#awesome reader

[enneadau]

I seem to pop back to reality when people go off the deep end. That person has clearly never tried to mess with Novel AI. And just feel like no one is creative unless it’s stolen or something.

Or they just randomly decide to cause people of forgery. You share enough of your process on this account and change your story more than I did with some (most) of my papers in college.

I think this is just a case of someone wanting to share in their misery by being a troll.

Your an amazing and original author. Please don���t forget that!!!!

Thank you for the support. I've reported it as spam now, but I did initially reply to the message. I'm just hurt that someone thinks it's OK to do that.

They didn't have the courage to do it on an actual account either. So you're probably right and it's a troll...

This was my response:

[that1geek06]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[shoot1ngst4r]

mr. “murder is okay but disrespecting your wife isn’t” boothill

[sooouth]

toji sighs at the vomit dripping down his shirt. of course, baby megumi felt the need to throw up as soon as he was handed to his father by you. you laugh, taking the also giggling megumi from toji. "Why does this always happen to me?" toji grumbles, walking to your room to clean himself up. your nine-month old wiggles in your hands, and you coo at him. "papa's so yucky isn't he?" megumi waves his chubby hands around—you take it as an agreement. "uh-huh, he's icky." "i can hear you!" toji barks from your room.

raising a baby is not easy, but with toji and megumi, it's fun. Not always fun—there's always hiccups and difficulties—but you're happy. like right now... as toji comes out in a new shirt, huffing and pouting. megumi always causes issues when it comes to him, but never you. megumi just adores his other parent. toji doesn't even know how a nine-month old baby could have a preference, considering he's trying his best to keep any burden off of you.

"i'm not gross," toji pouts, sitting back down on the carpet, a few feet in front of you. megumi squirms, and you set him down on the ground, facing his father. he manages to sit up, reaching out to toji with grabby hands. "oh, now you want to like me, huh? you little brat." toji leans forward to grab megumi's tiny little hands, waving them around and responding to his babbles.

your heart warms—it's just too cute. when you'd first met your husband, he was a homeless, gruff and closed-off man. it's hard to think the two are the same person. you really didn't do much—just gave him enough love for him to try. you're glad.

"why're ya looking at me like that?" toji asks. you leaned against the counter, watching as your husband did the dishes after dinner. he had always insisted to clean while living with you, even if that meant he spent hours doing so. megumi knocked right out after you fed him, putting him to bed. "you're a sexy dad," you snort. toji seems a bit taken off guard. your smile widens as his ears turn red. "are you saying i wasn't sexy before?" "pah. big baby." "your big baby." "and a sap." toji chuckles, looking back down at the half-washed dishes. you watch him the whole time—his strong, calloused hands lathered in soap and water, moving in circular motions. and his arms— "you think megumi would like a little sibling?" toji chokes.

divider by @saradika-graphics ˊᵕˋ

[milexa2000]

Me waiting for more Mike Schmidt fanfics to come like:

[ferritins]

PUTTIN’ ON THE RITZ | B. WAYNE

SUMMARY: You’re Bruce Wayne’s long suffering personal assistant. On a time crunch, you (re)teach him how to apply cologne.

NOTES: belligerent tension, Bruce is characterised more on the socialite side than Batman, though Batman is alluded to. Suggestive ending.

For all the years that you’ve been his PA, you’ve never quite understood the borderline hysteria surrounding Bruce Wayne.

The perils of having a pretty face and old money, you suppose; sex appeal sells, and the prestige of an established name and old money that lend him an air of modern-day Gilded Age aristocrat surely can’t hurt.

Not that it's of particular interest or importance to you; you're a member of the hoi polloi through and through.

The closest to celebrity you've ever come is being mistaken as Bruce’s latest paramour in some of your more extravagant efforts trying to prevent his sartorial and interpersonal disasters before they happen.

Speaking of which; as he goes to apply his cologne, you drop the lint roller you're passing over his broad shoulders and the elegant lines of his Kiton suit and grab his wrist before he can douse himself in the strong scent, aghast.

“You’re not putting cologne on like that, surely?”

Bruce quirks a dark eyebrow. "Unless you're expecting me to break the bottle over my head, sweetheart, there's not really another way to apply cologne."

“I am choosing to ignore that nickname, because unlike you, I am a consummate professional.” You inform Bruce, tone somewhere between haughty and resigned. “I know you know how to wear cologne. Mr. Pennyworth is the gentleman’s gentleman, there’s no way he didn’t teach you.”

“Oh, Alfred gets Mr. Pennyworth, but I get Bruce?”

“Mr. Pennyworth doesn’t tear loaned formal wear, disappear at inoppurtune moments, or make a tit of himself at networking events.” You huff. “You, however…”

Bruce chuckles, all baritenor delight at your insouciance towards him.

You roll your eyes.

Spray some on your wrists and dab them together, then come here and loosen your tie."

“Not that I'm not flattered, but I really don’t think we've got the time." He teases, daubing the cologne on his wrists, long fingers of his unoccupied hand working the Windsor knot of his tie loose.

Immune to his affected charm through long exposure, you sigh.

“Keep it in your trousers, Bruce. Tonight, you're learning how to wear cologne properly, again. Do you mind if I unbutton your collar?"

Bruce hums a permissive note, gaze hawkish as you step into his personal space.

“Right. So, as you already know, you want to put cologne at the pulse points on either side of your neck; your body heat will help the alcohol carrier agent evaporate faster. If you're using a lighter fragrance or a perfume oil, you'd put it behind your ears." You explain.

As you speak, you pluck the bottle of fragrance from his grasp with your unoccupied hand, and spritz his neck with it, swapping hands to hold his collar away and do the same the other side of his neck.

Finally, you spray the base of his neck; the mist of cologne gathers into a single small droplet that traces down into the hollow of his suprasternal notch.

“(All done.” You announce, stepping back.

Bruce buttons up his collar, works the silk of his tie back into a Windsor knot with infuriating ease.

“I still think it would have been less fuss to just spray it on over the fabric.”

“Lazy. Just be thankful you don't have to do your ankles." You say as you turn to put the bottle back on the dark oak of his dresser.

Heinously late, cognition kicks in, and the realisation of what you’ve just said strikes you like a thunderbolt. You close your eyes briefly, hoping against hope that Bruce’s more airheaded tendencies have kicked in, and the context has flown over his head.

When you finally steel yourself enough to turn back to face him, you find that the universe has not been so merciful; Bruce is staring at you, a wicked glee in his expression.

"Anyway! That’s specifically to perfume." You obfuscate. "The car is probably out front by now; if you're done, let's head out."

“No, no; you’re going to explain that delightful little tidbit before we go anywhere.”

Heat floods your face.

“You clearly know exactly what I meant. Let it go, it was a faux pas.”

Bruce says your name in a low rumble.

You parrot his name back at him in a faintly beseeching tone, begging him not to choose this moment to be a petty tyrant.

Bruce’s response is to raise an expectant eyebrow.

The standoff lasts as long as it takes you to check your watch, your resolve fracturing at the first hint of threat to your meticulously crafted schedule.

“Fine!” You snap, stepping close and dropping your voice to a murmur, to minimise the odds of anyone overhearing the frankly mortifying disclosure.

“You spray perfume on your ankles so that when you've got them over your partner's shoulders, they'll associate the perfume with you."

A faint flush floods the high planes of Bruce’s cheekbones, even as his smile turns gloating and distinctly carnivorous.

C Caught up in your own humiliation, you push past him, out of the dressing room, and quite miss the way his eyes trail down your legs to where the jut of your ankle bone is emphasised by your heels, and the considering smirk that his mouth pulls into as he follows you.

[kiddokori]

han sooyounggg

[nerdieforpedro]

He truly is. 🥰🥰 Husband Dieter is a sweetie pie. 🥧

Notes with Dieter

Dieter Bravo/husband x female reader/wife

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.1k

Summary: You're leaving for another work trip and Dieter is sad once again. This time, he decides to show you how much he cares in full Bravo style.

Warnings: Dieter is the softest boi 😭, side-eyeing a suitcase, illusions to smut?, kisses, doodles, just all the fluff, bad jokes

Notes: So this is a follow up to The Day before was always difficult. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings are always asking more for more soft Dieter. So naturally, I took it as a request even though they didn't really ask? FYI Dieter is a koala 🐨 in this one, but he'll always be our lovable messy trash panda. 🦝 I think I used all the colors Hemmy. 😆

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Dieter used to love suitcases. It meant he was on the move to a new job or some new fun, sometimes both. Now he was more ambivalent about them. Coming home and seeing the hard shell gray suitcase meant that tomorrow morning you’d be gone again for a time.

It’s not like he didn’t know it in advance, you’d always let him know ahead of time. Especially if he was going to be at home alone. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Some might say that he should get over it, just relax and wait for your return, but Dieter isn’t that type of man. The tea kettle screeches with steam and he knows where you are: the kitchen. Instead of alerting you to his presence, he waits until you’ve poured your tea and is covering it to let it steep.

His chest gently presses against your back before his arms ensnare you just under your breasts, propping them up as you’ve showered and in your black cotton nightgown. You’ve decided on an early evening for yourself but Bravo has other plans as his lips to the nape of your neck tell you. A chuckle leaves your chest while you fix the rest of your tea, not intent on giving him a quarter into the game he’s trying to play.

But the two of you sit on the couch. Chatting about current events, he hasn’t made any more moves. Just watching you, listening to you, with an enamored grin. Another chuckle from you for how cute he looks, he’ll do this from time to time when you’re going to leave town again. Like he’s trying to paint a picture of you in his mind. You always remind him that he’s your reason to come home. Dieter always tells you he’s grateful for that.

After tea, it’s bedtime and there are kisses goodnight. He wraps his arm around your waist. You kiss his neck and begin the nightly activities. Apparently Dieter’s learned to just give you a nibble and you’ll do the rest. In the glow of the short hours of the dark, you pinch his cheek, figuring out his game before dozing off on his chest. Sticking to him, not wanting to let go.

Dieter steals out of the bed when you’re asleep and uses a notebook he keeps in his nightstand. He sketches your various expressions you made while on the couch and then how you look in bed right now, sheets half-covering you, your glory exposed for him to see. He has to capture it now else he could miss his moment.

Another idea pops into his head so he grabs his phone and steps out into the living room to record it for you. He plans to send it tomorrow morning while you’re at the airport so you can listen to it on the plane.

A handwritten note slid into your suitcase is for when you unpack. Carefully he slides back into bed, his thumb running down your back with a kiss to your shoulder.

The sun has barely broken the horizon when the alarm sounds, groans fill the room as you both stir. Washing up and getting dressed is your focus so Dieter makes a light breakfast for you with coffee. His eyes cut to your suitcase before he picks it up to carry it to the car his ordered for you, thankfully he was able to zip it back properly.

A text from Dieter says to listen to the message on the plane and to download it just in case. Your headphones are in after greeting your coworkers and the plane is at cruising altitude.

“Hey pretty lady, you know I never want you to leave. I know it’s selfish but I know I always feel better and do better when you’re here. You’re my person you know? Plus who else is going to tell me that many patterns don’t go together, everyone always tells me yes.

Anyway, have a safe flight and kick those old dudes asses. I hope your project goes well. I know you were trying to explain it to be but once you got into Access and databases I was gone. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna try googling it later. You can’t wear that navy blue dress because they’ll think they have a chance and you’re already with an Oscar Winner. They’re too late and I love you Ms. Smarty Pants. Hmm… You should wear pants. Bye.”

The two people sitting next to you thought that you needed some oxygen based on how hard you were wheezing trying to hold in your laughter. You told them that you were fine and it was just a message from your sweet husband, he has quite a way with words.

Thankfully when you landed, everyone was given time to rest in their rooms before the initial group dinner. Opening your suitcase, a piece of notebook paper fell out and you picked it up off the floor. Sitting on the bed you read it, shaking your head.

Sometimes I really do wonder why you’re with me at all, why you come home to me. Hell, why you call me home. I can be a complete and utter mess, irresponsible at times and I’m sure annoying. My one redeeming quality I thought was in creating art through film, painting and drawings. You helped me see that I’m more than that though. So much more. I can be faithful, I can be loyal, I can put someone above myself and I can do all these things without needing an escape.

I often wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t run over my foot with your suitcase and I didn’t sucker you into having lunch with me. You look as beautiful then as you do now, actually more so because we enjoy nighttime KitKats a few times a week. We dance it off part way so it’s fine.

I love you my brave, clever, gracious muse.

Your koala bear who runs hot,

Dieter Bravo

P.S. - You should frame this FYI

Falling back on the bed, you question when Dieter would have slipped this into your suitcase let alone written it. It’s completely in character for him and at the same time, seems so unusual. Trying to hold your tears back only makes them fall harder, you’ll need to re-do your makeup for the dinner but it doesn’t matter to you if you’re late. Dieter will never fail to make himself memorable.

Life as Dieter Bravo’s wife is always full of the unexpected and something to hold onto.

Trash Panda Posse 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @titlee78 @magpiepills @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @fhatbhabie @tinytinymenace @yourcoolauntie

Special fluff guests: @grogusmum @maggiemayhemnj and @frenchiereading

[hipsternumbertwo]

Some things never change 🤞

[miss-jaye]

monoma hasn’t let go of you since you showed him the sundress you’re wearing.

“neito? honey, i gotta change…” you said with a nervous laugh, trying to gently pry his arms off you. but he just shook his head, his grip tightening slightly. “no.”

you sighed. “what do you mean, no?” you asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. he looked up at you, his face completely blank, but his eyes held a stubborn glint. “no.”

you groaned, letting your head fall back against the arm of the couch where you’d been trapped for the past two hours. “baby, please,” you pleaded, your voice softening as you tried to coax him. you wanted nothing more than to slip into something comfortable and start on dinner.

“let me appreciate you for one more hour,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, savoring every second of having you so close.

“nooo…!” you huffed, feeling your patience wearing thin. “you already did that for two hours, neito.” he just shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “i can do it for another,” he teased, clearly enjoying how flustered you were getting.

“neito!” you whined, but there was no real heat behind it. despite your protests, you couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he was being, even if it was a little over the top.

he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “you’re nothing less than perfect, my dear,” monoma said, his voice filled with so much sincerity that it made your heart skip a beat.

“neito,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you searched for the right response. but what could you say when he looked at you like that, as if you were the only thing that mattered?

he smiled softly, sensing your shift in mood. “just stay here with me a little longer,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing circles on your arm. “dinner can wait.”

you sighed in defeat, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“maybe,” your husband chuckled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “but i’m not letting go. not yet.”

you couldn’t help but smile. what was one more hour?

“fine,” you gave in with a soft laugh. “but after this, you’re helping me with dinner.”

“deal,” he agreed easily, clearly pleased that you gave in.

after a while, you felt his breathing slow, his body relaxing more against yours. “neito?” you whispered, glancing down to find his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face.

“just resting my eyes,” he mumbled, though the way he clung to you told a different story.

you smiled fondly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “i love you, you know that?”

monoma's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at you with a sleepy smile. “i love you too. more than anything.”

[enneadau]

That Anon have no right to complain about To Death Do Us Apart when you have tagged it NICE AND CLEARLY AS NSFW. Just because it is found straight below Battle of the Gods, does not mean you need to keep all your Yugioh stories "safe for underage readers". As the old Fandom Rule says: Do not like, do NOT read. No one is forcing them to read TDDUA

Thank you for the support. It means a lot!

Also they're wrong. As of Sept 11th, TDDUP has more words than Battle of the Gods. That will change on Aug 15th!

[deoidesign]

I'm so mad that post was misinformation because there is actually an EXTREMELY important conversation to have about the production schedules artists are forced into. There's no need for exaggeration, the conditions are bad.

I work for webtoon. My publication schedule is weekly. While publishing I'm required 10-15 pages a week. Fully colored.

This means I'm finishing a 150 page fully colored graphic novel every 10-15 weeks.

When my comic is not updating, I am not getting paid. Any time writing, editing, or off is out of my own pocket. I don't get healthcare. They do not provide any assistants. They expect me to promote myself; they chose to deprioritize me before I even launched and gave me an end date half a year in. I never had a chance.

And this is the industry standard! Every company has artists forced into crunch hours, overtime, and burnout. Artists are literally dying early due to it. So many of my friends can't afford to go to the doctor.

It's unsustainable and untenable, and it's also the expectation our audiences have.

If we want to have this conversation, there's plenty of conversation to be had with the realities of the situation. It's bad as is.

[yayakoishii]

Want | Sanji x Chubby! Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Chubby! Reader

WC: 5.5k

Genre: Fluff, slight Angst

Warnings: Sexual harrasment, derogatory terms for chubby people, mentions of blood, insecurities that lead to a bit of light self derogation (Please remember you're absolutely beautiful as you are <3)

A/n: The response on Hunger is insane. Over 700 likes?! I didn't expect much beyond a few 10-20 likes, thank you for all the love 😭 This is another self indulgent fic, more personal to me because I'm chubby myself so... I'm not super proud of the pacing tbh, but it's still pretty good, in my (biased) opinion, haha. I hope you enjoy it!!! ♡

also available on ao3!

When you joined the Straw Hat crew, you didn't expect to fall in love with the blonde chef.

Actually, when you joined them, you weren't in the mindset to think about love and silly crushes. Your island had been destroyed by the Marines for a 'good cause' and despite the Straw Hats' best attempt, you were the only remaining survivor. Luffy kindly offered you a place on his crew, and you joined as an assistant to Chopper, slowly learning from him.

The first few weeks after you joined were tough for you, who had never travelled outside of your island. It took time to get used to the environmental changes along with the emotional grief of losing all your loved ones. The crew tried their best to cheer you up in their own ways, and you would forever be grateful for every one of them for at least trying, even if their methods weren't the most effective for you. It was the thought and the sentiment behind it that counted.

But what did work for you was… food. Ever since you were a child, you had loved food and it was the way you connected to life. Though you were not the greatest cook out there, you were capable of making things that were edible and quite good at times. On the ship though, you never had to cook, because Sanji would always do all the cooking. Whenever you offered to help, to take your mind off the pain you were feeling, he would kindly decline, saying that he would make you whatever you wanted.

But he couldn't. The dishes from your island were not recipes known quite to the rest of the world. Hell, even you didn't know all of them, save for some of your favourite foods that you had learnt from your mother. So you snuck in after dinner and made a dish from your hometown. It wasn't the best food you ever cooked, but it still meant something to you, because you were reminded of home.

You wrote down all the recipes you knew into a book, and kept it close. Whenever you missed your home, you would sneak into the kitchen at night and make yourself something with your wonky cooking skills that made the dish taste different every time. Still, the familiarity was enough to comfort you and let you wallow in the grief at the same time.

Until one day, you couldn't find your book.

"Nami?" You called unsurely to the navigator, who was lying on the deck under shade next to Robin. Behind them, Sanji was serving drinks. The three looked at you in question and suddenly under the scrutiny, your confidence faltered. "Um, uh.. d- did you see a journal somewhere? I can't find mine…"

"The brown one?" She asked, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. You nodded frantically, hoping she knew. "I don't think I did. Did you check under your bed?"

"I did," you whispered, feeling the sadness wash over you again. It's not like you didn't still remember the recipes, but your memory wasn't the best. Without the book, it would be hard to remember them all.

"Don't worry, we'll find it," Nami got up and reassured you, looking concerned. "Sanji. Robin."

The two of them nodded along and then the four of you were searching for it everywhere, until Sanji had to excuse himself apologetically because he had to go cook lunch. You could only nod, trying not to get down in the dumps again over a book, but it felt a little hopeless. Until you heard Sanji shout from the kitchen. The three of you ran over to find him scolding Luffy, your journal in his hand.

"I just wanted to see what was in it!" Luffy pouted, his rubbery hands swinging around to try and get it back.

"That's an invasion of privacy, Luffy!" Sanji looked angry, but you were too relieved about the fact that you had found the book to get upset with Luffy.

"It's okay," you said, reaching forward to get the book. "It's just… recipes, Luffy. From my hometown."

There was silence in the kitchen for a few seconds and Luffy's face dropped into a serious look.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I thought… If I knew how to help you, you'd be happier."

It made you laugh softly, your heart warm at his kind intentions.

"Thank you, Captain," you smiled at him, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. "I am happy here. I just… miss my home, sometimes."

He wrapped you into a hug and Nami ruffled your hair a little. You smiled under the attention, holding the book close. Sanji for once was quiet, just staring at the book thoughtfully, though you didn't notice it then.

A few days after that event, Sanji called you to the kitchen before lunchtime. Curiously, you followed him to find… a plate of your favourite dish from your hometown. It was plated beautifully, making it look fancy and yet it still had that homey feeling to it. Sanji didn't say a word, just held out the chair for you to sit. You sat down in a daze, too focused on the smell of it lingering in the room.

It smelled like home.

And when you tasted it, you burst into tears. Because it tasted like home. It tasted exactly like your mom's. All the tears you had held back to not worry the crew were now spilling out without any end but you didn't care. Here, where only Sanji could see you, you let it all out. He didn't say anything, just placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and squeezed to let you know he's there for you. You turned around to face him, but the tears made it all blurry. Knocking your head against his stomach, you cried harder.

Sanji just held your head, carding fingers through your hair in comfort, offering you a handkerchief. That, you realised later, was the moment your feelings for Sanji began.

✿

After that day, you became a lot happier. Somehow, without words, just eating the food that Sanji made was enough to heal your broken heart bit by bit. Sometimes, he made extra because Luffy was curious and wanted to taste it too; and then the whole crew wanted it so Sanji made a few of your dishes for dinner. In that moment, surrounded by the smell of home, around your new family, your heart finally started healing.

You started noticing Sanji everywhere after you got used to life on the Thousand Sunny. From the small things he does, to the loud expressions of love he made, everything about him seemed wonderful and warm to you. Because you knew that beneath his overt affections for all the ladies, he was an infinitely kind, caring and observant person. How were you supposed to not fall for him, when he went above and beyond for you?

And yet, for all his admissions of love, you never believed that he could truly like you back like you felt for him. You were after all, not the prettiest girl around and you knew that. You were not slim like Nami or Robin, and it's not like you absolutely hated your soft and squishy body. But you wondered if Sanji would like you even though you weren't pretty.

All that self consciousness went out the window every time you were in his presence. He never made you feel less, or ugly– in fact, the way he spoke to you always left you a blushing mess. He made you feel special, and in the moment, it would be enough. Until you saw him fawning over Nami or Robin, and then the sneaky voice in your brain would whisper quiet thoughts comparing you to them. You had no chance with him, and you knew that.

And that was fine. You could live with that, couldn't you? You had to, because wanting more than you should never ended well. All it would leave behind is rejection, hurt and awkwardness. So you pressed down the feelings and acted as normally as you could.

The moment you realised that you loved Sanji was probably a memory you would never forget. Although it was unforgettable for you, it probably wasn't particularly that unique to others. That didn't matter to you because it was a memory you cherished ultimately.

It happened when the ship docked on a peaceful little island. Everyone else was going out to enjoy their time, and you wanted to spend that time with Sanji. So, casually, you made your request.

"Sanji?" Your timid utterance of his name got an instant reaction from the chef, who straightened up and looked at you with hearts in his eyes.

"Yes, (y/n)-chan?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Um, you're gonna go grocery shopping, right?" You had seen Nami complaining while handing him the money for the shopping.

"That's right," he leaned closer, almost too close but not quite into your personal bubble. Still, the proximity was enough for you to smell the mild smell of his perfume that left you a little weak in the knees. "Did you want me to get something for you, sweetheart?"

"I just," you hesitated, suddenly scared that he might realise your feelings and get disgusted. No, Sanji wasn't like that, you had to remind yourself. He would never treat you unkindly, even if he knew your feelings. "I heard you always do it alone. I thought you might enjoy some company?"

The hearts in Sanji's eyes disappeared as he stared at you like you were speaking gibberish for a few seconds. Under the intensity of that stare, you fidgeted and waited for his response.

"You're too kind, (y/n)-chan!" He finally cried, holding up your hands in his own bigger and colder ones. You flushed at the action, stammering out an actual gibberish response this time before you were whisked away by the blonde chef to town.

It felt all too much like a date to you, when you walked next to him. Sanji somehow made grocery shopping fun, or maybe that was just because of how much you liked him that anything with him was enjoyable? It didn't matter, you decided, because whichever it was, you couldn't deny that Sanji was equivalent to the sun on a cold day.

He enthusiastically showed you around, as if you were a tourist and he were a guide (when in fact, it was the first time in this town for both of you) causing you to giggle. Whenever you stopped to buy things, he would humour your curious questions on how to pick which vegetable and what cuts of which meat are the best. It felt awfully like a domestic date, one that made you smile when you imagined doing this with Sanji years down the line every week.

"And that's the last of it!" Sanji said happily, picking up the last bag. He was holding all the bags since the start, despite your insistence and now you were anxious, seeing him hold so many bags in his hands.

"Sanji, let me hold a few," you tried again, hands reaching out to take some of them. But Sanji just turned around so you couldn't reach the bags and grinned down at you.

"Nonsense, how could I let such a delicate lady hold such heavy bags?" His words made you flush in embarrassment. You were not delicate in any sense; surely, Sanji knew that too. And in spite of all his sincerity, the word just felt like it was mocking you.

"I'm… not…," you struggled to say, not wanting to argue but unable to keep it in either. With your chubby frame, no one had ever considered you as delicate.

"Let me do this for you, my love," Sanji's voice was soft and infinitely gentle, as if he was indeed holding something fragile in his hands. "I wouldn't feel good letting you carry anything when I'm more than capable."

"But Sanji!" you lightly whined, wringing your hands. "I don't feel good letting you carry all the burden either! Come on, just a few bags?"

Before Sanji could respond, you heard a scared squeak. Your brows furrowed and you looked around the marketplace, finding a man cornering a girl a few feet behind Sanji. She seemed uncomfortable and he was all in her personal space, saying something in a rough, sleazy voice that gave you shivers.

You were not a fighter, but the instinct to protect her overtook the rational part of your brain and you crossed the distance to where they were. Pushing him back, you stood in front of the girl to block her from him.

"Can't you see she's uncomfortable?" You said coldly. "Back off."

The man took an involuntary step back until his eyes fell on you. He reeked of alcohol and smoke and you felt like puking from the putrid stench coming off him but you held it together, trying to come off as more confident than you felt. His eyes roamed over your body shamelessly, and you felt dirty and uncomfortable from the action.

"Don't get in our business, fatty," he grinned, the smell of alcohol doubling the moment he opened his mouth. "Are you jealous that no one will ever give you the attention she's getting?"

The words stabbed you in the gut, even though you knew rationally that you were better off without the bad attention. That was the one perk of being conventionally average in looks– no one really looked at you, in good ways or bad. Or maybe you had just been lucky so far. But hearing him call you that, saying those words, even from someone like him, it hurt a small part of you. Before you could respond, a leg in black slacks came up and kicked the man down with such a force that everybody around paused, shocked by the sudden action.

Even you stepped back automatically, gasping when you saw that it was Sanji, still balancing all the bags perfectly while he had roundhouse kicked the man into the ground with so much force that you could see his teeth had become bloody and he was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"(Y/n)-chan doesn't need the attention of sewer rats like you," he said calmly, straightening back into position smoothly. "Her beauty only deserves the best of the best."

The sight of Sanji saying that with a calm face, his hair slightly tousled, his hands balancing the bags and his leg muscles rippling under the slacks – that image was imprinted in your heart and brain for the rest of your life. The words sent you into a shock, but when they finally processed, you couldn't deny the overwhelming realisation that crashed into you.

You love Sanji.

It wasn't just a silly crush, or something that could go away if you gave it time. The chef had unknowingly carved himself a place into your heart. He was taking over it, chamber by chamber.

"Sanji…" The word came out as a whisper, inaudible under the din of the market as people were talking about what was going on. You snapped out of it when you felt the girl behind you shuffle and you immediately squashed your thoughts down to examine them later. You turned around and asked her, "Are you okay?"

She looked very alarmed and upset, but she still shot you a grateful smile as she murmured, "Yes, thanks to you two."

"He didn't hurt you?" You asked, hands hovering over her as you looked to ensure if she was safe. A peek of crimson caught your eye when she raised her hand to rub her face. Her elbows had scraped against the rough brick wall in his tousling. "You have some scratches!"

"Oh," she turned her arms to look at the wounds, now feeling the burn after the adrenaline and fear response was receding.

"Come on, I'll treat it for you," you offered, opening your sling bag which had some emergency first aid. You usually carried it around for the members when you were off the ship, knowing that they were all too reckless to give a second thought to any wounds.

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't trouble you more!" She said, mortified but you gently shook your head, offering her a hand.

"It's no trouble," you reassured her. It took a little bit of convincing but she eventually calmed down and let you clean up the wound before you parted. Finally, you allowed yourself to look at Sanji, who immediately schooled his features so you wouldn't see the warm adoring look he was giving you the whole time. "Sanji… Are you okay too? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"Do you think I'm that weak, sweetheart?" He smiled teasingly, but you felt the need to defend yourself.

"I know you are strong," you insisted, worrying your lower lip as you tried to look him straight in the eyes but kept getting flustered. "But even strong people get wounds. Just because they are strong, doesn't mean that they don't feel the pain. So tell me honestly, Sanji. Are you hurt anywhere?'

"No," he promised. "But if you're that worried, I'll let you check me all out back on the ship."

He ended that with a wink, and this time, you couldn't hold back the flush threatening to overtake your face again. Sanji couldn't help making the mood light again, but he had no idea of the effect his words had on you.

"Stupid," you weakly pawed at his arm, walking away before he could say anything. The blonde chef just laughed and followed you, face once again soft and fond as he watched you.

✿

Sanji may have been one of the only people onboard who was oblivious to your feelings, because a few of them did figure it out after watching the way you interacted with him. The first ones to realise were Nami and Robin, who called you out on it when the three of you were lying under the shade on the sunny deck.

"Really?" Nami had scrunched her nose, eyes critically analysing Sanji as he walked (danced, really) back to the kitchens after serving drinks to the three of you.

"Really what?" You asked, too busy sipping the cool drink to notice that she had noticed the way you had warmly thanked Sanji and given him a bright smile.

"Sanji?" Nami gave you a pointed look. The name made you freeze, and you tried to play it off.

"What about him?"

"Oh, come on!" Nami threw the slice of lemon that was on her drink. You caught it before it could fall on your shirt and muttered an indignant 'hey!' that the navigator ignored. "You like him, don't you?"

The words were enough to make you hide your face in embarrassment. Robin was smiling knowingly from the other side of Nami and you felt exposed, like they had both just turned you inside out.

"I do," you whispered after the few minutes of silent mortification that Nami had spent in self satisfaction.

"Why that loser though?" She said without any real bite. You knew she wasn't actually demeaning him; it was affectionate, in the way one would talk about their sibling's lovelife.

"Because!" You whispered, eyes running everywhere to check if no one else was around to hear you. "Have you looked at him? He's literally so pretty! He is kind, caring, and so, so thoughtful and generous. Without expecting anything in return, he is always giving and giving and he makes my stomach do silly things. He has curly eyebrows, Nami! I didn't think those could look good on anyone. Hell, I know I would look ugly with them, but he makes it work! It suits him, and he's so beautiful and I'm just–"

You collapsed onto your chair, your wet fingers from the condensation on the drink glass finding purchase in the dips of your face to hide it. Just talking about him was enough to get your heart beating fast, and the mortification of what you had just spilled to the two girls made you want the ground to swallow you already.

"You really like him," Robin's soft observation made you relax. She wasn't teasing you. You turned to look at her and caught the comforting smile she was sending your way.

"I was going to say you could do better," Nami turned to face you, swinging her feet around to your side, "but after hearing all that, I think… You two are perfect for each other. Despite all his antics, he has a good heart. And you'll be good for him, because you see him as he is."

"Yeah?" You couldn't help the small flower of hope blossoming in your chest.

"Really," Nami smiled, a rare genuine smile that was usually reserved for late night talks and reassurances in down times.

"You don't think…." You trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of your top, "he won't… find me good enough?"

"Are you crazy?" Nami snorted, picking up her drink. The melted ice had made the level go up so much that it was threatening to spill any moment. "You're better than anything he could dream of. I told you, didn't I? You would be good for him. Having someone like you in his life to ground him, I think there's nothing better than that. You're one of the sweetest people I have ever met. If anyone here isn't good enough, it's him."

"Hey now," you frowned, ready to defend Sanji but hearing his voice stopped you.

"Who isn't good enough for (y/n)-chan?" His face was stuck in a weird smile, like he was forcing it. He carefully placed the plate of pastries he had brought as he continued casually despite the silence, "I don't know who we are talking about but Nami-chan is right. No one is good enough for our lovely (y/n)-chan."

"Oh, look at that!" You hurriedly switched the topic, looking at the plate he had brought. The tiny pastries were adorable and colourful, looking so delicious that it would have made your mouth water if you weren't distracted at the moment. "This looks so good, Sanji. Seriously, if you keep feeding me like this, my weight will keep increasing!"

The last line became a teasing complaint, but you didn't expect Sanji to come to the side of your chair and lean down to where you were tilted. The proximity caused your eyes to widen, the blood thundering in your ears as he carefully tucked in a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, face so soft and warm that it make your insides feel like they were vibrating.

"All the more for me to love, so I would keep winning, wouldn't I, sweetheart?"

You choked, and the need to get away from him before you did something wild like grab him and kiss him got so much that your knee accidentally shot up and into Sanji's back, pushing him forward. The chef's eyes widened at the sudden attack, but he managed to not collapse on you by quickly holding onto the sides of the chair but now you were trapped in between his arms on top of the close proximity.

It made you so weak in the knees, and there was something hot and warm curling in your gut as you stammered gibberish, feeling like you were about to faint because Sanji's chest was practically touching yours and it was all too much.

"SORRY!" He hurriedly backed off the moment he got his bearings, and for the first time since you had come onboard, you saw him have a genuinely heavily flushed face. There was a little blood starting to leak from one of his nostrils and somehow, it helped you calm down. He was just as affected as you were. The idea was enough to lessen your embarrassment by a little.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Sanji," you said remorsefully, hiding your face completely in your hands this time. "I kicked you!"

"It wasn't on purpose," he said, right hand coming up to hide the blush on his own face. "I'm sorry for… for making you uncomfortable, (y/n)-chan!"

Uncomfortable? Did Sanji have any clue just how comfortable you actually felt? The problem wasn't that you were uncomfortable in the proximity; it was that you were too comfortable, to the point that you never wanted to leave. But that would be a dead giveaway of your feelings, right?

"Okay, this is just painful to watch now," Nami sighed, jolting the two of you. You had nearly forgotten that she and Robin were right there, and they had seen everything. She looked at you unhappily, mouth set in a tight line. "How about you two get a room and make out there?"

"Nami!" You cried out. She really just gave away your crush like that?!

"Just be grateful I'm not demanding money to make up for what I just had to witness," she sniffed haughtily, swinging her legs back onto the chair and pulling down her sunglasses. "Seriously, you two, go talk shit out. Or else, knowing you, you will just be awkward around each other and that's gonna be even more painful to watch."

She wasn't totally wrong. You were planning to avoid him, possibly by jumping off the Sunny and drowning to death since you didn't know how to swim. But that wasn't really a solution and even you could admit that.

"W- What's there to talk-?" Sanji seemed a little scared, wide eyes glancing between the three of you. Nami ignored him, and you were too flustered to look him in the eyes. Nami's suggestion was essentially for you to come clean, wasn't it? But that was easier said than done. The fear of rejection and the eventual awkwardness was gripping your insides in a chokehold, and you couldn't move your feet even if you tried.

"Sanji," Robin said calmly. "Pick up (y/n) and go to the kitchen."

"Huh?" You were startled at her words. Pick you up?! No way! "No, no way, I'm too… I'm too heavy, there's no need for that!" Even as you said that, you couldn't actually bring yourself to move.

"I don't really get it," Sanji admitted, looking between the three of you as he spoke, "but I can do that. (Y/n)-chan?"

"No, Sanji–" the protests died down the moment he bent down and picked you up like you weighed nothing. Even as he walked you across the deck, you couldn't help but think that it was kind of hot just how easily he picked you up. "Sanji…"

He didn't look at you until you were in the kitchen and the door was closed behind the two of you. He walked over to the table and then carefully placed you on it, as if you were a teacup made of fine china teetering with tea. Finally, he let his clear blue eyes stare down at you, the expression on his face more vulnerable and exposed than you had ever seen on him.

"Sanji?"

"I know I made you uncomfortable," he said quietly, backing away. His hands came up to rub away the blood but it only made it spread around and you winced at seeing that. You never wanted to see any blood on Sanji, if you could help it. "I touched your… you. It wasn't my intention, I swear! I just, I wanted, I–"

He abruptly shut up, looking frustrated with himself.

"Sanji."

He didn't look up, fists clenching at his side the moment you said his name.

"Come here, Sanji," you whispered, holding out your hands to beckon him closer. His eyes flickered over your face, as if trying to gauge out what you were feeling, even as he followed through your request without a second thought. You pulled out the handkerchief he had given you long back, and wiped away the blood over his upper lip and cheeks carefully before you picked up his hand. The thumb was bloody too, so you gently held the limb in one of your hands and wiped it with the other. "You didn't make me uncomfortable, Sanji."

He stayed quiet as you continued to wipe it until it was all gone.

"Didn't I?" He said the moment you were done.

"No," you said, looking up at him. You didn't let go of the hand, though you dropped the handkerchief beside you. Somehow, holding his hand seemed to give you the courage to make the admission Nami had told you to. "I… Sanji, I like you. A lot more than I ever thought it was possible to feel towards someone. I like you so much that it physically hurts when I see you flirting with other women. I like you so much that my heart feels warm whenever you are around, and I feel so safe in your arms that I never want to leave. I like it when you are close to me. But I know that you don't like me like that, so whenever you get so close, and I can't help but want you so much, it's painful for me. I never want to let you go."

Sanji's eyes darkened with every word you spoke, a gradual change that you didn't notice at first because you were all in over your head. His hands hovered around your waist as you finished.

"Who told you?" His voice was a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat the moment he realised how desperate he sounded.

"Told me what?" You asked timidly, looking down at your lap.

"That I don't like you?" Sanji's voice was a broken whisper like yours had been. "I have never heard anything more untrue than that. All this time, I wanted you but I kept my feelings to myself. Because you deserve so much, so much more than I am, so much more than I can give. I wanted and I wanted and I felt so greedy, wanting more and more of you, more than you would let me have– I wanted anything you were ready to give, and I also wanted everything you have to give. I thought you wouldn't want someone like me, when there are so many better options around for you–"

"What?" You couldn't help but laugh. All his words were making you delirious; this had to be some wild dream you had conjured up. It didn't feel real. None of it did. "I had better options around? Sanji, I was so sure you would never look twice at me! I never felt like I was pretty enough, or good enough to get your attention and you're telling me… I had better options? That's so–"

You kept laughing, body shaking from the weight of the laughter. Sanji stared at you, unsure hands still hovering around you. His fingers twitched from holding back the urge to pull you into him.

"You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen," he mumbled. "Not good enough to get my attention? Darling, you have had all of my attention ever since I met you. No other woman could compare to you from the moment you made your place in my heart known."

"Did I really have all your attention?" You asked, letting your insecurities bubble up. Now that you were both being honest, it was better to get it all out of the way, right? "Even when you looked at the other women…"

"I never looked at them the way I did you," his words were sincere, and in that moment, they were enough. You looked up at him, and your body broke into shivers the moment you realised the heat in his eyes as he stared down at you; like you were some unique dish he was finally getting the chance to eat after years of craving it.

"I didn't want the other options, Sanji," you whispered, the volume enough for the proximity you were in. "The only one I ever wanted was you."

You held his collars and pulled him in, and it was like he finally snapped, now that he had permission. His hands immediately grasped at your sides, gently holding the soft flesh there as he kissed you. And now it was your time to give and give, while he took from you like your lips were spilling with ambrosia and he was determined to get every drop. His warm breath fanned over your lips and the goosebumps on your skin rose again, your fingers tightening around the collars of his shirt.

When he let your lips go, he was greeted with the sight of your flushed and pleasantly buzzed expression, like you were drunk on him. Seeing you like that, because of him, it was enough to get him groaning.

"So beautiful," he whispered, leaving feather light kisses all over your face. "So gorgeous. All for me. All… for me to have?"

"Yeah," you whispered, looking up at him and seeing the devastated yet over-the-moon expression on Sanji's face. Even without words, he could always just cleave into your heart and press himself within its walls like they were made to fit him, and only him. "You can be greedy. Take all you want. I'm all yours."

°•❀•°

[lifeof-pink]

i think the way the book became 3rd person pov when kim dokja got off the train is one of the most fucking genius literary moves ive seen in years

[ijscoupe]

(no pressure to write this of course!! Do whatever makes you comfortable and happy <33)

I live for angst, and this was probably done before but I’d love to see your take on it if it’s no bother:

Reader with Simon who believes that their feelings for him aren’t reciprocated, that he and some other recruit are an item and so they keep their distance

Until a mission goes wrong and reader protects the recruit with their life, thinking that by sacrificing themselves they’d make Simon happy.

But all this time it was a misunderstanding, and they don’t find out until Simon storms their hospital room later on pissed off about their grave injuries

it is no bother! i am angst queen. and this is actually all of my favorite things to read wrapped in one very bloody tortilla. thank you sweetie pie

fools rush in (where angels fear to tread)

Your heart feels constrained, begging to be let out of its cage and into his arms. It pulses, as your head fills up with needless thoughts of pure doubt. Doubt and her and Simon, and the sniper rifle you’re holding on so tight to without a thought taken to the bruises forming on your rosy knuckles.

You hear a distant– Close? –shout but pay no attention to it, instead squinting one eye and shutting the other so tight blood rushes like a stream to your head. “Hey,” A gruff voice sounds, splitting in the air like a throwing knife to your ears. It’s nothing.

Nothing to you, at least, you know better than to assume any of his words belong to you. They’re hers, you’re sure of it. You suck in an estranged breath between your teeth, and aim right in between those stupid little beady-black doll eyes–

“Hey, are you even–?!” Ghost yells in your ear, and you flinch so hard you press the cold, steel trigger resting between your thumb and your pointer.

Fuck.

The man below the roof you’re perched on skitters away, screaming bloody murder to his mates. God, you’re not coming back from this, are you?

Simon gives you one final– definitely pissed off –look before dragging you and your gun away with him. Of course, not without bringing that dumb little new recruit along with him. He leans close to your ear, teeth grinding your fucking feelings down with seven thoughtless words spilling out of his mouth.

“Do better. What’s the matter with you today?”

Your heart pangs, an ache in your chest holding you strapped down so tight– yet your legs keep you moving, despite the grief popping like firecrackers in your chest.

While the matter he spat so rudely about, cuddled tight to his geared arm. Like she belonged to Simon. You had half a mind to split her head straight down the middle right then and there, but then it had dawned on you.

You were irrelevant.

In every instance, she’d taken your spot next to him– and he hadn’t done so much as tell her off. Ghost let her ogle over him, tracing gentle, kind (kinder than you could ever be) shapes on his hands when she’d gotten nervous.

She wasn’t built for the military, you clocked immediately as she’d been introduced– Soft, loving eyes greeting even yours with respect, unscarred, untainted skin. Unlike yours. Unlike yours, who’s had skin littered with disrespect and woe and torture from the moment you slipped into the world. She danced, daffodils lining the grass where she’d stood, entering the light like some sort of sacrificial-Disney princess.

And what were you to be, then?

An old crone utop your crowned palace of muck?

You didn’t fully know what had happened next– the recruit scrambling to protect herself from bullets, then yourself suddenly motivated to become a human meat-shield.

Of course this was how it ended. The old codger shot as a sacrifice for the beautiful lady, saved from ever leaving her ivory tower.

You wake up with a start.

Your arms are wrapped so tight you think you’re losing circulation, and once you realize no, you’re not in the fourth circle of hell, your eyes have wandered to the man at the end of your bed. Eyes closed peacefully and… snoring? Standing…?

His eyes shoot open, meeting yours. Veins practically bulge out of his built forearms when he sees that you’re awake, rushing to your bedside. You’re quick to defend yourself, worried that you’d caused a ruckus– a major supply and money loss from the doctor's efforts to save your life.

It was supposed to be a sacrifice. Something heroic, something unreachable.

Something you weren’t supposed to be here to see happen.

“I’m– I’m sorry– Simon, Ghost, L.T., you must be so pissed off with me, so done, I–” Your heart stops as his face draws together to a confused one. 

“What are you blabbering about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed perplexingly as his hand is pressed firmly to your IV-ridden forearm. You stop, eyes trailing back to his worried face. He’s not… angry, no… his eyes are puffy like he’d been pre-mourning your death, his other hand gripping the sterile bed’s paper-flat blankets like that’s the only thing he could hold on to for you not to run away hurting yourself again.

Well, it’s not in your eyes, but you doubt he wants to hold you in this moment. Not now, when he’s not even sure your spine won’t collapse if you do so much as sit up.

“Alive and breathing for two seconds and you have the bloody gall to beg for your lover’s mercy?” You say nothing, the heart rate monitor’s steady beeping shooting up to an alarming shriek. He glances over at the hunk of metal, sighing, before getting on his knees.

He lowers his head onto your blankets, breathing in the bleach-lemony dryer sheet scent before closing his weary, tired eyes. “I was training 'er."

Nothing, again. Your heart rate smooths out to a slow beep on the screen, your eyes burning holes into Simon’s mask. “No other reason I’d let a pitiful thing like ‘er follow me around.”

“Promise, love.”

divider by astralnymphh <3 thank you lots for reading my angels my babies. i now have an emotional attachment to you all. so

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Roommate!Simon who likes to tell people you went to uni.

When it’s just him and somehow the conversation gets on you, which isn’t hard because he’s thinking about you often, he’ll always say: “She graduated uni.”

He say the degree and if you went to grad school he’ll make sure to say that too. He loves it, he loves being able to gloat that he’s got a smart girlfriend back home waiting for him. He loves that you graduated and got a degree when he knows that he never would.

And when you’re together and you mention it he smiles. He lets you describe it and proudly tell whoever it is what degree you got.

God forbid someone say something rude to you. They won’t recover from the social assassination they’re about to receive from him.

Because if there’s one thing about roommate!Simon is that he’s incredibly proud of you