#and instead of being normal and politely declining and leaving

[only-lonely-www]

I may have missed TachiHaru day by almost a week, but it’s the thought that counts!! Right????

+close up because I liked their faces 🫶

[lyinginmeadow]

Shadows will guide you home | Azriel × reader

Summary: Some fae don't like the idea of the Archerons turning into high fae and reader being one in unfamiliar city makes a perfect opportunity for an intervention Warnings: acotar related violence, not super descriptive, language, slight angst Word count: 1.4k a/n: Hii, this is my very first fanfic, please remember to be kind. <3 Also English is not my first language so it may be a bit rough.

Being another Archeron sister was quite exhausting. The constant comparison drawn between you ever since you were born created a dark place deep within you. After years of being poor, starved, and uneducated, the family regained their riches back thanks to Feyre. The cost left you empty, breaking your heart into a million pieces. You wanted your sister back more than anything, you would return your newfound lifestyle to have her with you again. Taking lessons together, sharing laughs, and pretending as if everything is normal. As if she never left and their father hadn't left them to starvation.

Instead, the Gods were laughing in your face as you with two of your sisters were changed and thrown into the world of high fae. While you got your sister back, there were matters to be taken care of. Leaving you alone in a city and with species foreign to you. You had met the inner circle while you were still human. They were nothing but kind to you then, but you assumed that was because you were Feyre's sister. Now they haven't paid you much mind because their hands were either full with court business you didn't understand or your sisters. You were left scarred inside while pretending it hadn't affected you as much.

''Are you listening?'' Asked a pretty blonde in a red dress, Mor. ''I'm sorry, I just spaced out a little. What were you saying?'' You smiled, red creeping up your cheeks. ''You are free to explore the city, you don't have to feel caged inside.'' She returned your smile. ''Oh, I don't feel like that. I...I guess it's kind of strange to be here. Is there an apothecary around here?''

''Yes, it's in the square just next to the bridge you can’t miss it,'' Mor replied. ''I must go, but I will see you during dinnertime.'' She smiled for the last time as she disappeared into thin air. She came by just to invite you as per Feyre's request. Your sister knew you were too polite to decline any offer and without it you would probably not show up.

''Right.'' You mumbled under your breath as you looked out of the window. In the reflection, you caught the sigh of a shadow. You whipped around to see nothing. Signing, you turned to the window again thinking about certain Illyrian familiar with shadows. When you first met him, he was like a rock that you could lean onto while the queens invaded your home. You talked, feeling an instant connection and thought he felt the same. You didn't remember what happened during the changing process, your brain blocked the memory altogether. But after waking up in Velaris, he didn't seem to notice you, rather seeking the company of your older twin sister.

You knew it wasn't rational to feel hurt by this, but that didn't stop your heart from throbbing. Exhaling a deep breath you went to explore the city as Mor suggested, feeling sick of your little pity party.

After hours spent in the city, it was starting to get dark. Nights here were magical, but your fear of them only amplified during years spent in the dark streets trying to provide for your family by any means necessary, so you tried to hurry back to the house. Taking a turn into an ally wasn't a choice you wanted to make, but panic started to take over every action your body made. Looking around you knew you were lost and didn't know where to go next.

''Looking for something?'' You whipped around with shock in your eyes. ''No, but thank you. My partner is just around the corner.'' You smiled politely your instincts kicking in as you lied smoothly. A shadow caressed your skin as if to soothe your worries and disappeared. You didn't have time to think about it more as the man standing in front of you stepped closer. ''Are you sure? We could help you, Y/N.'' Another dark figure from behind you said so near you could feel his breath on your neck. ''I don't know who you think I am, but that is not my name. And I do not need help from strangers. So let me pass.'' You tried to will your voice not to tremble, but it was of no use. You were starting to give in to the panic rising within you. ''And we don't need humans becoming high fae and hijacking our court. But here you are.'' Said a male in front of you while pulling out a knife. “This will send the message." Continued another one next to what you pressumed was the leader. One againts three were not the odds you prefered.

You had no idea how they found out your name or how they knew of your fate of becoming fae. "Feeling threatened by a female?" You knew getting a rise out of them was not the smartest idea. But maybe it could gain you valuable time for someone, anyone to notice. Velaris was supposed to be peaceful after all.

"You think you're funny, huh? We'll see if you'll find the knife just as entertaining." The male behind you pulled your hair harshly earning a scream from you. You didn't understand how they could blame you for something you had no control over. “Watch the alley, will you?” The male infront of you ordered the one standing next to him as he lifted his hand to your face. The knife danced lightly on your cheek leaving you defenseless. "Just so you know, maiming your face will be a pleasure." He whispered to your ear as he increased the presure on the knife drawing blood.

The whole alley turned pitch black. You had fae senses, but the dark was completely impenetrable yet familiar. You could only feel your hair being released, knife falling to the pavement, followed by screams and scratches on the stone. You were paralyzed, terrified, and unable to move. The dark had you in its claws and you could feel your breath getting more and more quick. ''How dare you hurt her ?'' A deep familiar voice took you out of your panic. There was no answer to his question. Only whimpers.

The shadows slowly dissolved letting in light from the main streets. There was no one here anymore. Only blood and scratches deep in the stone indicated a struggle.

Azriel appeared in front of you his hands gently grazing your untouched cheek. ''Don't look at it.'' His voice hoarse. You inhaled his scent making you instantly relaxed. ''Are you hurt?'' He asked worry lacing his voice. You gave him a shake of a head not trusting your voice. ''Lies. Shaken. Blood.'' Hissed hushed voice, startling you. ''I am not lying. I am just fine.'' You pushed Azriel away looking around for the source. ''You can hear them?'' Azriel frowned examining you.

''Look, I am sorry you had to bother with this. I know there are a lot of things to be done and I should have known how to protect myself-'' He stopped you from rambling with a thumb to your lips. His previous question forgotten. ''No one has a right to assault you. It is not your fault. Velaris is supposed to be safe. I promise that no one will harm you ever again.'' He left you completely stunned. ''Now, could you please show me where they hurt you, so we can heal it?'' Azriel asked slowly removing his thumb from your lips. Leaving you wishing it could stay there for a bit longer. You pushed back the hair that was covering your healing cheek. ''It's already healing. My abilities do come with very fast healing. As long as I don't use my powers much. I am just a bit shocked, that's all.'' You admitted looking to the stone path. ''Let's get you home then." He offered his hand which you gladly took your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

''Look, Nesta started training with Cass and a few priestesses joined her. It is a way for them to regain their power and help them with their struggles. I was thinking that maybe it could be something you would give a try?'' Azriel asked as he led you through the house to your bedroom. ''Oh...I think I would like that.'' You smiled. Silence enveloping you again.

''Thank you, Az. For today and the offer.'' You looked down standing infront of the door to your bedroom. ''There is no need to thank me. But you should get some sleep.'' He looked at your door and then down the hallway. ''I will be right next to your room if you need anything. So please, let me know.'' He gave you a look of urgency and you gave him a nod even if you knew you would not. He probably knew it, too. ''Goodnight.''

"Goodnight."

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Comfort Headcanons for Frank, Matt, and Mikey

A/n: so I am ridiculously overwhelmed by personal and political stuff right now. And I told myself I was going to write every day this week if possible, but my brain was being difficult today. So instead of working on a longer fic I wrote some self-indulgent headcanons about Frank, Matt, and Mikey caring for an overwhelmed partner. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to send me other headcanon requests!

How would they’d react to you being overwhelmed

Frank

Frank would pick up on this IMMEDIATELY

the second your self care habits change, he’s onto you. You stay up later than normal two nights in a row, or run out the door with a granola bar instead of eating a real breakfast, and he is concerned™️

He’s willing to entertain it for three days max. He knows life gets tough sometimes, and he doesn’t want to encroach on your process—but we all know that once this man is worried, he’s minutes away from taking control. He has issues but we love him for it.

On the 4th day, when you’re waking up exhausted after far too little sleep and rejecting his offer to take you out for breakfast, he puts his foot down.

“Gonna order in for dinner tonight, ok? We can watch that movie you wanted to see and turn in early.”

You hastily agree, bolting out the door before you end up late to your job.

When you finally arrive home, he’s all over you in an instant. Murmuring his hellos while helping you out of your coat and shoes, ushering you over the couch.

He’s insisting that you sit in his lap while the two of you pick out dinner, offering suggestions for restaurants instead of leaving the choice open-ended. Given how tired and generally stressed you seem, he wants to take as much weight off your shoulders as possible.

Once dinner has been ordered, he tucks you close to his chest, practically burying you in a jumble of muscular limbs, humming appreciatively when you nuzzle further into his space. His hand is cupped around your nape, thumb gently brushing over your spine as you hunch toward him.

“Ready to talk about what’s botherin’ ya, doll?” The question leaves room to decline, but his stern tone suggests you choose to answer.

He listens carefully as you tell him what’s on your mind, brushing silent kisses against your forehead whenever your breath wavers around a stifled sob. His hands never move from your skin, cradling you to him like he’s trying to absorb your pain.

He wouldn’t let you lift a finger the rest of the night. Retrieving the take out, dishing it up for you, drawing you a bath, tucking you into bed

When you’re beginning to drift off atop his giant shoulder, he’d rest his forehead against yours.

“I know it’s tough right now. But we’ll get through. I promise.”

“Please don’t leave, Frank.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babydoll.”

Matt

Matt isn’t as observant of your habits and routines, but he can sure as hell pick up changes in body language.

Gritting teeth, blinking back tears, frustrated sighs—he notices all of it. He might not act on it immediately, brushing it off when you explain that you just had a bad day, but when your fatigue and growing apathy persist…

I think you hiding something from him would spook him for sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be determined to get answers out of you. He’d set his personal anxieties aside and prepare for a serious talk.

He’d leave the office somewhat early, asking you to meet him at his apartment. He’d offer you a beer, or whatever you were in the mood for (if his lacking fridge and pantry allowed for it), and he’d ask you the big question.

“You aren’t yourself lately. What’s going on?”

He’s not happy when you start crying, but he’s definitely relieved when you collapse into his arms and explain your recent mood. Even more so when you confess it had nothing to do with him.

As always, he harbors immense guilt for not being there, not being endlessly supportive, not being able to solve the issues gnawing at you with his own two fists.

But what he doesn’t realize is that he’s helping just by being there. By being present and absentmindedly squeezing you with his tree-trunk arms. By acknowledging your struggles and offering what he could.

He’d cut his patrols short for a few days, nearly begging you to sleep at his loft instead of in your own bed, so he could keep a metaphorical eye on you. He sleeps better with you by his side anyway.

Mikey

You’re Michael’s whole world, so he’d know you were overwhelmed before you realized it yourself.

As soon as he spotted the stress lines on your face, he’d be on his feet, trying his best to lighten the burden.

He’d walk you to and from work, as always, maybe even stopping by to keep you company on your lunch hour.

When he wasn’t with you, or ignoring his family, he’d be constantly cleaning the house and working through your joint to do list, taking task after task off your plate so you could properly decompress.

He wouldn’t pressure you to talk to him about it, but he’d give you the option.

“I’m here if ya want to talk, pet. Anytime ya need.”

And, of course, you’d take him up on it. Explaining that you could handle everything and you didn’t want him to overwhelm himself trying to help you because it was just a pile of small things that were wearing you down. But he’d have none of it.

“I wanna do this fer ya. Let me help, love.”

He’d bundle you in a knit blanket on the couch and set the tv to your favorite show, kissing the top of your head before heading to the kitchen to clean up after dinner.

I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you’re all doing ok this week. It’s rough out there.

[specialistpinky]

let me be yours

— tutor!nerdjo x english major!reader

need homework help? call 1-800-BOOKMYNERDYASS or visit sexynerdhelp.com/tutors.

tutor!nerdjo who unknowingly sits in your unassigned assigned seat, too engrossed taking notes on his iPad from the professor’s spiel to notice the way you’re side-eyeing the fuck outta the side of his head.

tutor!nerdjo who trips over his two left feet trying to beeline for the front of the class, trembling like a leaf once he stands up there.

tutor!nerdjo who stops shaking as much when he finds your familiar face among the crowd of bored, uninterested students.

tutor!nerdjo who feels better now looking at you while he talks, wondering if you would remember him from high school if he came up to you.

tutor!nerdjo who notices how bright and homely your eyes are under the ugly florescent lights despite you staring beyond him.

tutor!nerdjo who cuts his speech short feeling little toru wanting to present himself and shuffles back to his seat.

tutor!nerdjo who packs everything but his iPad to cover his indecency as he stands to leave.

tutor!nerdjo who delays his exit when he notices the harassment lawsuit unfolding before him: a muscular football player trapping you between his arms and the wall. he refuses to let it go on any longer.

tutor!nerdjo who avoids a confrontation by making up a small but believable lie about the professor needing to speak with the guy bugging you.

tutor!nerdjo who exhales the breath he was holding when the guy takes the bait.

tutor!nerdjo who watches you walk up to him and blushes when you thank him with a small smile.

“y-yeah, no worries! he looked like he was bothering you.”

tutor!nerdjo who darts his gaze everywhere so that he doesn’t pop a boner in front of you; he’s failing miserably at both as you two converse.

tutor!nerdjo who, instead of ending the conversation like a normal human being, continues to yap about his tutoring services and asks you if you need any help with writing to come to him.

tutor!nerdjo whose face drops a little when you say you don’t need help but brightens a tad when your teeth show through your grin as you tell him you’ll ask if you ever do.

tutor!nerdjo who floats to the library for his shift, hearts decorating his eyes and sparkles orbiting him like a lovesick puppy as his coworker Shoko so delicately describes, to which satoru refutes weakly.

tutor!nerdjo who bounces his leg and bites his nails, fighting the urge to end the session he was in and sneak off to the break room for his own little season, if you catch his drift.

tutor!nerdjo whose daydreams about you sitting in his lap while you type up a masterpiece of literature for your class, him and you editing it together as you move your hips back and forth while your warmth wrapped around his twitching, throbbing—

“hey! did you hear me? fix this paper for me!”

tutor!nerdjo who sighs internally as he pushes his perverted thoughts aside to tutor someone that’s rude and disrespectful—unlike you, a sweet, smart, considerate soul with the sweetness to rival an entire field of fresh strawberries.

tutor!nerdjo who runs into you at the line of the cafe he frequents after work. he boldly invites to sit with him, which you politely but curtly decline because you don’t plan on staying.

tutor!nerdjo who wants to tear his throat out and chuck it out the window for fixing his mouth to suggest something so ridiculous but refrains from such violent measures and says he understands your decision.

tutor!nerdjo who’s ready to go into hiding for embarrassing himself when he’s caught off guard by you plucking his phone off the table, using his (starstruck) face to unlock it, and typing something in it.

tutor!nerdjo who just stares at you, feeling you take his hand and place his phone in it. he then looks down at the screen and sees what he presumed before: your number in his contacts and your name with a brown heart beside it.

“for the next time when you wanna tutor me and grab a coffee.”

a/n: so i wanna write an oc into this cuz that was the original plan, but if y’all want this as an x reader oneshot, i might entertain that idea.

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

He’s a f—king madman who has no idea what he’s doing or what kind of harm he’s going to cause. Coffee prices will soar and it won’t’t just be Columbian coffee because it will create a greater demand for coffee from other nations. Then you can expect all the importers and retailers to price gouge on top of that. Pressed flowers will become unaffordable as well. Then gas prices will rise because their cheap crude oil will suddenly cost 25% more and again everyone else in the business will see increased demand and raise their prices and price gouge on top of that. Worse, he’s threatening to Jack the tariffs up to 50% for countries that won’t now to his demands.

Tariffs are meant to be used sparingly to stimulate domestic industry instead of relying on foreign producers. They were never intended to be used across the board on every item from a country. The foreign producers aren’t going to absorb a 25% loss in revenue, that’s never happened and likely never will. Prices for American consumers will rise by 25% plus inconvenience fees and price gouging.

Tariffs aren’t a weapon if you think they are you’re just shooting your own citizens in the foot. This is pretty basic stuff. Most people learned this when studying early American history in elementary school. American leaders in the post-revolutionary years imposed tariffs on European manufactured goods such as tools, guns, furniture, machines, etc to end reliance on imported goods while stimulating American manufacturing and turning us into an exporting nation.

Trump’s sole college degree is a bachelor’s in economics. This dumb ass should know how this works. He the densest mother f—ker alive and is completely incapable of being taught anything. Further he’s suffering cognitive decline due to mental illness and is a raging drug addict on top of that. Coke as an upper and Adderall to come down. His shadow president, Elon Musk, ironically only has a bachelor’s degree as well and surprise it’s also in economics. He should know better but also is suffering from mental illness and the consumption of mass quantities of Ketamine. Two moronic drug addicts.

The Republicants who should be advising Trump aren’t the best and brightest either. Nearly all of them haven’t gone beyond a bachelor’s degree and they certainly didn’t major in anything that would be useful in managing a large country with the largest economy on the planet. They are trying to run a government based on sound bites and talking points they picked up from the uneducated hosts of Fox News and Fox Business.

Once countries get burned by Trump’s tariffs they will seek out trading partners in Russia, Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. Once a trading partner leaves they almost never return. We’ll be forced to seek out more expensive trading partners who will be very cautious dealing with an unreliable USA. Further Columbia will stop cooperating and sharing intelligence in the war against the narco terrorists. Politically all these nations Trump alienates will realign their political goals with BRICS which is growing as an alternative trade and policy for nations not aligned with the Western and first world states. This is an economic and foreign policy disaster that will ripple through the world for decades to come. Trump isn’t just going to crash our economy but likely cause a worldwide depression, or at least recession. When the US catches a cold the rest of the world sneezes.

THIS IS NOT NORMAL AND ITS NOT EVEN RATIONAL.

[sailorspica]

the stars have all gone | iii

crocodile x f!reader, explicit oral (f receiving) and penetrative sex, can be skipped if you watch for the large ♂. part three of a series. mentions of past basil hawkins x reader. selfship-coded; reader is an astrologer, hawkins' former navigator, and a different race from both of them. post-timeskip canon au, 5.4k words.

You left the cafe through the front at your insistence, to assure the owner and few afternoon customers that the former Warlord was leaving the premises. Daz Bones leaned against the wall, and Crocodile only had to nod for the man to leave, waving a nonchalant hand.

"Your associate?" you asked.

"One of them," he said, which was more information than he strictly had to share, considering the secrecy you knew shrouded Baroque Works. Somehow you didn't think his old subordinate was who he meant, though you came up blank on who he might consider more of an equal. As if hearing your thoughts, Crocodile added, "We're meeting later. After I finish here."

You felt a pang of disappointment that he was leaving again, but quickly realized his idea of unfinished business was you, collecting you, and you bit your lip and focused on matching his strides that he already shortened to accommodate you. "I can't exactly host you or anything. I know a good sandwich stand, though."

"I'm a pirate," he reminded you.

"And how many pirates dine and dress like you?" You batted at the lapel of his fur coat.

"You could, too," he said.

"I'm not a pirate."

He ignored that. "Anything is better than Impel Down."

You stopped. "Okay, first: you were there for a few months, at most. Second: this stand gets their rolls from us at bakery. It's more than a notch above prison food."

Crocodile looked down at you, glancing, oddly, at your boot-clad feet, and offered his left arm. "You walk slow."

"I'm not eight feet tall," you grumbled as you reached up to clutch his forearm. It wouldn't be at a height that made sense for you without him squatting.

"Even six feet would make a difference," he groused, looking at your hand by his hook.

"Is that your normal height limit?"

"My partner was six two."

Partner. The upper ranks of Baroque Works operated in pairs, you learned when their mugshots were published two years ago. But what did he just say? It's poor form to sleep with subordinates. Did a partner count? His counterpart was the only one at large, now a bona fide pirate. Did he—?

You made yourself relax your hold on him. You had no business being possessive over someone you meant to turn down.

You led him downtown, sometimes pointing out landmarks, and noticed people who'd normally give you a wave or a polite smile didn't meet your gaze because of your company. Damn. He'd done awful things, but so had you. So did anyone whose business wasn't splashed across the World Economic Journal. Crocodile and Daz were known quantities around here, so you wondered at the chillier reception until you passed a newsstand, all Reverie coverage. His gaze also drifted that way.

"The dissolution doesn't affect you, does it?"

"Not directly."

Vague.

The pair of you had something of a walking dinner through public parks on the way to your flat, the silhouette of the hotel where you apparently slept together receding in the skyline. It felt a little ridiculous to explain to a pirate that your boardinghouse was quite conservative, strictly for unmarried women who had to be employed or enrolled in training of some sort, so you hoped he'd be out of there by midnight once you gently but firmly declined his offer and sent him on his way after a nightcap of bottom-shelf whiskey. You only had a small dining table and a writing desk, and he elected to sit at the latter while you hunted down your tumblers.

"You drink brown liquor but can't handle wine?"

"Wine's like juice," you defended. Especially port. You didn't forget his sweet tooth.

But he wasn't looking your way anymore, instead peering at the topmost page on your desk. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

He held it to the lamplight, and you recognized it as your own progressed chart, done more for practice than predicting your future.

"You write prettily," he said. "Prettier than you speak."

"Thank you," you said with an eyeroll. You sat at the edge of your bed behind him and moved to set his tumbler on the coaster by your ephemerides, and Crocodile grabbed the glass from your hand before you could land, his broad fingertips dwarfing yours. He took a sip and made a face at the taste, and you giggled, earning a warning glare.

He scratched at the back of his head with the side of his hook, the ice cubes in his glass clinking as he gestured. "These almost look like Poneglyphs."

"You've seen one?"

"In Alabasta."

You tilted your head. "They predate the Void Century, so they're probably simpler than Poneglyphs, or components of their characters."

"Have you seen one?"

"In the paper, so not any detail. The Big Mom Pirates found it." You chewed your lip, debating whether to continue. "We know the astronomers who named the seven visible planets, but not the outer ones. Symbols for Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto just appeared 800 years ago."

"Dangerous talk," he said.

With a dangerous man. Your last captain wasn't even interested in the history of his own tools. The first deck he used was yours, discarded once you realized tarot lacked the structure that kept astrology interesting even in your skepticism, and you'd never seen him use the second, less showy deck you gave him.

"Well, I imagine you won't sell me out. I think pointing out a gaping epistemological hole doesn't make treason."

"And you're not a pirate?"

"Every scientist and scholar should be one, by that logic."

Crocodile picked up the page again. "Pluto..."

"Uh, it's—" You scooted to the edge of your bed and grabbed a pen to point out the ♇. "It looks like that—kind of stupid, just a P and an L—but you also see—" You stood and snatched it from his hand, bending over the desk to draw a ⯔ and a ⯓ next to it. "Depends on where you are."

To your further surprise, he laughed. "Oh, Nico Robin. You liar."

You froze. "What?"

"I'm not stupid," Crocodile said, not really to you, it seemed. "I looked at that stone the whole time she 'translated' it. That was the very first character." He pointed at the third symbol.

"That one's really not widely used," you said, though you were quite lost. "It's regional to some parts of the Grand Line, maybe."

"Or it was suppressed," he challenged, weirdly animated. "Because it's the name of an ancient weapon."

"Hmm." There was more to Alabasta than he claimed. "If you think I can read at an archaeologist's level, I'll have to disappoint you," you said primly, trying not to feel hurt.

You moved to sit back down on your bed, and almost yelped when he pulled you into his lap instead, his left arm going around your waist and his hand gripping your hip. "Witch," he muttered near your temple, "I'm content with your skills."

"Well, I can't do witchcraft..." you said faintly. "And we haven't sailed together." What alarmed you more than his forwardness was that you wanted to melt backwards, to feel his body caging yours. "Crocodile..." you started.

"Sir."

"Is this really a good idea?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, faux-innocent. "I wanted to hear more about these glyphs."

"From here?"

He studied your profile slyly, his right elbow resting on your desk. "It's an absurdly small room. How else am I supposed to see?"

"This is hardly navigation, sir."

"But you use them for navigation."

"Yes, but my notes are my business."

"Would you sail with an observatory?" He nodded at your telescope by the window. You knew he didn't make empty promises; it was a very real offer.

"The crow's nest is fine."

"But this is quite an office you have here."

You had a library of ephemerides, all difficult to source since they came from small presses if not from Mary Geoise. Besides a bulky globe useful only for coordinates, you had various instruments: an abacus, a drafting compass, sextants and telescopes of different size, your old single-dial log pose, and a conventional magnetic compass, both useless in the New World. On the Grudge Dolph, you had some privacy as the only woman, but that meant Hawkins had to come to your bedroom with navigation questions, which was always treacherous. Not unlike Crocodile, one foot from your bed now.

"Beggars can't be choosers," you sniffed.

"And where is this ship of yours now?"

"Not mine," you said too quickly. "And I don't know. We don't keep in touch. Last I heard they formed an alliance." Which you hardly agreed with. "When did you dock here? What's your ship like?"

"It's a loan. Once I repossess some funds, I'm hiring a shipwright." You winced. Poor bastard, whoever it was owed him. "What day is it... Been here two weeks."

"Seems a little long, for you." He only lingered in one place for days at time.

His arm around your waist grew heavier. "You're quite elusive."

No. You were the only reason he was here? You assumed you were just a detour from tasks at hand.

"Seriously?" you said softly.

"I asked." It felt like he spoke to the crown of your head. "At the restaurant, the hotel. You could've left a number with the front desk. The damn host wouldn't tell me who was there that night..." The same confidentiality that benefited him, both of you. "...and I only had your first name. If Daz hadn't overheard one of your clients, I would have hunted your Magician."

Hunted. Crocodiles never did so without reason, your grandmother said when she spun tales of the old country. And it was forbidden to hunt them first.

"I can't serve someone I'm attracted to," you said finally. "And you don't sleep with subordinates."

"It's poor form." His breath whistled across your hair. "So why should I care?" With that, he brushed your hair aside and kissed the back of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. "Aren't we pirates?" You shivered, and he kissed the shell of your ear. "Make sure you remember this time," he muttered lowly.

♂

You leaned into his warmth, the solid wall of his chest making you feel strangely safe even with a sharp hook holding you to him. He exhaled through his nose as your ass settled against the growing bulge in his trousers. You turned your head so you could only see his jaw in your periphery, how tall he was. "Make it memorable, then."

"Minx."

You smiled as you reached up to pull his face down to yours by his nape. He tasted like whiskey and tobacco and heat, and you surprised yourself how fearlessly you butted your tongue into his mouth all while grinding backwards in his lap. His right hand found the inside of your knee and spread your legs open, his warm palm bunching your silk skirt up.

You whined as cold air hit your damp panties, which he quickly amended by rubbing at you over the thin fabric. "Ah—!"

"This wet, bird?" he breathed by the side of your head. "Just from a little conversation..."

"You too, old man," you challenged with a wiggle, to which he swatted at the inside of your thigh. "Ow!"

He promptly soothed it with a flat palm. "That's not what you call me."

"Sir," you drew out, singsong and annoying, and his eyes narrowed. The next thing you knew, he tossed you onto your bed, and the sheer size of him knocked the breath from your lungs as he rolled your panties and holster down your legs, the knife your last captain gave you clattering to the floor as Crocodile yanked you to the edge of the mattress.

"Quiet," he ordered lowly, sinking to his knees.

He laid his hook flat on the inside of your right thigh, and you shivered at the cold metal and how carefully and heavily it rested with the sharp tip closer to your anterior, away from the soft skin he massaged and kissed on your opposite leg at as he groped his way up, up, finally pressing his face to your slick folds and breathing deep.

"Sir—!"

"...hide from me." You caught the end of his murmur into the juncture of your thigh, and one of his thick fingers dipped into your entrance just as he licked at your clit, earning a throaty moan from you you hardly recognized. You only grew more slippery with his attentions, and the sound of not just your arousal but his spit mixing with it, licking and kissing around his own finger, was lewd and humiliating as your body adjusted, welcomed him back. Because it was familiar, the breadth of him between your legs, the spices and tobacco on his skin, the weight of his hook splaying your leg open to the side. One limb free, you traced your left sole down his back, feeling his shoulder blade move under the skin there, and it stimulated nerves you forgot you had. "Oh, sir—" Your voice came out breathy, and you futilely covered your mouth with your hand to suppress your noises, your other hand tangling in his hair.

He hissed at the sting, but didn't warn you off, instead lapping more insistently. Curious, you tugged with more intention, and he groaned before lifting his head. "Do that again."

You obliged, grinning up at the ceiling at the quiet whimper he made against you. Yes, sir.

But after that, he scissored a second finger into you, and the stretch burned sweetly, not painfully. You petted at his scalp to let him know you were okay, and he rolled your clit with his tongue with a satisfied hum. Smug bastard, you would've said out loud if you didn't feel the beginnings of an orgasm at how patiently and ruthlessly he prepared you. Your grip on his roots tightened along with your walls around his digits, and he kissed at your lips, pulling away some to watch his fingers moving, the stones of his rings glinting in the candlelight.

"Sir, can I please—?"

"So polite," he said dryly, like his face didn't glisten with your shared mess. "Yes, bird, come."

Like it was an order (it was), your body tumbled over the edge before you realized. Your would have flailed wildly if it weren't for his holding you down, his sticky fingers landing on the knee thrown over his shoulder. He watched you fall apart almost like he couldn't do anything else, and you moved to cover your face with your hands at his scrutiny when he snarled, "Don't hide from me again."

"Wasn't hiding..." you protested, and you didn't know if you meant now or the weeks he spent looking for you.

You managed to choke your surprised squeal to a whisper when he kept going. He coaxed his middle and ring fingers back in gently with a would-be chaste kiss to your puffy, throbbing clit. "Didn't get to see," he grumbled against your skin, and took up that slow, torturous pace again.

He's insane, you thought. Not for how he held you down and devoured you like prey, but how methodical this was, like he both knew you and just how much loosening you needed to take him. You only felt him through his clothes when he pulled you into his lap earlier, and you swallowed, unable to fathom him bare. You came a second time with the addition of his index finger and, to your embarrassment, your asshole fluttering against his tongue, and you felt him smirk at how your hips jerked with enough force to jostle him.

"Please, no more, sir, I want—"

"Not yet."

"It's too—" Tears were trickling out your yes. "S'too much, I don't need—"

"Yes you do." He pressed his hook into your leg, and somehow you knew it was more of a caress, how occupied his hand was now with massaging you open.

"Aren't you—don't you—?" There was no way he was doing this unbothered.

"This is for both of us," he said simply, kissing your knee. "Be patient."

Shakily, you nodded, and didn't know if you pushed his head down or simply followed him. You grabbed around for a pillow to muffle yourself, making sure to pull it away when you were close so he could see, whatever he meant by that. You weren't sure how many orgasms he'd pulled from you when he joined you on the bed at last, finally loosening his cravat and losing some layers. You watched him undress, hazy in your current state, and would have whistled at the sight. Noticing your look, he raised one cocky eyebrow.

"Not fair," you mumbled.

"What isn't, bird?" That pet name again as he crawled beside you, testing the limits of the double bed.

"You can't look like that and be one of the strongest men alive."

Crocodile laughed, truly laughed at that, and it was a lovely, rich resonance against your chest that surely traveled down the hall if your animal whining didn't. "Flattery?"

"You asked." And you meant it. He wasn't as trim as pirates your age who walked around with their shirts open—if anything he was softer than in his wanted posters, all the fine food and wine evident—but still so clearly strong, how he manipulated your body with both ease and care. And there was the thick, long cock that only made sense for his stature, proud and hard, that you couldn't believe ever fit inside you.

"Well," he said lowly, pulling you over him. "Who said you can be intelligent and charming all at once?" He looked ready to take it back at your snort of laughter. "You know I don't go out of way like this for anyone."

You had nothing to say to that, so you cast off your rumpled dress off and pretended not to notice his heated perusal. "Um," you started. "How did we—?"

He easily wrapped his left arm around you and propped himself up in your pillows, leaving you straddling his abdomen. His large hand skimmed down to your hip, his hook resting above your ass as he smirked up at you.

"Oh."

With a man of more average height, his face would be much closer, but you were simultaneously far from his lips and his lap. Feeling lost, you elected to scoot up his torso and plant a kiss to his jaw, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. His brow quirked in amusement, but you could tell he was surprised at the gesture.

"Help me?" you asked shyly.

"Demanding thing." But he obligingly held your hips, guiding you down his body. "Slow." An order, like he was telling a pet to chew their food. Now sat splayed across his thighs, you reached for him, and lord. He was heavy in your hand, more thick than long, and you swore you felt him twitch as your fingertips traced the velvet of his skin.

"Pretty," you said unthinkingly.

You gave his cock a few experimental pumps, and he grunted. "I thought you couldn't wait anymore." His voice was tight.

"You don't get to be the only tease."

"Fuck."

"Language. Sir." Despite your threat, you lifted yourself slightly, and guided him where you were desperate for contact. You only meant to gather some lubrication by rubbing your pussy along his length, but his weighty tip knocking against your clit had you falling over his body. "Oh shit," you panted, your cheek planted on his sternum. He grunted at the friction. This position made you less self-conscious, somehow, your breasts squishing against his hard chest, your hands planted on either side of him, and you rolled, spreading your lips around his girth.

"Witch," he hissed.

"Not a—witch—" you corrected, like you weren't rocking against him, feeling his precum trickle between the two of you. "I'm a sci—scientist, it's just—observation—"

"Shut up," he growled, and you only picked up the pace. His hook pushed you more firmly against him, and you moaned at the increased pressure. "This really enough, bird? Just humping like—"

"Shut up," you whined, chasing something you couldn't see. At that, he moved his hand from your hip to your front, reaching for his cock like he could somehow take back control, but you sat yourself more upright and batted him away, widening your stance and finally, finally sinking onto him.

He grunted out a slow exhale watching you, and you bit your lip, the discomfort present even with his diligence. "Take your time," he murmured, the base of his hook rubbing at your back. You just sat there for a moment, still keeping some weight to your knees because if you took any more of his considerable length you'd surely hurt yourself. Your breath was coming short and shallow, and to your surprise, his large, jeweled hand came up to hold your chin and jaw. "That's it, bird." His thumb collected tears you didn't realize were falling. "Do you need—?"

"Nnnhmm." Whatever the hell you whined was in the negative, not even knowing what he was going to say. To stop? Never. A break? No. Help? Maybe. All you knew was you were probably ruined for other men for a long, long time after this, how perfectly overwhelming he was in every way. The smell of his sweat, the infernal pitch of his laugh, the taste of his skin, and the cruel size of him all threatened to make you fall like you never had, and oh no. You intended to send him off, didn't you? But how could you now that you'd found your bearings, with the perfect drag of his cock through you, just how much you spread for him?

His eyes were somehow darker as he looked up at you, wandering from what you were sure was an ugly, pinched expression on your face to the bounce of your tits, and his hand moved from your hip to thumb your clit lazily, not particularly helping but teasing. Frustrated, you pitched forward slightly to chase that pressure, and the dark chuckle at your desperation died in his throat when you purposely squeezed around him. "God, woman," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir?" You sounded delirious in your own ears, your hands finding some purchase on his broad chest, and you teased lightly across one of his nipples.

"You weren't so..." He grunted at another evil little squeeze you were quite proud of. "...maddening last time."

"How was I?" You slowed to a grind.

"Not quite pliant. Didn't seem drunk to me. Still—you—" How was he so sure who that was? "—but you didn't go out of your way to torture me."

"Torture? Hah—" He started fucking up into you shallowly, and you stuttered. "F-from an ex-con?"

"I don't exaggerate," he said lowly as he sat up, pulling you with him with his hook on your back and his hand in your hair, his movements becoming sharper, deeper at this angle. Your eyes widened when he prodded at your lips with his fingers, which you happily slurped into your mouth. Just two of them were thick, stretching your lips obscenely, and you wondered if you'd ever suck his cock like this. No, this is it. No more. You needed this gag, him pressing down by your soft palate as he took over, bouncing your tired body in his lap like a doll while your moans blended into sobs. You were aware your spit must be pooling in his palm, trickling past his wrist, so you latched onto his forearm with both your hands as if to spare him, but more to feel even closer, closer than this.

"Look at me."

You were so full of him that the thought of seeing him was almost too much, but you complied as he slowed to a halt. Blinking back tears, you saw some strands of his hair escaped its styling to fall across his brow, which was crinkled with exertion and restraint, and you could have fallen in love with the concern and hunger in his eyes. You pulled his fingers from your mouth and kissed at the tips, meeting his gaze all the while.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

"Wan' more." You sounded like and idiot, but he smiled down at you indulgently.

"Do you?"

You nodded.

"Are you close?"

"Uh-huh."

"Come with me."

He started moving again, cradling your head in his hand and pulling you tight to his front with his arm, but in your state of bliss, you answered a different question, a few beats too late. "Yes, sir."

"Hmm?"

"I'll—shit—I’ll c-come to sea with you." You splayed your hands on his back and met his strokes, riding in earnest.

He didn't so much as pause. "I knew you would."

"How?" Wildly, you thought your progression had a 9th house midheaven, maybe he could read it, maybe—

"Because who else is there to fuck you like this, hmm?"

Oh.

"Shut up!" Your voice had a wobbly whine to it the closer you got. "'M not becoming a pirate again for sex."

"Really? Tell—" He grunted, and your ego had never been bigger, hearing how you affected him in turn. "Tell yourself that—in my cabin—every—night—" He punctuated it lewdly, a sharper thrust at each word, but you squealed into his pectoral at how deep he reached.

"Fuck, sir, shit. There—"

"Here, bird?" Repeating the motion, strain in his voice.

"Yes, yes—ooh, thank you—sir—I'm—"

You saw white behind your eyes as you went limp in the crook of his arm, and you dimly registered his hand gripping your jaw, him murmuring somewhere close to your forehead, and god, if only he could kiss you.

"So pretty like this," he was saying, and you nipped at his fingers, sucking his thumb into your mouth, and he chuckled at that. "Let me—"

"Mhmhm!" You released him. "Yes, sir, you too."

He really gripped you, pressing the cuff of his hook to your right hip, his fingers digging into your ass, as he chased his own pleasure, threatening to reignite yours, too. You were just along for the ride, falling over him, your arms looped under his and your hands on his shoulder blades as he moved in and out of you, slow and deep. You were almost sleepy, silly enough to try to tease him. "Do I feel good, sir?" you cooed, your cheek on his chest.

"Yes, witch," he bit out.

"You said 'every night'? I'm not sure you can keep that up." You knew he was glaring down at you without looking. "You're a busy man, is all, sir."

You felt his dick twitch inside you, and you wondered if it was the teasing or the title that got to him, but his breathing became shallower, and a low whine sounded in the back of his throat, only legible to you with your ear on his ribcage. His movements became a little more frantic, his hand creeping between the two of you to pull out with a 'pop', and you felt warm liquid land on your back as he pumped his heavy cock of its last drops.

"Woman..." he said lowly as you rolled off of him, taking care not to get his cum on your bedding. "I think you're evil."

"And what does that mean, really?" You padded off to your pitiful ensuite to clean yourself up, only for him to follow moment later.

"This is tiny," Crocodile said in distaste, looking from the top of your shower curtain to the sink.

"Even by my standards," you conceded.

♂

Considering where his mouth had been, it wasn't wild to use a bathroom concurrently, and really about the intimacy that shipmates would share. Still, Crocodile wiped your back and your inner thighs carefully with a damp washcloth, his large fingers ghosting over where he'd gripped you, with you sat on the counter so he wouldn't have to crouch. "Sorry," he grunted.

"It's okay," you said, looking over your shoulder at the pair of you in the mirror. You'd always wondered how couples your sizes worked, and now you had an answer. Couples. You shook your head. "I like it." He hadn't held you that tightly the first night, since you didn't wake with any marks, and none developed the following days. "Did I really ride you already?"

"No," he said simply.

"What?"

He shrugged, dragging the comb he borrowed from you through his hair. "Just wanted to see you like that."

You hopped down and glared at him. "So you babied me back then." And it can't have been as satisfying as tonight.

"I didn't know what you could handle," he defended.

You scoffed and turned on your heel, back to the studio's bedroom area. It was a damn mess, your silk dress strewn over your desk and chair and possibly torn, yet his clothes were folded neatly in a pile. How he managed that bewildered you. You whipped the sheets up to straighten them and replaced a quilt, and became slightly wistful at the thought of leaving this place.

Crocodile emerged from the bathroom to your woolgathering. "What is it, bird?"

"I'm probably getting kicked out tomorrow."

"I told you to quiet down."

"Not just that. Men aren't allowed in here after sundown."

He looked around himself, blinking. "Is this a convent?"

"No, Crocodile. This is what it's like being a woman who isn't a noble. You've worked with some before, clearly."

"Sleeping with them is new."

Your heart fluttered, and you internally slapped that part of you that wanted him all to yourself. "Seriously? Nico Robin's new wanted poster is—"

"She was practically a teenager when we met," he said.

"Oh." You were going to say gorgeous. "We're about the same age."

"You're younger."

"Have a type?"

You could tell he didn't enjoy this line of questioning, but he played along. "Dark haired, scholarly... you could wear more heels, I suppose."

"You've only seen me in heels."

"Taller ones."

You plopped onto your bed, not quite freshly made but innocent-looking. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "'Bird'."

Then you heard his footsteps, and his sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's a, uh, legend in my homeland." Oh. He was embarrassed. "There's supposedly a bird species that lives with crocodiles. Helps clean their teeth."

"You called me a toothpick."

He laid back beside you, and it was utterly boyish how he covered his eyes with his hook in embarrassment. "Can we not?"

Smiling, you laid on your side to enjoy the sight of him, and you luckily had some reprieve. "You know, there's crocodiles where I'm from. Here in the New World."

"How do you know if you've never been?"

"My grandparents call politicians buwaya and marines baboy."

"Sounds like wani."

"Crocodiles and pigs," you translated.

"This is awful pillow talk." He mirrored your position, making you eye-to-eye for the first time, and his irises were so pale you could almost see your own reflection in them.

"Aren't you a politician, Desert King?"

He brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. "No one's been quite so... opinionated about it."

"About?"

"Utopia."

"I've hardly said anything."

"Today. Let's see if you still feel the same way as before."

You had no idea what you said then, but you knew where your beliefs aligned, so, "Well, it sounds impossible, for one. If my understanding of Baroque Works is correct, they all thought of themselves as early investors, no?" He grunted affirmatively. "So show me a document or something. What your utopia is. Is it a monarchy? Are you really trying to be king? What's the future look like without you? Does that matter to you? Is the military purely defensive, or do you plan to conquer?"

"God, woman. Does your brain never stop?"

"Only during really, really good sex."

"During? So I need to keep you happy to have any peace."

"Sounds like marriage." He glanced over your way, and whatever you read in his expression terrified you a little. What does he think of— "I mean it. If you really want me involved, let me know what it is, buwaya."

"And if you fucked a Marine, would you call them a pig in bed, too?"

"They might like it too much."

Crocodile laughed at that, and drew you into his chest, and you thought you were in real danger of feeling at home there.

[tennco]

part of me wants to look more into this supposed decline of touhou, it's fascinating. but here's what i got now.

1.there are overall less touhou fanworks being made

this is mostly measured by doujin circles that apply to conventions. which, while a big part of it, is not the whole sum, specially since nowadays more people may opt to share their work digitally. also fails to account that conventions had considerably less overall attendance post-pandemic and it's still too soon to tell if that has normalized again.

2.touhou and doujin are more commercial than before (got nothing myself but i'd be inclined to agree, sure. then again things like merchandise have been around for a long while)

3.less quality than before (not really i already went over this)

ok but to be fair there was a dip in popularity somewhere post-UFO right. which is one of the games people like to point out as the downfall, along with anything else ranging from MoF to HSiFS because who gives a shit anyways. but that's a little bit misleading, it's not that there was a dip after UFO, it's more likely there was a peak with UFO. and i did no research on this next point to be fair, other than ZUN's account who largely alleged to it around the time of UM, but like i implied earlier with digital mediums being so prevalent there is the possibility that the decrease in doujin circles on conventions could be the result of a shift in the general landscape and not an observation endemic to touhou.

alright so what about the community. well i'm gonna leave out the bigoted takes (which have significant overlap with the rest i wonder why) because they deserve nothing more than shut the fuck up. everything else is all over the place, these are some of the sentiments i've seen over the years.

cries about secondaries and whatever the fuck a "tourist" is supposed to be. "oh they don't play the games", and if they do it's "oh they don't read the print works" this is just stupid i got nothing else to say about it.

"porn is good" but also "porn is bad and everyone is a gooner" this is also stupid.

"everyone just agrees or justifies everything ZUN does, there's no criticism" sometimes, and that should change. it doesn't signify anything though.

"there's politics now" lol

"touhou should've stayed niche" it's still niche but i know right? it's like this used to be my little corner and now there's all these people i don't know playing with my toys in ways i don't like. come the fuck on man.

and i think that's the thing. it's not about the statistics or the quality or the content or whatever else. either these people have completely shut themselves off on their own volition due to this perception that others are "corrupting" this thing they love (i wasn't kidding about the overlap up there btw), or they don't accept they are just bored with the series and continue to linger for some reason, and instead of moving on to something else they just start looking for ways to justify their disdain because there's no way it's just me it's gotta be ZUN's fault or the fans or this or that. but above all this is nothing new, we've been doing this for almost twenty years, touhou's been dying for twenty years apparently come on.

anyways sorry for the rant. that's my message, if a piece of media is genuinely not making you happy anymore there's no reason to keep engaging with it, no one's forcing you to stay i promise. let go. this should be obvious.

[alwaysshallow]

gorgerous, part 8

Simon Riley x f!reader

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READ ON AO3

You're a vet with a pretty simple life. One day though, things change, when a big guy with a skull mask enters your clinic with a small, ginger kitten in his hands. (4,5k)

A/N: ....guess who's back??

Christmas is usually celebrated with someone you love. Someone you respect, someone that will cherish the moments with you because there’s not only a lot of things to prepare in a sense of duty, the feeling that you have to do this. There's a lot of things that you can genuinely enjoy.

Gifts. You love to think of something special for every person that is close to you, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing a smile on their face and a "How did you know?" question that makes you giddy every time you hear it. 

What’s more, everyone gets something personalized, something that is from you, carefully picked amongst the hundreds of choices. You'd hate to give a present that looks like it had been picked at the last minute at a gas station; so, you spend a lot of the time buying and wrapping your gifts to some corny playlist that you made when you were eighteen, and you play it every year. Just for the vibe. 

Meal, where you think of everyone. Their favorites, dislikes, something sweet for later, when the meal will be just too boring and the craving for chocolate would hit. 

It’s good to note that most of the dishes aren't cooked by you (you don’t have time and skills to do so much), it's catering, but, it's the thought that matters, you think.

And it's like that… normally. 

This year, you feel like all the holiday spirit is dead. Your mom and dad already planned the vacation—without you, which upsets you, but you don’t allow yourself to show that—and your friends go to their families. You’re gonna be alone in the most wonderful time of the year, so for some reason, you start to understand the Grinch. 

You received an invitation from your friends, but you politely declined it. Feeling it would be either awkward, or you'd feel alienated in a family that you don't really know well. Besides, pity isn’t really your thing, so you prefer to watch Bridget Jones with cookies and milk, instead of being a burden.

Or, you preferred to watch Bridget Jones, before someone showed up in your life and made a little mess.

Before Simon came into view.

Maybe it's his aura, or maybe it's your high expectations and mindless dreaming, but you think it would be right to ask him. Even if he has plans—you think that a man like him doesn’t have plans—it's something that you want to do.

Just out of pure curiosity. Because based on the dinner you had with him, evening that you spent together, you think he'd be a good company. In your mind, you already see the banter between you and him. You already see how he argues with you that you shouldn't really put on a Grinch movie, or any Christmas movie because it’s tacky to think of a Hallmark movie and a meal together. You see how he rolls his eyes, when you hit “play” despite his protests.

How he tries to seem uninterested, but he’s more invested into the movie than you are, commenting out loud stupid choices of the heroes, sighing audibly, as you laugh in the background. How he absolutely devours cookies that you made, so you need to bake another batch of them because he's eating so much—rightfully so, for such a monstrous man in the military. He probably relies on his weight to stay in form. 

It's hard not to drool, when you imagine it. His body under all of the clothing, his muscles, body fat. How he looks, how comedically bigger he is, compared to you. Fuck, you’d give a lot to see him without all of those clothes. Compression shirt leaves too much to your imagination to be satisfied with that only.

It’s even harder to maintain a calm face, when he asks you about something from the bathroom, and you jump in place, like you were just caught on something illegal or watching porn. You can’t even recall what he was saying, so with a frown you ask him to repeat the question.

If he’s not dense, he should know by now that you like him. Very much. Maybe too much, considering how far your imagination goes, and it only took… a few months, to fall into this mindset with a man that is rather known for being quiet. A man that did a horrible first impression in that weird mask, yet you’re still interested.

Your polar opposite. 

While you love to talk, he rather avoids it. You love crowds (moderately), he does not. He probably prefers to sit alone in the cafe, reading away from the crowd, while you almost every time find someone to talk to, either if it’s a client or a barista that is glad someone doesn’t complain about the coffee. You talk, he’s more of a listener. 

Fire and water; ice, even. Something that is on the opposite sides, something that shouldn’t work in the first place, but for some reason, it works perfectly well—for you, at least. You’re more addicted with the passing hours of your weird friendship with Simon, more curious to know him. Trying to adjust to the slow pace that he set in.

The slow dance around the topic is the thing you know Simon likes the most. It’s maybe the only thing that you’re sure he loves to do. Taking his time to observe, pounce and eventually attack, if he feels up to it.

It’d be easier that he’d ask you to spend Christmas with him, but you can’t have it all easy, no?

You bite your cheek and observe how he plays with Sparkles. The cat is invested in catching his fingers with her paws, gnawing on them, when he tries to take them away from her to take a sip of his tea. With a view like that, it’s easy to melt into a puddle and forget about everything that bothers you. It’s also very easy to have a prospect of you three spending holidays in your apartment. Wouldn’t be far from what you have now—big “bad” military man spending time with a tiny kitten, while you try to think of a proper breakfast. 

It would be the best reward to have him around, when it’s your favorite time of the year. 

But, it’s up to him, if he agrees.

And, for many reasons, unbeknownst to you, you want him to agree.

“You have somethin’ in mind,” he breaks the silence. Deep brown eyes are already scanning you from the bottom to the top of your head, curiously. Challenging himself if he’s capable of knowing what bothers you, before you’ll say it to him.

You’re not gonna make it easy for him, that’s for sure.

“I don’t,” you huff, like it’s supposed to convince him. “It’s just… I don’t know what to make for breakfast. That’s really it.” 

Simon’s quick to accuse you. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie?” You raise your eyebrow, like he just didn’t tell you the truth; he scoffs at your high-pitched tone, taking a few steps towards you.

“You bite your cheek, and stomp like a bunny. What is it if not lyin’?” He mimics you, raising an eyebrow too. If it would be anyone else, you’d be slightly offended.

Rather than that, you’re amused a bit. “Like a bunny?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. From Bambi, or whatever that was.”

It takes everything in you to not laugh right this second. “You watched Bambi?”

“With Soap,” he murmurs, almost in shame because of the confession. “Doesn’t matter, what do you have in your little head?”

One confession leads to another, you think. It seems inevitable to say this right now, as finding a lie would be the worst option ever in front of a human lie detector. 

Besides, there’s no point in lying when you want him on Christmas. 

“I thought that, you know, you could spend Christmas with me. Sparkles would be included, too,” you say, out of breath when you’re done. 

In theory, this, telling him what you have in mind, should help you to get rid of that feeling in your chest. Feeling that makes you go back to being a kid, when you felt there’s nothing you can do about certain situations. When you could just wait for the mercy of the other person.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re waiting till Simon says something; a few minutes ago, you felt like it’s just a formality. 

Right now, you feel that the ache got worse just by seconds. His blank stare doesn’t help you with anything, it just makes you wonder what is in his mind right now. Is he just so shocked that he doesn’t know what to say? Or is he trying to find the words to politely decline the invitation?

“So, you want to celebrate with me,” he speaks up. You don’t know if there’s been five minutes, ten minutes, or an hour since you’ve asked him, but nonetheless, it makes you mad how he asks another question, instead of answering yours.

Although, you don’t show it; you just chuckle, nervously. “Is that really weird?”

“Kind of? Masochist type of way, if I’m being honest,” he hums, tilting his head. You have this specific feeling behind your head that he’s not taking you seriously, but you try to push it away. You don’t need it, not now.

“Well, masochist or not,” you swallow the saliva, thinking it would give you courage to continue the conversation, “I really mean it. I’d love to have you here.”

He sighs, shaking his head, and you know you’re screwed. “We’re not quite here, bird. Nothin’ personal, but that’s probably the dumbest idea out here.”

“Dumbest… idea?” You raise your eyebrow, laughing at first, but then you look at him in disbelief. “Like, spending time together on Christmas is dumb?”

It looks like he doesn’t even want to hear what you are saying. Riley puts Sparkles to the transporter, getting ready to go, while you still want the answer. “So? That’s… it?”

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with you.” He shrugs, looking at you. “Simple as that, I don’t know what is so hard to understand.”

And then, he leaves. 

Not only without breakfast, but without a word that would help you understand why he reacted like that. 

As you can imagine, the following days are kind of rough. 

Simon isn't a texter or a caller, doesn't have a reason for it anyway, so you're anxious all the time at work. You make more hours than you should just to stay in work and keep your mind occupied with something other than him because it still feels like he was at your place minutes ago, not days. 

It doesn’t help. The unnerving wave of shame is overwhelming, so you can’t even enjoy your work the way you normally would. Because normally, work helps you with your inner peace, feeling like a hot shower after a long day. Relaxing your muscles, bringing your mind elsewhere.

Right now, work is just pouring more problems to the already full cup.

Maybe it’s a mistake, but you don’t really share it with anyone; what happened with the British guy. Too ashamed that you even thought it would be a great idea to invite Simon, you bottle the feelings instead of letting them out on a random girls night, when you’d be too drunk to remember what you’ve said. You don’t mention it to your best friend, in case she’d spill it to Soap, you don’t mention it to your parents, in a fear of being judged. Or, Simon being judged in that case, they don’t know him. 

You feel like you don’t know him either, but he has to have a reason to not to come, right? It’s not like he decided that just out of spite, right?

Not only you feel bad, but the whole thing feels pathetic. Everything reminds you of him. A damn jar of peanut butter in your apartment (that you hide deep, as you don’t want to even look at that), cat toys at your workplace, LEGO, just because he said that it seems like the stupidest, yet the most interesting “puzzle thing” ever. If this isn’t enough, you catch yourself thinking of him at the gym, when you feel too fatigued to continue the training. Wondering if he’d push you to do the last set, what’d he say. Him, helping you with the exercises, seems like something inevitable. Something that could happen.

You need a cold shower after that.

These days, people tend to get on your nerves too. Your calm clients become someone that you don’t want to see, not even mentioning talking to them for more than it’s necessary. Happy couple in the shop irritates you enough to skip the aisle that they are in because if you don’t get to be happy, you don’t want to see other people happy like that. Not when you thought you’re gonna spend the holiday with someone special to you.

God. If one of your best friends would behave that way, you’d convince them they deserve better because no boy should make you feel like crap. 

Now… yeah. 

Now you should be the best friend to yourself, but it’s not going well for you. It’s way easier to try to lose yourself at work, watch rom-coms and eat ice cream, rather than face the truth.

You eventually come to the conclusion that spending Christmas would be a scratch on his emo reputation, so it’s better for you to ignore him completely from this point. If he hates this day so much, he could tell you in a different way than humiliating not only you, but your feelings.

It’s the night before Christmas when you see him, as you come back from the shop with your groceries.

He looks... fine, as always. Unbothered, as always.

Walking like the whole world belongs to him, loudly and clearly intimidating everyone who would even think of crossing his path. It's something that you, right now, envy him for. How heartless he seems, which definitely helps him not only with the job he’s doing, but for the moment like this one. 

Where people, normally, feel ashamed. 

The big guy facade fades just for a single moment—and you hopelessly think it's the moment he sees you, the last droplets of human decency speaking to him. He stops, looking at you from head to your toes and back. Estimating if you’re worth a while.

And when he decides that you’re in his circle of interest, he walks up even closer to you. Not a single emotion on his scarred face, and if you wouldn't know him, you'd be scared that he wants something malicious.

Maybe he does.

"Hi." 

His voice feels like he’s under the water. Deep, unreachable, but for some reason, it reaches you. Simon’s presence floods your lungs, making it hard to breathe, or to do anything at this point. You have to take a shallow breath before you’ll do anything.

You can't quite reach out to yourself to bring anything other than "Fuck you", so you don't speak after the "Hi." A nod in acknowledgement of his existence is all you give him; because if you would try to speak, you'd be either aggressive or hysterical.

And it's the last thing you want to give him: emotions. Because he seems to love that you're the emotional one here; he can read people like a book, and you're tired of being one. Tired of being on his shelf, so he can grab you whatever he wants, and you have no control over it. It simply doesn't feel right to you, doesn't seem fair at any chance.

His tone snaps you back to reality. "Dove."

You sigh. "I have a meal to prepare. Can't really talk right now, Riley.”

"Ouch." He theatrically puts a hand on his heart, tilting his head to the side. You can't really say if he's surprised by your sudden change in behavior towards him, or amused. Maybe both, knowing him. 

So, you do what you do best: you just start walking to your place, completely ignoring his presence. Pretend like you don’t care about this stupid Christmas, like you forgot what he said to you on that disastrous morning.

He grabs your arm, forcefully. You’re not even sure when that happens, when he jerks you towards him and you can see how he purses his lips in a thin line, looking at you with something resembling remorse, at best. Or something quite close to it, it’s hard to name it.

"'m not gonna let go."

"And I'll start screaming. You know I will. Like, actually, who would believe you that you just wanted to talk to me? You’re big, mean and generally speaking many people would—"

"If the invitation is still on the table, I'd take it, if we're bein' honest."

Like a fish, you open your mouth and close it a couple of times, dumbfounded. You can’t really tell if he means what he said, or if he actually said what you’ve heard; because there’s a possibility you just misheard something. You raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"Your hearing abilities amaze me."

"You told me a few days ago—"

"Changed my mind." He shrugs. So casually, like he didn’t actually make you freaking out about him, thinking you’re imagining things between you two because he rejected your invitation. 

You repeat his words mindlessly, barely believing in them. “What changed, then? The big “I don’t spend Christmas” guy thought he’s gonna do it this year? Or something changed between us and it’s not that casual anymore? Or it’s not the dumbest idea?”

He grits his teeth. It’s not rocket science to see that he’d rather you just take his apology, but you’re not like that. At least, not after feeling so humiliated for a couple of days, thinking that you’re the stupidest woman on the entire planet. For what it’s worth, you need to make him regret his decision a little.

You want him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands right in front of you, the royal brown staring into your soul. It’s not like you will budge, and Simon seems to know it, when he rolls his eyes. 

Fire and water. Maybe something that is not meant to be, and you started to slowly accept it after those days without contact. Sometimes people have different views on life, relationships and that’s okay. It’s not like you can change how he feels about you, but right now—

—right now, he closes his arms around you. Before you know it, he places his chin on the top of your head. Trying to isolate you from everything but him.

You try several times to leave his embrace, to punch him hard enough, but he doesn’t let go, and by that alone, you understand that somehow, you needed it. You just shoved it under the rug because it was easier.

Needed him, in general. Needed the reassurance that he probably doesn’t hate you so much. Your anger seems at lower levels right now, tamed, understanding towards him. It’s a stark contrast between you now, and a few days ago, when you wanted his head to be chopped off.

“I thought you passed on the party,” comes out quieter than expected. Like you’re actually afraid to say that, and he seems to know it when he tightens his arms around you for a moment. 

“‘s not a party though, is it? Only us three,” he murmurs, shrugging. You could think he doesn’t care coming from the tone, but the look in his eyes, the small glint in them, says otherwise. 

You scoff, pretending to be offended. Truth is, you’re far from offended right now. “Two is already a party.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Not a really reliable source, dove. But s’alright,” he says, tilting his head. He looks down at you and then kisses the top of your head. Not even bothered that a few minutes ago you wanted to punch him. “Let’s go already, hm? Probably you’d want to make some shit or else.”

“Or else,” you say. You have a lot to do, that’s true, but right now your focus is elsewhere—and that’s on his heart. You can hear how hard it is beating, the only indicator (besides the eyes) that he really wants to be here with you.

And If you doubted he has heart, now you really can see that, indeed, he has. Beating for no one else but you.

“You… can’t do that,” you say, without even looking at him. Your eyes are focused on the lantern nearby, the yellow light brightening the surroundings. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect I’ll be okay.”

“Listen—”

“—No. No, you should listen. I don’t want you to feel that you can say anything to me, to just come back without the consequences. Just promise me. It’s not hard, it’s not complicated, you know? Communication is actually easy, if you just try hard enough.”

For a few seconds, he’s quiet. Just like he was quiet on that accurst day, when everything got fucked up. You’re quick to open your mouth, but then, he answers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You lost your hearing or somethin’?” He tilts his head a little to the right. If Sparkles wouldn’t be in a transporter in his hand, you’d smack the shit out of him. “Maybe you do need a doctor’s visit.”

“I said so much and you—”

“There’s nothin’ for me to say. I know, and I acknowledged it,” he says, abruptly, his gaze hardening. “I fucked up. Not denying that, but right now, I want to make it right. That clear?”

That is clear, and as he’s seemingly a man of his words, you go to your apartment without any other word about the past. 

You learn that he’s more of an observer than a doer. He waits for your sign, for whatever that gives him a clear message about what he should and shouldn’t do. The effect of the military gets to him even in mundane tasks like hanging the lights or tossing around a few decorations there and there. Simon doesn’t speak until he finishes, and then he just stares at you, until you’re gonna give him the next instructions. 

You can’t help but laugh, when you do. He seems so lost when you do that, irritated at first, but he probably gets the message.

"I don't... do, this," he says, when he's busy rolling the dough with his rough hands. For a man like him, he's very tender with how he does it. Caring that you've told him how to do it, not using all of his power.

“Do what?” You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You know exactly what he means, but for what he put you through, he deserves to have a little struggle, to be more vocal about what he feels. He seems to know it, assuming that he pushes the dough to the surface a little harder.

“This stuff,” he explains. His way of explanation is a little different than yours, but you’ll take what he gives you.

“Baking?” 

“That too,” he mutters. “It’s weird to do this.”

“But, are you having fun?”

He nods, and you take it as a final answer. As you smile under your nose, you move on to the next step. You think you’re going to make everything on time, with help like him.

“My parents died on Christmas day.” 

Or not.

You drop your eggs a second later; it’s the first, genuine reaction at his sudden words. His quick reflex is the only thing that saves them from going to waste. “Christ, dove, just watch it.”

“Simon, I—”

“—Well, everyone died. Tommy, his wife, kids.” He shrugs, continuing the monologue. You don’t know if it’s a coping mechanism, trying to make it seem like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world, but in some way, it is concerning. “That… well. I just don’t do anythin’ on this day. Or before, really. I pretend it’s nothing special, so I don’t summon whatever that shit was years ago.”

To say that you’re shocked would be an understatement. You have to fight your tears right now, to completely not fall apart right in front of him. “How young were you?”

“Twenty two, I think.”

You put your hand on his—trying to console him, give him some support, even if he doesn’t look like he needs one. “I can’t tell you—”

“—No shit like this.” He looks up, crossing his gaze with yours. Despite his words, you see something in them. Something that quietly says thank you. “I’m a magnet for bad things, and for what it’s worth,” he looks at you, “I didn’t want to get you involved, if something would happen. Everyone around me dies, if I let them get too close.”

“You do know that it’s bullshit, right?” You look up at him; the choice of words isn’t exactly the best, but he seems to know that you mean, when his eyes cross with yours. “I’m so close, and I’m not going anywhere, Simon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. See?” You put one of his hands on your waist, the second on your face. He doesn’t move them.

Simon’s eyes darken, second by second. They’re not a dark chocolate anymore, they resemble more of a dark ocean at midnight. It’s hard to find anything light in them. “I see, but you don’t seem to understand what I mean.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Then, explain it to me.”

“It’s a one way ticket. No backin’ out after this—”

“—I don’t want to back out, so.” You mimic his careless shrugging from earlier. It’s hard to ignore how he rolls his eyes at your act. “What?”

“You’re a brat. Should listen to the elders when they talk, not interrupt them.” He mutters, taking your chin so you could look at him better. “Maybe I could teach you some manners.”

You gulp. “Maybe you could.”

Maybe this interaction is something that needed to be said or done. Maybe Simon needed to reject you at first, and then come to you, so he would tell you part of his story, no filter. Maybe. 

You do not care about that, not right now.

“Stay… still,” he sighs right to your ear, his big hand going under your t-shirt. 

If you’d tell yourself that Simon Riley is going to be one of the most important people for you, the past you probably wouldn’t believe any of that. The first impression wasn’t the best, you were interested in him only because of the mystical aura surrounding him.

Yet, when one of his hands is under your t-shirt, the other on your throat, you couldn’t ask for a better place to be.

[bumblehoneybee]

Hi! Sorry if im bothering but i wanted to ask

Can we get a ddogday x player, this took place a few days before the hour of joy, where reader is a worker who was supposed to help DogDay take care of the kids from playcare

But reader has Cynophobia (extreme fear of dogs) and when they first met DogDay the first thing player does is panic and try to avoid dogday as best as they could, and DogDay being the sweet dog he is, tries his best to comfort and show reader he's not bad

Oof this is way longer then i expected sorry xd

Shaky Hands and Steady Paws

If it weren’t for how stern upper management was, you’d have switched positions ages ago. But they had a very firm air of finality to them when they gave you your assignment, leaving no room for objection or argument. So with a heavy heart and shaky hands, you went to the Playcare, and you met the toy who you would be caring for.

Dogday.

It helped, if minutely, that he was so different from a normal dog. Memories only tingled the back of your brain as you carefully took care of him, stitching up tears and hosing off mud whenever play got too rough. He was kind, he was a good boy, but you couldn’t spend more time with him than the allotted shift, else you’d sink into a hole you’d never climb back out of. You were afraid, you were frustrated, and most of all you were so, so tired of feeling this way.

And Dogday noticed this.

You had gentle hands, he noticed. They shook all the time. At first, he thought you were cold, so he tried to hold your hands, and when you politely declined that, he brought you gloves Crafty helped him make. They were poor quality, and your smile at them was shakier than your hands, but you accepted them all the same. Even wore them sometimes, when “winter” rolled around.

But you never let him get close. You always said what needed to be said and never anything more. He wanted to know you, your favorite color, your favorite treat, if you preferred warm summers or chilly falls. He wanted to share all his stories and fun memories with you, but while you always listened, you never offered any stories of your own.

It was disheartening, to put it lightly. But Dogday wasn’t one to give up on someone.

“Hi.” Dogday greeted when you walked into Home Sweet Home. Most of the kids were at school, leaving Home quiet and peaceful.

“Hi.” You greeted back, carefully moving around Dogday as you began to clean up the room he and the other male critters used. Dogday tripped over himself to help you. “Why don’t you go relax with your friends?”

Dogday winced, wringing a blanket in his hands as he watched you deliberately not look at him and keep your distance. “Um. . . you’re my friend too!” That caused you to perk up. Dogday straightened, tail beginning to wag behind him. Maybe that was the problem? You didn’t think you were friends? “Yeah! We’re friends! And I want to help my friends whenever I can!”

You hummed, but didn’t say anything more. Your hands were shaking, causing the little tower of books in your arms to tremble. You felt Dogday move towards you, watched his shadow fall over you, and the books fell. Your arms gave up, and instead your hands fired to your face.

Today was already not a good day. And now this.

“Oh!” Dogday gasped. He touched your shoulder, afraid you were crying, but you jolted away. You stumbled back, plopping onto the closest bed, and dropped your head back into your hands.

“I-I can’t. . .” You gasped. Dogday carefully lowered onto his knees, trying to catch your gaze, but you were hidden away. “Not today, I can’t. . .”

“Th-that’s okay!” Dogday said. His hands flapped around as he tried to think on how to soothe you. You were so distressed! It wasn’t like you, normally so composed and put together and polite and professional. “I can clean up! You don’t have to; you can just rest on my bed! Yeah?”

He panicked a little when you didn’t respond.

“Are you sick?” He asked, voice hushed in case your head hurt.

You let out a sob.

“Oh no!!”

Dogday didn’t know what to do. As you cried into your hands, he ran around the room, grabbing any and everything he could find. He threw blankets on your, found lost plushes to press into your arms, even nearly mowed the bathroom door down in an attempt to get you water.

It was. . . too much. You hated being this way, feeling this way. It’d be easier if he was mean, if he was like those other dogs you grew up around, who always bit first and asked questions later. Dogday was so sweet, though, and it confused you. Your fear mixed with your desire to be friends, actual friends, and it made everything so frustrating to deal with.

Dogday knelt before you again, a small mug of water in his large hands. He wordlessly offered it to you once you raised your head. His eyes were bright against the darkness of his sockets, flitting about your ruddy, tear-stained face. He was so worried about you, despite how you never let him close, pushed him away at every turn.

You smiled. “Thank you. . . and I’m sorry.”

“Aw, it’s no big deal!” Dogday brushed your apology aside, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassed delight. You smiled at him! Actually, fully smiled!! Wait until the others heard. “If you’re sick, I wanna help!”

You nodded some, unsure if you should even let him know. You took the mug in your hands and sipped it, sighing some. He deserved to know, didn’t he? But would knowing hurt him? You’d done enough of that already.

“I. . .” You paused, at battle with yourself, but Dogday sat at your feet, ever attentive. “I haven’t had a good day today. Dropping the books was the last straw, kinda. I’m sorry.”

Dogday shook his head. “You don’t gotta apologize for that! You can’t help it.” He scooted closer, nearly resting his head in your lap, but the plushes he had put there earlier stopped him. It also helped him remember how you weren’t the fondest of touch. “Oh! Sorry.”

It was your turn to shake your head. “S’fine, Dogday.” Fear bit at your insides, and while you didn’t want to get any closer than you had to, you figured. . . talking would be okay. It would be a start, and as you got better, you’d tell him. When things hurt less. “I’ve always been a crybaby, you know?”

Dogday perked up, ears cocked. “Oh??”

“Yeah. When I was a kid. . .”

Dogday listened to your every word with stars in his eyes. You were opening up to him! Telling him things! He was so happy. Maybe now you two could be friends, like all the other critters with their own caretakers. He couldn’t wait to get there, but he knew this was going to take time too. He’d be patient, for you.

He’d do anything to get you to smile at him like that again.

[andimlonely]

Reach for Me

✧ Xiao x f!reader | modern au ✧ fluff, some angst but nothing heavy, some crying, hurt/comfort ✧ Xiao realizes maybe your offer to bring him food was instead a request to not be alone. ft. Kazuha a/n: I'm terrible with titles, this was the best I could think of :') sorta proofread so there may be mistakes

“I’m going to go pick up some things for dinner, do you want me to bring you anything?” Xiao’s eyes lift up from his monitor screen briefly, “No thanks. I’m leaving soon. Need to pick up some new parts.”

He keeps typing in the dim light of the living room while you stand in the kitchen, scanning the contents of your refrigerator, making a mental note of what to bring back. 

Your eyes drift to the middle shelf and the tupperware of white rice that sits there nearly unaccompanied. You’ve grown accustomed to this sight, and to your roommate’s interesting eating habits. Although Xiao works from home, he rarely cooks anything more complicated than protein and rice, if he even cooks at all. You’re far from the healthiest eater or most skilled cook, but his diet still baffles you every time you think about it too long. He always declines your offers to make him something else to eat, but you’ve worked your way around sneaking better meals to him by “accidentally” making too much food. If you’re lucky, he’ll even join you while you’re eating and tune into whatever you switch on to watch, but usually you’ll just come back to find that the leftovers are gone, the dish you left them in sitting on the drying rack. Honestly, you really hoped that you could rope him into eating together tonight, even just for a little while.

You shut the refrigerator door and linger at the counter, casting your eyes to Xiao, the cool light of his screen highlighting his features, which stay trained on his screen. “Are you sure? I might bring some dessert back too.” Xiao hums in response, fingers still clacking periodically. “I’ll pick something up on the way back.” You want to tell him that you don’t mind, that he should just save his money and eat with you instead. But you don’t want to be overbearing. If he really wanted you to bring something or make something for him, he’d probably just tell you. Right? “‘Kay. Then, I’ll see you later when you get back,” you say lightly as you tug your coat on and slip on your shoes. He nods, saying nothing for a moment, then casts a brief glance at you. “Be careful.”

Smiling softly, you hum and he watches you slip through the doorway, the lock clicking behind you. Xiao’s eyes linger there for a moment before he resumes working. 

Would it really have been so bad to ask you to bring something back? You did offer, so it wouldn’t have been too bothersome, right? No, you were probably just being polite. You’re already always offering to share some of your food with him, the last thing he wants is to make you feel obligated to make or bring him something to eat. After all, he’s only your roommate. He isn’t your… 

Xiao continues working on his code, but in the automatic drone of typing lines, his mind starts to wander. As he plays your behavior from awhile ago back, he isn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but it felt like you had something you wanted to say. At the time, he was too absorbed in his work to register it fully, but thinking back on it, he’s certain. 

You’ve been living here for about 5 months now, and in that time, Xiao had gotten to know you well enough to know when you weren’t acting normally. It was unexpected, a scenario he hadn’t anticipated when you moved into the room left empty by his old roommate. It was his old roommate that brought you to this apartment, and at the time, Xiao was reluctant to share a space with someone new after how long it took just to get used to the first one. At first he dreaded the thought of encountering you when he left his room and inevitably ran into you in the kitchen, or the space between your rooms and the bathroom. But then he found himself leaving his room more often, even working more on the pc in the living room. If you happened to be sat on the couch watching something, you would always ask if you were being too distracting and offer to just watch in your room instead. He always said no, but really, he just didn't mind. You even started to invite him to join you after he finished if he had time. 

It was.. weird. The way the things he thought would be bothersome or awkward, ended up not bothering him at all. The way you became a natural addition to every day, the way you unknowingly made even someone as set in his habits as he was not notice the changes in routine right away, not mind them. 

The tone of the doorbell abruptly breaks his train of thought. He raises a brow, lifting out of his chair and making his way to the door. Xiao rarely has guests beyond the customers he builds computers for, and they never come by unannounced like this, so he isn’t sure who to expect. He peers through the peephole, not immediately recognizing the face of the person stood outside the door. 

Reluctantly, he opens the door and realizes it’s your friend Kazuha, a bouquet of (f/c) flowers in hand. In the center of the bunch is a small decorative card with your name handwritten on it.  “Xiao, hello. Is (y/n) home?,” Kazuha asks pleasantly.  

“Oh, uh, hi. No, she left a while ago. To get groceries, I think,” he replies, his eyes drifting back to the flowers Kazuha is carrying. 

Kazuha frowns and glances at his phone, “Ahh, she told me she wasn’t working tonight so I thought she would be here. I unfortunately can’t stay... Could you let her know I came by? And take these inside for her?” 

“..Sure.”

Kazuha holds out the bouquet to Xiao, who takes it into his hands .

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I tried to request the day off but..,” he sighs, smiling solemnly, “I just feel awful knowing she’s alone on her birthday.”

--!

Birthday? 

Oh… 

“Well, not completely alone,” the soft-spoken man corrects lightly, looking Xiao in the eye, “But still. I’ll have to make it up to her soon. It’s never too late to celebrate important occasions, I suppose.”

It’s your birthday. You came home, greeted Xiao normally and went about your usual activities, without mentioning it. And.. you offered to bring him something to eat back from the store. On your birthday. 

“I should be heading back now. Please let her know I said ‘happy birthday.’ I texted her, but I’m sure she would appreciate it more that way.” He nods, clutching the paper wrapping of the bouquet a little tighter. “Mm. I’ll let her know.”

Kazuha thanks Xiao warmly before departing. 

Xiao carries your bouquet to the kitchen. He might not know much about flowers but he's at least sure you're meant to put them in water right away. Sometimes you bring home flowers yourself, or maybe you're gifted them then too. The thought's crossed Xiao’s mind before, and now that Kazuha brought these over for you, he can't help but wonder if every bouquet you bring home is from him. 

He drops the stems carefully into your vase after filling it with water and sets the fluted glass on the table. Xiao’s stare is pensive as he studies the array of flowers, his fingers reaching out to touch the card nestled in the center, parts of your name catching the light. 

Why didn't you tell him? Even if you aren't the closest, he thought you had become comfortable enough with each other to bring something like this up.

Maybe it’s only him that feels that way. 

He's tried to make an effort to be more open, to not make you feel unwelcome in your shared space, but it's not something that comes easily to him. If you didn't even want to tell him it was your birthday today, then.. Maybe his attempt to soften his generally prickly disposition wasn’t enough, and after all he was too off-putting even for someone like you not to recoil from. 

Alone on her birthday. 

Xiao checks his phone for the time. You didn't leave too long ago, and since you don't drive, he figures there's time before you get back. He realizes there won't be enough time to pick up the parts he ordered. Whatever, the store will be open tomorrow. 

In a rush, he pulls on the hoodie hanging off his chair and snatches his keys off the kitchen counter. 

--

“Thank you,” you smile as you're handed your food. The woman working at the counter thanks you in turn and you exit the bustling restaurant, Thai food in hand.

As you make your way back home, which isn't far from here, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

A message from Kazuha. ‘let me know when you get home’

‘okay,’ you reply, with a raised brow. Wait. How would he know you aren't home unless he had stopped by? 

You text him this, but he only sends a :) in response, to which you huff amusedly. 

Still, you appreciate Kazuha making a big deal of today. You woke up to a silly birthday gif from him this morning, and a couple of messages about how much he hopes you enjoy your day, that he’ll make it up to you for not being able to spend your ‘special day’ with you. 

You readjust your grip on the plastic bag, switching it over to your other hand, the aroma of your favorite dishes faint but enticing. Although he said he didn't want anything, you ordered extra curry and salad for Xiao, just in case. At worst, you would just have more leftovers for tomorrow, so even if he doesn't want any, it won't go to waste. He seemed to like the curry last time you brought some home though. 

Xiao. He won't be home when you get back. It'll just be you there, sitting alone in your apartment.

You should have just asked him to eat with you. If you had, would he have stayed for a little while? And would it be because he wanted to, or because he felt obligated to?

No, you dismiss your selfish thoughts. You couldn’t ask Xiao to abandon his work just because it happened to be your birthday today. You did consider mentioning it to him before, but the thought of letting someone know was like explicitly asking to be cared about, asking for someone to give you attention, letting them know that you wanted it. Openly admitting the desire to feel special, even just for a little bit. 

If no one knew it was your birthday, then it wouldn’t hurt as badly when you inevitably ended up spending it alone. You try to bypass the disappointment of someone forgetting, or not caring, by not giving them the chance to at all. 

It’s just a day like any other. If you treat it that way..

..when it isn’t special, then it won’t hurt. 

And it isn’t. And you.. aren’t. So you have no right to cry over being alone on your birthday. 

It doesn’t matter. It’s silly and selfish, and

And it still hurts anyway. Your eyes are spilling over as you roam through the streets back home, the blurry faces of people passing you by barely registering as more than blurs of color in your sheer loneliness. 

You sigh as you enter your apartment building, not looking forward to walking into an empty apartment. And you had spent so long just getting the Thai food that you didn't have the energy to pick up a dessert after all.

You wipe your eyes and open the door only part of the way before you’re startled by the sight of Xiao standing in the doorway.

“Xiao! You scared me,” you exhale, lowering the bag in your hands as you catch your breath.

He averts his eyes, mentally regretting waiting by the door. “Sorry. I heard you outside so I was about to open it for you.”

You sigh once more, wiping your eyes and praying you don’t look too disheveled from crying. “It's okay. I just thought you'd be gone by now.”

His hands are in his pockets as he steps back to allow you through the doorway, his eyes darting elsewhere. He doesn’t miss the way you sniffle softly. When he checked to see who he heard at the door, he thought it looked like you were wiping your eyes then too.  

You slip your shoes off, silently wondering why he hasn't moved away. When you rise to your feet, ready to walk into the living room, he stops you. 

“Wait, um..,” God this is so difficult, “Close your eyes.”

You blink at him, but oblige. “I'm scared,” you mutter, a nervous smile painting your lips.

“..Don't be,” he says, the usual edge still in his voice notably softer. 

He takes you in as you stand there with your eyes closed, hand reaching out and stopping just before it reaches you. He considers retracting it altogether, but he doesn't, instead letting his fingers curl around your wrist and lift it gently but clumsily towards him. He casts a nervous glance at your face, hoping the soft giggle that leaves your lips isn't one of discomfort. 

“Sorry, it tickled a little.”

The grip on your wrist tightens briefly, and he starts to pull you along, leading you into the living room. You don't realize it, but his heart is pounding just as much as yours. As Xiao brings you into the living room, he reluctantly lets go of your wrist. He gives a final, uncertain glance to your surroundings. He did what he could in the limited time he had, and it certainly showed. He hopes that in spite of how quickly he threw everything together, you won’t be too disappointed. 

“Okay. You can.. open them now.”

When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a slightly crooked ‘happy birthday’ banner strung up above the couch, two bunches of white and (f/c) balloons floating on either side. Streamers curl down from the ceiling around you, leading your eye down to the bouquet and small, but pretty cake sitting on the coffee table. A light strip hangs just above it all, a softly fading cool white light illuminating the decor in a way that feels almost dreamy. 

He did all of this, for you? And you didn’t even ask him to. 

Xiao stands a little behind you, tensely watching you take in his glaringly sloppy decoration. Since your back is to him, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You bend slightly to look at the bouquet more closely and set down the food you had nearly forgotten you were holding until now.

“The flowers are from Kazuha.”

So that’s why he texted you asking when you would be home. That must be how Xiao found out.

“Xiao..,” you call softly as you finally turn around to face him. 

Xiao’s hands are in his pockets, his head tilted away from you slightly. 

“You,” you try to find the words, truly taken aback, “You did all this?”

He looks away. “If I had known sooner, I would have done a little more.”

Without warning, your lip starts to tremble and you’re covering your mouth with your hand. Xiao panics. He knows this was a pathetic attempt at doing something nice for you, but he didn’t think it was bad enough to upset you.

“Hey--,” he moves closer, reaching out to you weakly. He isn’t sure how to console you. “Is.. is it that bad?” 

“It’s not bad,” you cry, shaking your head.

Xiao rakes a hand through his hair, “Then what’s wrong?”

You’ve never actually cried in front of Xiao before, and the feeling of him seeing you break down like this only has you spilling tears of embarrassment. You must look like such a baby, blubbering this way in front of him.

“You didn’t have to do anything for me. I feel bad. You were supposed to, pick up your parts,” you manage through sniffles and sharp inhales. 

Even now, you’re more worried about inconveniencing him than anything else. It finally clicks to Xiao that as much as you might have wanted to celebrate your birthday, maybe you were afraid, because it seemed like asking too much. Maybe you feel as though you aren’t worth the effort, and the realization makes his chest ache.

“I.. I wanted to. I can get the parts tomorrow. So don’t worry about it.”

Xiao watches you helplessly wipe your eyes. He unconsciously clenches one of his hands, at a loss, overcome with the need to comfort you but afraid to cross a boundary. But the sight of your tear-stained face is too much to bear. He risks making you feel worse and pulls you into a tight embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head. The worry that he might make you uncomfortable disperses immediately as you cling to him, your face buried in the soft fabric of his black sweater.

“You should have told me. I-,” he mutters, fingers grasping at the back of your hair, “I would’ve planned something more special.”

You shake your head, still nestled against his chest, your fingers clutching at his sweater. “It wasn’t important.”

“It is to me.” He pauses. “and Kazuha too.” 

If it weren’t for your pale-haired friend, he wouldn’t have found out in the first place, so it felt wrong not to acknowledge him.

“So.. you don’t have to spend it alone.”

“Thank you,” you say, your cheek still pressed against Xiao’s chest. He smells so nice. You’re rarely ever close enough to him to smell him for more than a moment. You sink into his warm embrace, letting him stroke your hair until your breathing slows to a steadier pace. 

You stand together in silence for a while before Xiao speaks.

“What did you bring?”

“Thai food.”

Of course, he thinks. It’s close by, and one of your favorites. 

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, “We could.. Watch your favorite show, or something, while you eat. If you want to.”

You smile up at him through wet lashes. “Only if you eat with me.”

The two of you sit on the couch with the tv on, plates of rice and curry and salad spread out on the coffee table with your vase of flowers.

Xiao is only partially paying attention to the show. To be fair, he was initially somewhat interested in following along, but his eyes kept drifting to you before long. Whether you were giggling at something a character said or intently immersed in the plot of the episode, he kept looking forward to your reactions. This time, when you laughed, you looked to him, reflexively seeking out his reaction. He’s caught off guard, disarmed by the way your smile spreads warmth through his chest, and the tint of his face shows it. 

Over the course of the night you and Xiao had unconsciously moved closer together on the couch. You suddenly realize it and sneak a glance at him, wondering if he minds the lack of distance between you, if maybe you should move away. If he’s noticed, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

Maybe it’s a consequence of him indulging you, suddenly allowing yourself to ask for what you want. 

“...Xiao?”

He looks at you, brow raised. “Hm?”

His eyes are bright even in the dim blue tint of the room, and you feel your heart race, suddenly losing some of your nerve. Your fingers toy with the hem of your sleeve.

“Can I lay on your shoulder?”

--!

“S-sure.”

You let your head fall against his arm, finally letting go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. The fear of someone catching your hand when you reach out. 

Xiao’s tensed body relaxes after a moment, and you both settle into your position with ease, as if you’ve always watched tv like this. Now that you are, neither of you is sure you can go back to the way you did before.

Xiao grows so used to your weight against him that he doesn’t even realize when you’ve dozed off until he hears you faintly snore. He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. He looks down at you, curled up and leaning on him, the light of the tv flickering along your face. 

To think you would have been sitting by yourself in your room had it not been for your friend stopping by, because you didn’t think it mattered enough to trouble anyone, maybe that you didn’t matter enough. He isn’t sure if he was able to convince you that you didn’t need to be afraid to reach out to him, but he would keep finding your hand for you until you didn’t. 

Xiao lets his head rest atop yours, taking in the scent of your shampoo and exhaling softly. “Happy birthday.”

[moodymisty]

Instead of Lorgar getting cucked by Erebus (shudders) what about Argel Tal? He’s a Word Bearer space marine and I’ve heard good things about him. Also, this way we can have had Lorgar get cucked by his father (Emepror), his brother (Horus), and his son (Argel Tal)

Author’s note: I’m sorry I couldn’t not do it XD I'm normally really not a cheating/NTR type of person, but i had this idea and decided to just go for it.

Warnings: very vaguely lewd, Cheating, You are Lorgar’s beloved but he’s been gone for almost two years so Argel’s gonna tap that

Lorgar was often gone for so long.

For months, months apon months, It wasn't uncommon for life ending droughts and city destroying floods to happen in his absence. Entire building erected or torn down.

It's approaching a year and a half now since he left, and if it weren't for the murals, tapestries and art, you would've sworn you had begun to forget the details of his face.

You've stopped sleeping in his room since. You couldn't do it anymore. Something about it just felt so empty and cold.

He’s due to be gone for months longer still, as his crusade has drifted him so far from home. The letters and vox calls have stopped since, it's too far for them to reach Colchis.

It’s been so lonely. The emotional loneliness, the lack of someone to talk to…

The physical loneliness; The want for a hug, and a warm bed.

Argel Tal has at least been saying your need for the first type, talking with you as you look over the balcony. You’re leaning against it, dress gently flowing in the wind as the cool night air hits your skin, while Argel grasps it with a single, armored hand. You're surprised he's made such good company, normally the astartes are so stoic that it's hard to speak to them for more than a bit at a time.

Then again, you also think he's doing it because Lorgar ordered him to. To keep an eye on you. You only have an inkling, but even if he was, at least he seems to be enjoying it a bit none the less. You are as well.

The conversation has tapered off however, and you watch lights in the far distance flicker while the stars shine in the sky. It's peaceful. Argel breaks the silence with his voice- deep and rumbling in that odd astartes way.

"...Do you miss him, my Lady?"

He takes off his helmet, looking down at you. You hear the soft clink as he hangs it on his belt. It takes a moment for you to gather the words.

"I do, more than anything, but..."

You hesitate. Argel Tal is his son, one of his prized captains. His look is expectant, and for some reason you perhaps naively think he won't misconstrue your words.

"He's been gone for so long that I almost miss him less. Like when someone dies and you miss them with all your heart, but the wound slowly fades."

Argel looks down at you, jaw shifting as he thinks.

“Perhaps the others might not but, I understand.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Argel. You are a good man.”

Argel smiles, his tan skin scarred across his cheeks but still warm. You can't help but smile back at him as a cold breeze makes you shiver.

“I am honored you think that.”

Argel has so much humility compared to the other Word Bearers you’ve met, it’s refreshing. It also helps that he isn't as dedicated to Lorgar's titles for you; And had listened to your request when you told him to not use them.

You've been always looking forward to seeing him in these moments. It's the most joy you get in weeks long stretches at a time.

“I,” You don’t know why you hesitate, for a moment. “I should head to bed. Thank you for your time again, Argel. I hope you know how much I appreciate you being here.”

The astartes nods, pulling away from the railing as you do the same.

"You make good company as well. Astartes like I don't often get to speak with normal humans beyond giving orders." You give him another smile, before wishing him good night. He nods and leaves you, after you politely declined his offer to bring you to your quarters.

When you had, he seemed like he had something a bit more to say, but instead closed his mouth and walked away.

You decided about halfway that you would return to Lorgar's personal quarters instead; Perhaps to read a few of his books before trying to sleep. It probably wouldn't help, but you still wanted to try anyways. It was a long walk to get across the palace to where his quarters were, and by the time you got there you felt like sitting down.

You close the massive doors behind you, looking around. The bed is made from the last time you were in here, not a thing out of place. All the papers on his desk are scattered just the same, things half written or abandoned; Almost as if frozen in time.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps right outside causes you to turn back towards the door with a look of surprise, which only grows widen when the door is shoved open to reveal Argel. He’s removed his armor in the short time since he left, walking towards you in only his loose robes.

You don’t have time to say anything; Argel’s hands grab your face with both hands around your jaw- ignoring your shock gasp and instinctive fear has massive hands reached towards your neck - and leans downward to smash his lips against yours. He is rough and unforgiving, but even in his forcefulness you can feel something gentle there.

“You cannot tell Lorgar about these sins I have already committed,”

He says, lips brushing over yours. You could say the same as well. You are his beloved, but not yet wife.

But you are also so, unbelievably lonely.

“I won’t, I won’t ever-“

His lips are back on yours, and you attempt to pull him towards the bed. Any hope in realizing you shouldn’t do this is gone, you lost it as his hands gripped the thin fabric of your nightdress. You lost it in the desire for some sort of company, to fill the places in your heart Lorgar's constant abandonments leave ripped open.

Your back hits the bed and Argel follows.

“Tell me what you want, before I lose myself to my own selfishness.”

His body is so heavy, but he’s unfraid to push his weight against you. He takes the breath from your lungs, his hand tight on your waist.

“Just… Just touch me.”

[violetswritingg]

Thunderstruck

Tyler Owens x OFC!

Description: When cowgirl meets cowboy after a year of no-contact and chaos ensues during storm season!

Rating: M (Mentions of blood and death in Tornadoes and storms alike, angst and loss of loved ones, car accidents, Tornado aftermath, and injury to characters, slight age gap (5 years))

Hey! I don't normally post my writing on here, I'm normally only on Wattpad but I decided to cross post and so here is the first of many fics to be moved over here and enjoyed as well! I hope you guys enjoy the story, I honestly have no idea who many chapters this is going to be lol.

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

1

April, 2005

Oklahoma

The sound of silverware on plates was all that could be heard, but that was normal for a Thornton-Harding-St. James family dinner. Nathan and Juliette had been tense all dinner barely saying a word to each other. All since Jo and Bill had arrived all smiles. The women's mother Michelle, and both Jo and Bill watching the parents as if they were an active bomb ready to go off at any moment. Nathan was at least trying. Smiling, as best he could, and making polite conversation when prompted, the father mainly focused on Riley who sat on his other side. Making sure she wasn't playing with her food.

At six she should know better, and he needed to teach her it was rude to waste the food someone had worked really hard to make for them. But now that the food had been eaten, there wasn't much distraction left to hide behind.

"Uh, so, Julie, how's Riley been doing in school?" Jo tried; she really did. But Juliette was mean on a good day and that day was not today. The empty wine glass next to her being her fourth, and once she got to drinking her temper just got worse.

"She's doing fine." Juliette sniffed as she sat up straighter, a forced smile on her face. Eyes narrowed as she settled into a defensive position. "Why?"

"No reason, just making conversation." Jo sighed, looking at Bill for a second before meeting Nathan's grimaced grin. Trying not to cause a scene in front of everybody was taking all his will power, wanting nothing more than to snap at Juliette and shake her. Hoping that would maybe change her entire personality, the one he hadn't seen until she was telling him she was pregnant and that it was his all those years ago.

"Right." Juliette scoffed, "You have no right to judge me, you don't even have a kid!" her jaw snapped shut, eyes blistering as she spat her words at her older sister. Jo tensed up and Riley had started to pay attention to the adults at the table instead of finishing her little slice of pie. Nathan wanted to crawl into a hole and die, take Riley with him far far away from Juliette. Riley loved Jo and Bill though and he couldn't just do that. Michelle was over the moon when she found out she was going to have a grandbaby, she's 75 now and doesn't have a lot of time left to spend with anyone, much less Riley, not with how her health had been declining recently. The stress of living in Tornado alley having taken its toll after her husband was taken in that fateful storm.

Riley was her whole world. Michelle watched her when Nathan, Bill, and Jo were out storm chasing. Juliette, even though she lived in the same house, the Harding family farm. Being rebuilt on the same land, Michelle couldn't bare to leave it behind after the original house was destroyed. Riley didn't mind it, even though she missed her dad, she loved getting to hang out with Grandma. They were like best friends. But Nathan had needed to start taking Riley with him and his team because of her health issues, and because he knew that Juliette would leave Riley to her own devices for however long he was gone, the almost 6 year old hanging out in the tech van usually a couple miles behind him and always a safe distance from the storm in pursuit.

"I am very much aware of that Juliette." Jo grit out, Bill reaching out an arm around her shoulders, the couple had hit their early 40's, still childless, still chasing. But had been entertaining the idea of settling down after one too many close calls. The topic of having kids was a sensitive one, they had been trying quietly for about a year now and no luck. Something Jo had shared with her sister and Nathan in confidence.

"The food was great Michelle-" Bill tried to move onto another topic, but got blocked.

"I'm not surprised though, I'm sure there's cobwebs up there at this point." Juliette cruelly laughed. "I'm sure Bill will move on to a younger model when he finally realizes you'll never be able to produce."

"Juliette May Thornton! You watch your-"

"What mom?" Juliette turned on Michelle next, the elderly woman sitting taller in her chair, white hair pulled back in a simple style, warm eyes worn and normally full of life. Now though, they only held disappointment in her youngest daughter. "There it is. There's the look. I'm not going to take this; I am not going to be attacked in my own goddamn house." Julliette huffed and pushed out her chair with a sharp scrape against the wood flooring and stomped upstairs.

Nathan let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, as Riley's little voice called out for her mom. Only to be ignored.

"Why don't you go turn on some cartoons okay baby? You got 30 minutes until bedtime, you get one show and then in the bath for you okay?" Nathan picked up his daughter and hauled her into his lap, booping her nose, causing light giggles to erupt.

Riley's dark blonde curls bouncing as she nodded quickly, Nathan setting her on her feet and the adults chuckled as she all but ran. Already hearing the Scooby-doo theme song playing over the air. The tension leaving his shoulders now that the cause of all his stress was no longer in the room.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, "She's been in a bad mood all day, picking fights just because."

"Hey, I grew up with her. If I'm not used to it at this point, then I need a thicker skin." Jo chuckled, despite the hurt still lingering in her eyes.

"Still, what crawled up her ass and died?" Bill scoffed, pulling Jo to his side and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Nathan watching, his sight going green for a second. That's what he wanted, it's what he didn't know he wanted until he saw it with them, until he had to spend his days attached to Juliette. Riley was the bright spot, the good thing to come out of a shitty situation. Nathan would deal with Juliette every day for the rest of his life as long as he got to see Riley.

"I have been asking myself that question for years Billy." Nathan sighed out, laughing to himself, resigned to dealing with it later.

~~*~~

"What you said at dinner was uncalled for." Nathan puffed out, pulling off pillows from their shared bed. He may as well be sleeping alone though.

"Are you gonna attack me now too Nathanial?" Juliette scoffed, rolling her eyes at him from the bathroom vanity mirror as she got ready for bed. The slight slur to her voice telling him the wine was starting to hit her full force now.

"I'm not attacking you, simply stating you went too far. And that maybe you owe Jo an apology?" He tried, but got nothing but a single, indignant laugh in response.

"You think she's better than me huh? Is that it?!" Nathan hung his head, abandoning the task of making up the bed. He pushed back the tears of frustration and looked back at the woman he was sure he had been in love with, or at the very least liked at one point.

"When have I ever said that?" He started, voice heavy with exhaustion.

"You don't have to say it, you've always liked her better than me. Just like everyone else! I thought you were different!"

"You are 36 years old Juliette! When are you going to let this go?" He never raised his voice when they argued, never wanting Riley to hear, but Juliette seemed to want to wake the whole house which included Jo and Bill who were spending the night before heading out in the morning. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"You aren't denying it! God! I am so stupid! I never should have stayed. Never should have-" She kept muttering under her breath every seeming regret she had as she stormed into the room, yanked open the closet, grabbing a duffle bag from inside and throwing her clothes in it haphazardly. "This place is suffocating! You are suffocating with your judgy eyes and every comment about how I raise Riley-"

"You don't! That's the issue! What are you doing?" Nathan sighed as she plopped the duffle bag on the still made up side of the bed, her side.

"What does it look like. I can't stay here. Not with you or them. All of you just hate on me all the time, look at me like I'm nothing but a disappointment. I'm sorry I'm not perfect! I'm sorry I'm not golden girl Jo!" Juliette finished, throwing an arm towards the door, chest heaving as she zipped up her duffle bag and yanked open the bedroom door. Slamming it shut behind her.

Nathan listened to her as she went down the stairs, taking a breath before he was going after her, repeating over and over she is the mother of your child in his head. When they first met, it was in the middle of storm season and Jo's kid sister decided she wanted to come with her chasing that year, she was just as wild back then. Less mean, less insecure. She was all bright eyes and wide smiles, soft skin and warm affection. Until she got pregnant. That's when everything changed.

"Jules! Jules!" Nathan whisper-shouted, as he tripped down the stairs.

"What's happening?" Bill questioned, opening the door to the guest room on the first floor, in a white t-shirt and his boxers, yawning and scratching his face. Jo's voice behind him asking the same thing, sleep slurring her words though.

"I don't know William, ask your wife." Juliette spit as she past him and Nathan was still trying to get to her.

"Just go back to bed, sorry for waking you-"

"Oh shut up Nathan!"

"Was I talking to you?!" He finally snapped and Bill's mouth dropped, Juliette looked like she had been slapped.

"Well, I never..." Juliette huffed, holding a hand to her chest. Crocodile tears in her eyes, Nathan had seen them enough to know she was just trying to make him feel guilty. It was at that moment that Jo decided to get out of bed and come to the door to see what was going on.

"Bill, Jo, please, go back to bed. We're fine-"

"No! We're not fine. You know this is all your fault? Right?! If I had never gotten pregnant, my life wouldn't be like it is now. Miserable. If I had never met you or had Riley I would be happy. I wish I had never met you! I wish I had gotten rid of the baby, keeping her was a mistake-"

"Hey!-" Nathan could only see red.

"Mommy?"

Everything stopped and it felt like a lead weight had been dropped into Nathan's stomach. He turned around and looked up at the bottom of the stairs, the dirty-blonde head of his daughter, her big blue eyes, his eyes, staring up at her mother with confusion.

It was clear Juliette didn't know what to say, and Nathan was ready to swing if she said anything negative to his kid. There was a tense silence, Riley pulled her blanket and stuffed rabbit closer to her, looking unsure.

"Do you want a hug? You look sad." Riley pattered slowly up to the woman, stopping at her feet and looking up at the much taller adult who had given birth to her. Tugging on her sweatpants gently, looking for a connection. It broke Nathan's heart, knowing Riley would never get that. At least not with Juliette.

"I'm not your mommy anymore." With that Juliette turned on her heel and left. Slamming the front door behind her.

"Daddy?" Riley, with tears in her eyes looked to the man who was instantly there. Picking her up and holding her to him, her tears dampening the shoulder of his t-shirt. "Where did mommy go?"

"I don't know baby. I don't know." With one last look over his shoulder to Bill and Jo, the couple grinning sadly at the father-daughter pair. Nathan doing his best to not shake in anger. Juliette was gone for now, he had to focus on Riley. Make sure she was okay. And so, he took his daughter back up to her room and three bedtime stories, a lullaby, and a forehead kiss later she was back down and snoring softly. Hair sprawled crazily behind her, her favorite dino pj's on, blanket and rabbit next to her.

Nathan's love-filled gaze was like honey, his fingers petting her hair back from her face. When Juliette told him she was pregnant he had been terrified, convinced she was lying. He didn't take it well. He was still in his PhD program, had just been offered a huge grant to keep working on his already existing research, he couldn't see himself able to have a kid without throwing everything he had been working towards his whole life away.

Which wasn't true, he had to defer the grant for a year, finished out that year at school and then dropped out of the PhD program, it killed him, but he couldn't go to school back home in Arkansas if Juliette refused to leave Oklahoma. He may not have wanted the kid in the first place but he was raised right and was going to step up however he had to.

He wanted to be there for Juliette as she carried the baby, support her. She was miserable, she lost close to twenty pounds due to morning sickness and had to be on bed rest for months. It wasn't fun and she was horrible every minute of it. Michelle and him had to walk on eggshells every second of every day, and even then they still would set her off someway somehow. They let it slide during the pregnancy because it was understandable, she was constantly uncomfortable, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't walk. But after Riley was born the behavior stayed, and only got worse as Riley struggled to breast feed and Juliette struggled to bond with her baby.

The connection with Nathan and Riley had been immediate though and that pissed Juliette off, it was just one more person who hadn't chosen her first. That, in her mind, didn't want her. Nathan suggested therapy but was met with a scoff and another argument about her being scared he was trying to take Riley away from her by claiming she was crazy, which was so not the case.

He could still remember when he first held Riley in the hospital, how perfect she was in every way, and still is. He hadn't ever felt the kind of love he did when he first laid eyes on his daughter, her little fingers wrapped around his pointer finger and his entire heart. She was an easy kid, at least with him. Juliette never seemed to figure out how to calm Riley down when she was fussy or upset, and would get frustrated with her quickly, yelling, berating. Nathan had walked in one time when Riley had gotten a fever and needed one of them up with her at all times, he could have sworn Juliette was about to shake the, then months old Riley, who had been wailing for what felt like hours that night.

He stopped trusting her to be alone with Riley at that moment in time. In the back of his mind he always knew Juliette wasn't going to stick around, she never did when things got hard. Fact of the matter was this had happened before, multiple times, Nathan just hoped that one day Riley wouldn't remember any of this. Or the hurtful words her mom said to her that night.

~~*~~

[notjustjavierpena]

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part III: Fussing

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A cute summer romance has started! Enjoy chapter three!

Summary: Joel punches a creep for you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), violence, misogynistic behavior, pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 1.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120930880

Chapter Three: Fussing

It seemed that Joel fell into a habit of coming to the rescue more than a few times. The ankle incident was over after a little over a week, but only because Joel would make sure that you had grocery shopping done by either himself or Sarah, so you could relax on your couch or in your bed as much as possible. 

Sitting at home with horrible television had caused a severe case of cabin fever. You had gone out to socialize at the first chance you got, but ended up sitting alone in a booth without high expectations for the night. That was until a stranger had asked for your number and when you had politely declined, much to the guy’s dismay, his flirty attitude had crumbled and evolved into something creepy. 

You twirl your phone in your hand. Joel had given you his number during the ankle incident, which you had texted a few times with a grocery list, but otherwise not at all.

Until now.

You have sent him a text message saying that he needs to come fetch you, because you’ve been drinking and you have unwanted attention. Normally, you would have handled these kinds of situations by texting your best friend, but she isn’t from town and you just want to get out of there now. You’ll never hear the end of it from Joel, you know this, but you reckon it has less to do with you and more to do with the fact that he is the father of a teenage girl. Something about being a role model. 

“Sorry, I’m really not interested,” you say as you pocket your cell phone again. You give the man a polite smile, but he doesn’t turn to leave. Instead, he starts up a conversation about his job which is apparently something that earns him a lot of money. 

You keep up the forced conversation to not make a scene but try to sound bored. There is no point in upsetting the man in front of you, because it’ll trap you here and make it unsafe to leave if you really, really wanted to. You’re not sure how he doesn’t read into the fact that you don’t ask him any questions like an interested person would.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I could get you one of those with a curly straw, tiny umbrella,” he grins.

“I’m sure. No thanks.”

“Come on. It’s just one drink, and I’d like to get to know someone as sexy as you,” he goes on. 

You grimace, “I’m not looking for company like that, sorry.” 

“Oh, don’t be so boring, sweethea—“

“She said beat it,” Joel’s voice booms from beside you. His cheeks are slightly flushed as if he has been in a hurry and he pants just slightly from what you assume is suppressed anger. 

Seeing him makes relief wash over you in an instant, and you fall back into the background to let him handle the situation. You don’t like the idea of him having to rescue you from something like this, but you cannot help but feel a little more in love with him as he prepares to put the guy in his place.

“Dude, sorry, didn’t know she was taken,” the guy holds up his hands in surrender, but the alcohol on his breath and the smirk on his face tells you that whatever he is planning to say next will earn him a few stitches. He looks Joel up and down, measuring him somehow and makes an attempt at a joke, “What’d she cost if I were to have a go? An offer of a drink didn’t do the trick.” 

“What the fuck did you just say?” You get out of your seat incredibly fast but Joel is faster, and you hear the sound of knuckles connecting with bone; Joel has gripped the stranger’s shoulder with one hand and landed his fist on the side of his face, right at the jaw.

The other stumbles backwards, but he doesn’t hesitate to run forwards into Joel and land a punch right back. He uppercuts him, and you squeak as Joel is now the one to stumble back into you. The two men fly at each other’s throats like animals in a pack in the next moment, landing several punches at each other. 

“Stop! Jesus, Joel— you can’t get into a bar fight,” you say as you start pulling them apart by tugging on Joel’s t-shirt, or at least you try to, but the bartender has already sent a doorman in your direction.

Joel pulls down his shirt as he is yanked by the collar. He forces the doorman off only to hold up his hands, palms outwards, shoulders tense and voice stern, “Fine. Fine. I’m leaving with her now. You don’t have to grab me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to the bouncer. He goes to your creepy romancer instead, tugging him by the arm to remove him from the bar. 

“You’re a fucking ugly bitch anyway,” he spits venomously at you as he passes you when he is forced to leave. You send him a death-stare, mouthing a ‘fuck you’ back at him.

Joel stays where he is until he gets your clue to leave, looking down at his shaking fist as if he is surprised at what he has just done, but you lay a hand on his arm and guide him outside, then in the opposite direction of the human embodiment of your failed attempt at having a good night out. 

“Sorry,” Joel mumbles without looking at you but you find yourself reaching out to gently take a hold of his chin, turning his head to inspect him. He has a nasty cut on his cheekbone, and it’s already starting to bruise from how heavy the impact has been to the blood vessels in his face. 

You gasp, “Joel. Your face.”

“This tiny thing? S’alright, it’s nothing,” he reaches up to touch it, but regrets it immediately. It looks like it stings. 

“Stay right here, I’m going to get you some ice from the bar,” you leave for a moment. For once, it’s your turn to not let him protest and argue. 

You return with an ice pack that you’ve made by wrapping a handful of ice cubes into a dish towel. You press it against his cut and he hisses softly, causing you to tut. He lets you fuss. 

You can feel his defeat is nagging at him; the fact that he is in pain and not perfectly fine seems to annoy him. That, and it feels like he has overstepped one of his own moral boundaries. You wonder if you’re right in your assumptions because it raises the question of how he feels about having overstepped that limit for you. 

“Are you okay, hon’?” He asks and interrupts your train of thought. You turn the dish towel to find a spot that isn’t pink with blood, then dab his face a few more times as you come up with an answer. You won’t comment on the term of endearment. 

“I’m okay. I’ve dealt with assholes before,” you say with a little smile, “Thanks though. You made the situation a lot easier, but I still don’t think you should’ve started fighting the poor guy.”

“Why? Don’t want to be the damsel in distress?” He teases. 

“You know, I can make this hurt a lot more than it already does, mister,” you say with a playful laugh, accompanied by a twinkle in your eyes, “So try me.”

“Let me take you home,” he just answers softly. You wish he meant those words in a different way. 

*

The car ride home is silent except for the quiet hum of the pop music coming from the radio. You look at Joel out of the corner of your eyes, and he drives with a controlled kind of calmness and only one hand on the steering wheel. His other hand rests on the gear shift and you could touch him if you dared, but you don’t and you don’t think you ever will. 

When he parks the truck in his driveway, he offers to walk you to your door despite it being only a few houses away. When you decline, he insists and his southern drawl becomes a little more present as he fusses. 

“Thanks again, Joel,” you say as you fumble through your bag for your keys. Joel is standing right beside you, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool summer night air. 

“I did give you my number to call if you were ever in trouble,” he replies matter-of-factly. 

You finally fish out your keys, but after unlocking the door and opening it halfway, you decide to turn towards Joel again. It catches him a little by surprise and he takes a step back, but you find yourself thinking that he is just as far away from you as before. Had he stepped closer whilst your back was turned? 

“Anyway,” you say but then trail off. You shift a little where you stand, expressing nervousness and looking up at him through your eyelashes. Making a move right now could make or break your relationship, but the way he looks underneath the starry sky is almost too much. There’s a dull ache in your body, starting in your chest and going downwards. 

“Anyway,” he eventually repeats and gives you a sort of boyish smile as he points to his face. The homemade ice pack is still in his car or you would have told him to use it straight away, “Let’s not do it again sometime.” 

You laugh genuinely at his joke, cheeks getting a soft rosy tint. He looks at you with a chuckle of his own, and you’re not quite sure about what his eyes are telling you.

“Goodnight, Miller,” you say and choose the easy way out of the situation. You move, head inside and peek out just before closing your front door, “And don’t act like you wouldn’t wanna do it again.”

.

.

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[pornoes]

This is a long post. I had a really unsettling moment when seeing former coworkers outside of work for the first time two days ago. I just need to get it in writing and outside of my own head

I went to hang out with two former coworkers for the first time at an indoor mini golf place. We’d literally been talking about this idea for 3 years and finally made it happen. The other two currently work together, but I actually haven’t worked there since 2021 so it was like a small reunion/“getting to know each other” moment all rolled into one for me.

Mini golf was popular that day and the wait was super long. After we had finished our snacks and drinks, one of my coworkers was like “hey, fuck it, do you all wanna just go back to my apartment and hang out instead?” The other girl agreed immediately. I politely declined, cuz at first I thought I would be a 3rd wheel cuz they know each other better, but they were super insistent and reassuring that I should join, implied that it would be rude if I didn’t, so I agreed to tag along.

When we got there, it was actually much nicer than at the mini golf place. I could finally hear what everyone is saying since there wasn’t a crowd of people. The conversation was flowing easier and I was feeling comfortable. Then the coworker with the apartment was like, “im taking mushrooms now if anyone wants to join” and both of us declined, so she just took a small amount on her own. The three of us got to chatting, and after like 30 min the non-tripping coworker decided to head out cuz she needed to get back to her baby. i decided to hang back for a little longer. Idk. In hindsight I should have just left at this point too but at the time everything felt fine and I was enjoying it.

I should mention that I’m used to being around people who are high on various plants. I have been unphased by it pretty much 100% of the time. In my past life, back when I was a “bad influence”, I was often there for people’s first time getting high and have been a successful trip sitter several times before. So it wasn’t strange to me to be around someone tripping. Looking back, it was a bold choice on her part to do psychedelics in front of people she’s hanging out with for the first time, but imo that’s more on her than me. And at the time, well, we live in a pretty funky city and this whole scenario didn’t even feel outside of the usual to me.

Anyway. At this point it was just me and my tripping coworker. She was honestly acting incredibly normal, albeit more comfortable. After maybe 30 more minutes I asked her if anything looked cool and trippy to her and she laughed and said, “I’m not THAT fucked up. I didn’t take that much”. (Keep that in mind!) So we were talking, she was asking for advice about this crush she has… it was kinda cute. A girls night moment. The conversation progressed to more open topics about gender, sexuality, and our places in the world, which I am so down for. I love talking about big picture things and, while maybe my coworker was just being more open cuz of the mushrooms, I am just naturally like that.

During the conversation she started dropping little remarks in like, “I can’t believe you’re still here” in this markedly incredulous (and not annoyed) tone of voice. Each time I told her no worries, I would leave & head home & we should do it again some time. But each time she told that’s not what she meant and that she wanted me to stay. She clarified that she just meant it was unreal because it took 3 years to happen, and in her words I was so “normal and chic” and she was so “weird”. Whatever that means, right?

And then…. Idk. Things started going downhill rapidly.

She started bringing up stuff about poor mental health. How hard of a time everything is and how she feels alone. I stayed positive, acknowledging her and then trying to distract her and break that train of thought. I mean, that’s what you need to do to stop a negative spiral on mushrooms. Address it and reroute it. Man, I should have just left, but at this point I felt somewhat responsible to help prevent a bad trip because I was the sober one and she on the edge of spiraling. It felt like how you can’t just leave your drunk friend to fend for themselves, you know? I mean we weren’t even friends yet, but still. In the moment it felt like I needed to at least make sure she would be okay if I left. In the moment it felt like the right thing to do. And I foolishly thought it would get better. I mean, the entire rest of the night had been really pleasant. Surely it would continue being pleasant, right?

Well, not at all. Conversation kept slipping in and out of pleasant, with these sprinklings of dark in between that just grew and grew. The last 10 minutes that I was there were… intense.

She said again, “I can’t believe you are here, youre so normal. You’re in this weird apartment and you don’t even feel threatened”. She told me she always says “cruel insults” to people and how she was trying so hard not to insult me. She started telling me how she is a “damaged person” and she “balls up that damage” and “throws it and hurts” the people she loves. I thought she meant that metaphorically, but then she raised her fist at me before slowly putting it back down. I could like, see her talking herself out of whatever she was about to do as she lowered her hand. Then she said “look in my eyes” and so I did, cuz my plan for how leave with minimal collateral damage hadn’t been hatched yet.

She stared at me and asked “what do you see?” And I saw I’ll be honest, all I saw was eyeballs. Duh. So I said “I don’t know, I see your eyes? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to see.” and she said “you don’t see anything, do you? There’s nothing. I’m not like other people. There’s nothing inside of me. I act like there is, but there isn’t”.

All of these pieces fell into place: the disbelief that I would be there, the disbelief that I didn’t feel “threatened”, the bubbling contempt when she said she wanted to insult me, bringing up violence, raising her fist. And to top it off, she had told me repeatedly that she wasn’t even that high and that the dose she took was super small. Can’t even blame the mushrooms for this one. It was like she just admitted to being a psychopath and i suddenly became very afraid for my safety.

So I was like, well look at the time I gotta go. Of course it took something like 15 more minutes to get out the door because, as I expected and was trying to avoid, it just made her spiral more. Idk. I felt horrible, I had to quickly make all these empty promises (we’ll hang out again, everything is fine, no I’m not upset, it’s totally cool, I’ll call you later) and i fundamentally do not like lying to people. Plus it felt like diffusing a bomb on top of that. Say the wrong thing and send her deeper into this spiral (or worse). Say the right thing and she’s begging me to stay and it all starts over.

It was just horrible. And what I fool I am for not just leaving!!! What a fool I was for assuming that someone who would confidently take mushrooms would have also mentally prepared themselves for the trip. What a fool I was for not realizing I don’t know this person well enough for that assumption to be right. Hindsight. It really was fine until it really wasn’t. And by then it was too late.

[donnerpartyofone]

I have posted about this multiple times before but since tumblr's search won't cough any of it up, I'm just going to say it again so I can add my new thing to my thought process about trigger warnings:

Years ago a popular true crime blogger posted an ask from someone requesting that she tag for needles. I think she had posted that notorious x-ray of masochistic serial murderer Albert Fish's colon, which is admittedly disturbing, but she very politely declined on the basis that everything she posts tends to be violent and disturbing--you actually SHOULD find her blog upsetting--and users should manage their expectations around that general premise. Additionally, needles do not carry the specific traumatic weight of something like, say, racial violence or child abuse, for which a warning could be in order; needles are everyday objects that one might reasonably encounter in a store or a person's home, or practically anywhere. If you have such an aversion that it really affects your life to see a needle, you might want to pursue treatment and stop using a part of the internet that is essentially a giant random image generator.

My personal take on content/trigger warnings (are those different? If not then why do we have varying tags instead of one universal one to keep the system reliable?) is similar, that they're only important for material that could seriously upend someone's day. Is Thing X something you truly could not have expected where you encountered it? Would you need to leave work or school if you saw Thing X? Would you need to seek assistance or take a medication? Does Thing X cause significant social problems or affect your sense of safety? If not, you don't need a warning. I mean everyone can tag whatever they choose and of course some folks are happy to tag stuff just because someone might find it annoying or unpleasant, but you're not entitled to protection from strangers just to spare you casual discomfort.

One day I got this extremely angry anonymous message in all caps yelling at me for not tagging spiders. I had no idea what the person was talking about, but after a while I realized it had to be about a popular post I'd made years ago showing tarantulas in a Kids In the Hall sketch. This was especially funny to me because at the time I was posting a lot of explicit violence and sexual imagery that someone could reasonably object to, but this person felt that it was my job to help create the illusion of a spiderless world for their benefit. I know arachnaphobia is a real thing but I still think that if you suffer from it then it's your job to look after yourself and not everybody else's job to protect you from remembering that there are spiders.

This is kind of a tangent but I often think about how trypophobia is not technically a phobia because it isn't affecting anybody's ability to lead a normal daily existence. It's just a grossout thing, basically a matter of taste, but people love to try to elevate it to the level of a serious psychological vulnerability for some reason.

I'm thinking about this stuff (again) today because I just saw a post on one of the autism subreddits where someone linked to a scientific paper to answer a specific question, but they said it needed warnings for incidental use of the term "high-functioning" and advised that some people may not wish to read the paper at all so they wouldn't be triggered by it. That term is sometimes used to invalidate or deny care to people who give the outward appearance of less urgent needs, so it is indeed pretty tricky and needs work. But change is only going to come from attention; if you are concerned about the effects of that language then I think it behooves you to know how it is being used so you are able to argue about it and lobby for change. It's hard for me (a "high-functioning" person) to imagine a scenario in which I'm interested in reading about a condition I have, and then I refuse to do so because the phrase "high-functioning" is going to trigger a psychiatric episode so bad that it's better for me to just ignore information about my own health. I think an adult who is usually inclined to educate themselves should be able to handle occasionally seeing troublesome or outdated language.

Put more concisely than above, my criteria for warnings is just: when the questionable item relates to a real, reasonably common traumatic experience that would be unfair to spring on someone who could relate to it, and/or when the content would be legitimately surprising in its context. Like if you're in my corner of tumblr you should expect that you're going to see horror movie stuff, I'm not tagging anything like that unless it's miles over the line I typically draw. But on the other hand I was out at a restaurant one night and this spoiled egomaniac was practically shouting for a long time in graphic detail about episiotomies within earshot of everyone who was trying to eat. Honestly one of the staff should have told her to shut the fuck up. That's not a thing that people should be normally expected to put up with in a public dining situation, even though it regards a medical procedure that is not morally offensive.

It's probably obvious by now that I think that being uncomfortable and even offended, at least to some degree, has an important psychological and social function. It enables you to recognize and react to problems around you. Understanding what makes you uncomfortable is critical; dealing with discomfort builds character; and continuously avoiding everything you don't like keeps you infantile. It's actually not good to live in a world of only your favorite things.

[graceland321]

The Treasure Of The Wings Of The Future Pirate King Part 1

Author’s Note: I am 20 years old in this story and both Zoro and Sanji are their canonical age of 21. This story is inspired partly by an idea I had, partly by the anime which I am currently watching, and partly by the Live Action which I have not watched yet but have seen clips of on YouTube. Takes place after the 2 year time skip following Marineford. 

The day started out normal or at least as normal as a day can start for a member of the Straw Hat Pirates. Delainey Gizella Hackett, better known to her crewmates as either Lai Lai or Siren; due to her sirenic abilities that she was surprisingly born with instead of having acquired them via a Devil Fruit, woke up in the cabin aboard the Thousand Sunny that she shared with the only other female members of the crew, the navigator Nami and the archaeologist Robin. Delainey got out of bed and got dressed in her usual outfit which consisted of dark blue ripped jeans, a short sleeved black button up shirt, black leather jacket, and black combat boots. Delainey finished off the outfit by putting her jewelry on before she left the cabin and headed towards the kitchen for breakfast. Delainey entered the kitchen to find the majority of the rest of the Straw Hats already inside and sitting at the table waiting for Sanji to finish making food. Delainey walked up behind Sanji who wasn’t just the crew’s chef but also her boyfriend. “Good morning, babe.” Delainey said to Sanji, kissing him on the cheek. “Good morning, darling.” Sanji responded. “Where’s our seaweed-haired swordsman? Normally he’s already sitting at the table.” Delainey asked Sanji, referring to the crew’s green-haired swordsman and vice captain, Roronoa Zoro, who also happened to be Delainey’s other boyfriend; Yes, you heard that right, Delainey has 2 boyfriends, Vinsmoke Sanji and Roronoa Zoro. As If on cue, the door to the kitchen opened and Zoro walked in. “Ah, perfect timing. I was just asking Sanji if he knew where you were. Good morning, my moss haired hunk.” Delainey said letting go of Sanji before approaching Zoro and wrapping her arms around him despite the fact that he had clearly just finished training up in the Crow’s Nest if the sweat on his brow and the towel wrapped around his neck were anything to go by. “Good morning, Delainey.” Zoro responded. “Ha, I got a kiss on the cheek from our darling Delainey while you only got a hug. I guess she must love me more than you, Mosshead.” Sanji said to Zoro from his place at the stove. “She loves us both equally, Curly Brow.” Zoro said in response. The two were about to start bickering when Delainey held up her hands in front of them, stopping them before saying, “Don’t you two dare start. It is too damn early for that. I just woke up not even 10 minutes ago and am in no mood to deal with you two’s stupid bickering.” Sanji and Zoro both chuckle as Zoro and Delainey take their seats at the table before Sanji places the plates of food in front of their respective crew members and takes his own seat at the table. Once everyone had eaten, Delainey got up from her seat at the table carrying everyone’s plates over to the sink and offered to help Sanji clean up from breakfast, but Sanji politely declined her offering saying that a lady such as herself shouldn’t have to do something as mundane as dishes. Delainey shrugged her shoulders and kissed Sanji on the cheek once more before leaving the kitchen to go about the rest of her day. Nami had told everyone on the crew yesterday that they would be stopping at an island soon to restock and to allow the crew to have a day off from sailing. Delainey was looking forward to stopping at an island soon, seeing as she and the rest of the crew had been stuck aboard the Thousand Sunny for what felt like an eternity. It was another 4 days before the Thousand Sunny finally docked on a summer island much to Delainey’s joy and relief. Luffy being the energetic captain that he is, was of course the first person off of the ship, jumping down from the deck to the sandy shore below, followed soon after by Robin, Nami, and Chopper, the latter being cradled in Robin’s arms as she descended to the shore below. Jimbe, Brook, Franky, and Ussop were next off the ship, the latter two quickly running off in search of Luffy. Zoro descended to the sandy beach below soon after Ussop and Franky ran off to find the crew’s mischievous and gluttonous captain.