialogue may just suck ass im SORRY LMAO, lemme know what you think!!! Hope you guys enjoy! Roman is so bbg

•

The Mediterranean sun warms your exposed skin while the sea breeze keeps you from getting uncomfortably hot. The Roy's certainly knew how to take a vacation.

Roman lazily drapes his arm over your shoulders, the small act of casual intimacy in front of his siblings something you still can't really get used to just yet. The family, you learned pretty quickly, was not a clingy one, so Roman's constant need to be touching you in some way in front of them was unexpected.

You sigh happily at his side, ignoring the boring work talk the siblings had already immersed themselves in.

The weather was just too divine for you to focus on anything other than the free vacation and your boyfriend.

Shiv's piercing blue eyes peer curiously over her dark sunglasses. Her gaze causes you to straighten your back and shift ever so slightly away from Roman. You've noticed that her and Tom were never exactly touchy, but then again her and Tom were barely a loving couple.

The harsh scrutiny of her stare doesn't go unnoticed by Roman, who immediately pulls you back closer to him. Your cheeks flush at his blatant display of affection.

"Something the matter, Siobhan?" Roman asks, his voice slightly higher than usual with a British twang to it. His fingers absentmindedly trace odd shapes across your back. He sips at his cocktail, eyebrows raised waiting for her retort.

Shiv’s intense gaze slowly slides over to Kendall. Their older brother offers your group a half-assed shrug.

"Nothing at all, Roman." She offers you both a tight-lipped smile, swirling her white wine in front of her.

Awkwardly you lean back into him as he sarcastically grumbles something under his breath, unconvinced. Roman’s body in tense beside you, but stays firmly pressed next to your own.

Sounds of waves crashing against the yacht and distant conversations almost lure you to sleep though the three sibling’s chatter keeps you just conscious enough that you don’t completely drift off.

You hear Kendall get up from his seat, his joints popping.

"I'm gunna go check on dad," He says, voice low though he knows you're not actually asleep. "I'll catch you guys later."

"Just don't jump off the boat, Ken. We're not turning the ship around just for your old-ass." Roman jokes before yelping at Shiv's slap to the shoulder.

You hide your tiny grin with a fake yawn.

"Very funny, Rome," Ken mutters before leaving the three of you.

It's awkward, just the three of you alone; the tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Shiv clears her throat and you can only imagine the patronizing look she has on her face. Roman shifts, and most likely flips her off, but otherwise he's silent.

Moments later you hear the thud of expensive yet tacky yachting shoes against the floorboards, which could only mean Tom.

"Shiv, uh," The man stutters, obviously distracted by something. Slowly you open an eye, peering over at the man. "Why don't we go and uh, discuss that thing from before, huh?"

Tom's eyes can barely settle on one thing, he looks between you and Roman before only briefly settling on his wife. His cheeks are a little red, but with a man that pasty, it's sure to be a light sunburn.

"Oh yeah?" She asks, almost seductively, blue eyes twinkling with some hidden secret.

Tom's lips tilt down into a frown, now no longer even looking in your direction. He's jealous, you figure, you've never seen him and Shiv cuddled up like this, at least not comfortably so. Someone is always tense and irritated.

After sparing her husband a glance, you see her eyes narrow and her lips drawing into a tight line.

You offer them a smile while Roman once again gives a rude gesture.

Swiftly, Shiv rises from her seat, empty wine glass in hand. She barely gestures a simple goodbye before walking away with Tom. You watch as she says something to him, which makes him recoil from her.

You could only imagine what that was about, but you figure it was you and Roman.

You press your cheek even harder against Roman's chest, almost like you're trying to burrow your way under his skin. The fresh white linen shirt he's wearing is soft underneath you. His uncalloused fingertips continue to dance across your exposed arm.

He's no longer tense, you notice; his muscles are more relaxed now that his siblings are nowhere to be seen. Logan wasn't around either, which eased the thick and looming tension that usually hung around the family.

Roman chuckles, tangling his feet around yours.

"What's got you all giggly today?" You ask, closing your eyes as you soak in more of the warmth.

"I'm not giggly, thank you very much. Giggling is for school girls and wine drunk single moms."

"Yeah, ok," You snort, smiling.

"You're just all over me like a fucking uh--"

"Koala?"

"Nah, more like one of those bigass fucking boa constrictors, y'know the ones I'm talking about?"

"A boa constrictor?" You gasp, jokingly offended at his words. Shifting from your position you eye your boyfriend. "You asshole!" Grabbing a small pillow from beside you, you hit him square in the chest repeatedly.

You're hovering over him, knees on either side of his hips, pinning him to the couch below him.

"Hey, hey!" He laughs, attempting to grab your wrists. "This is domestic abuse! ABUSE! ABUSE! Greg call the cops, she's beating me!"

Somewhere in the distance you can only faintly hear Greg stutter something, but your laughter is too loud to actually make it out.

Roman finally grabs the decorative pillow out of your hands and flings it somewhere.

His brown hair is messy, strands dangle in front of his eyes, no longer slicked back and proper. The laughter dies down but his bright smile remains, melting your heart.

"You're an absolute prick, Roman Roy, y'know that?" You whisper, lips lingering right over his.

"Oh I know," He smirks, irritatingly handsome like usual, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. "And you fucking love it."

Surging up, his lips connect with yours, traces of coconut and pineapple left on his tongue. The sweetness of rum mingles with the fruity aftertaste.

Humming in satisfaction, you close your eyes and place your hands on either side of his face, leaning into the kiss. Roman's light scruff rubs against your palms.

Eventually you pull back in order to breathe in the salty Mediterranean air. Roman's lips chase after your own, hoping to continue and subsequently never stop again.

"Yeah, I do." You sigh, gazing at his eyes as they turn into a molten shimmering gold hue in the afternoon sun.

•