#i have a soft spot for these kinds of people

[hannahsturniolo]

ᴄʜʀɪs ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴅᴄᴀsᴛ

Summary: chris goes on the Zach Sang show to talk about his relationship with you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chris was finally ready to open up about your relationship on the Zach Sang podcast. He was nervous, sure. But more than that, he was excited. He wanted to show you off, to let the world know about the woman who had completely stolen his heart. He talked about you with nothing but admiration in his voice, calling you beautiful, kind, and the best thing that’s happened to him.

You were nervous too. You knew how fan girls could be, and the internet didn’t always play fair. But still, after three months of being together, Chris saw you as so much more than just a girlfriend. In his eyes, you were his future wife. And deep down, he knew it was time to share a little piece of his happiness with the world.

Before the cameras started rolling, Chris sat in the podcast studio with Zach, fidgeting slightly as he admitted he wanted to bring up his girlfriend, he wanted to talk about you. but he wasn’t sure how to ease it into the conversation. He didn’t want it to feel forced. Zach smiled and told him not to worry. He said he’d kick it off by casually asking how Chris’s love life was going, and that would be Chris’s moment to open up about you.

The podcast kicked off with light chatter about Chris’s career, his recent projects, what was next for the triplets, and their upcoming tour. The energy was upbeat and casual. Then, with a knowing smile, Zach shifted gears and asked, “So, how’s the love life going? Have you been dating around?”

Chris’s face lit up instantly, a grin spreading across his face. “Actually, yeah,” he said, his voice full of quiet pride. “I’ve been dating one really special girl for the past three months.”

Zach leaned in, curiosity peeked. “So, who’s this special girl?” he asked with a grin.

Chris smiled even wider and said, “Her name’s Y/N.” He explained that some fans had already started speculating after the two of you were spotted walking together in downtown LA. Since you were an influencer too, people quickly connected the dots and recognized who he was talking about.

Zach asked how the two of you met, and Chris didn’t hesitate, “We met through social media,” he said. “And honestly, we clicked right away. We spent hours on the phone, just talking and getting to know each other. Like, hours and hours. It felt effortless.”

He went on to say that you eventually flew out to LA so you could meet in person, and that’s when everything changed. “We pretty much fell in love,” Chris said, a soft look in his eyes that said it all.

Chris’s expression softened as he talked about you.

“She’s just, everything,” he said, shaking his head with a small laugh, like he still couldn’t believe his luck. “She’s smart, hilarious, insanely beautiful , but it’s more than that. She makes me feel calm. Like I can fully be myself around her.”

He went on, his tone full of admiration. “She’s got this big heart, heart of gold like, she genuinely cares about people. Whether it’s her followers or her friends, she always goes out of her way to lift people up. And the way she supports me? I’ve never had that before. She’s my safe place.”

Zach smiled, clearly moved. “Damn, man, you sound very happy.”

Chris just grinned, eyes lighting up. “I am. I really am.”

Zach leaned back in his seat, thoughtful for a moment before saying, “You’ve talked before about being scared of relationships, about how dating always kind of freaked you out. So, what made her different?”

Chris paused for a second, his smile softening. You could tell he was thinking carefully. “Honestly,” he began, “I was scared. I’ve been through stuff, trust issues, pressure, not knowing if people were with me for the right reasons. I always felt like I had to keep my guard up.”

“But with her,” he continued, “it just felt different. There was no pressure. No games. From the first conversation, it was easy. She made me feel safe. Like I didn’t have to perform or pretend. She saw me,the real me, and didn’t run from it. She embraced it.”

Zach smiled and leaned in again. “What’s been your favorite memory with Y/N so far?”

Chris’s eyes lit up as the memory came back to him. “Oh man, there’s a lot, but one that always sticks out was the first night she came to LA.” He laughed a little to himself. “We were supposed to go out to dinner, but we ended up just staying in, ordering way too much takeout, and sitting on the floor of my apartment eating and talking for hours. Like, until 3 a.m.”

He smiled to himself, clearly replaying the moment. “At one point, she fell asleep on my chest mid, conversation, and I just remember thinking, yeah. This is it. I’m in trouble.”

Zach grinned. “That sounds like something out of a rom com.”

Chris shrugged, still smiling. “It felt like one.”

Zach smirked a little, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Okay, what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for Y/N so far?”

Chris laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “I’m not usually the over the top romantic type, but, there was this one night.”

He smiled to himself as he recalled it. “She mentioned once that she always wanted to have a picnic under the stars, like, just something simple but meaningful. So one weekend, I surprised her. I took her up to this quiet little spot in the hills outside of LA. I brought a blanket, all her favorite snacks, her favorite wine, even brought a little speaker to play her comfort songs.”

He paused, eyes soft. “We laid there for hours just talking and looking up at the stars. I remember she looked over at me and said, “This doesn’t even feel real”. That moment, it kind of locked it in for me.”

Zach let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re setting the bar high.”

Chris laughed, “She deserves it.”

Zach tilted his head, getting a little more serious. “How do you navigate being in a relationship while juggling your career, and the fact that your girlfriend’s just as busy with hers?”

Chris nodded, like he had expected that question. “It’s definitely not always easy,” he admitted. “We’re both constantly on the go, whether it’s filming, traveling, meetings, content deadlines. But we make it work because we both want to.”

He explained, “We’ve made communication a huge priority. We FaceTime every night, even if it’s just for ten minutes while one of us is half, asleep. We send little updates throughout the day, voice notes, random pictures, just stuff to feel connected. It’s those small things that matter.”

Chris smiled. “We also plan ahead. If we know there’s a free weekend coming up, we block it off and make sure it’s for us. Even if we just chill on the couch and do nothing, we enjoy that time. And we’re always cheering each other on, even from a distance.”

Zach nodded, clearly impressed. “Sounds like you’ve got a really solid foundation.”

Chris looked down, smiling softly. “Yeah. She’s worth the effort every time.”

Zach leaned in just a little, the question more personal now. “Are you nervous about how fans are going to react to you dating Y/N? Like, are you worried about how they’ll treat her?”

Chris took a deep breath and nodded honestly. “Yeah, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I know how passionate fans can be, and I get it. But at the same time, Y/N is someone really special to me. She didn’t ask for the opinions that come with it, she just happened to fall in love with someone whose fan base is mostly women.”

He smiled softly. “What I hope people see is how happy she makes me. And how genuine she is. She’s not with me for attention or clout, she’s got her own thing going, and she’s incredible at it. She supports me in ways I never expected, and I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”

Chris glanced toward the camera and added, “I just hope that the people who support me will support her too, because she’s become such a big part of my life. And I love her. Simple as that.”

Zach asked, “Are you planning to post anything on your socials before the podcast goes live? You know, because some fans might miss the episode.”

Chris laughed and nodded. “Yeah, definitely. On the day the podcast drops, I’ll probably share a cute picture of us, something that shows how happy she makes me. Maybe a snap from one of our walks in LA or just a candid moment where she’s laughing. I want my fans to get a little glimpse of what she means to me, even if they don’t catch the whole interview right away.”

He smiled, eyes lighting up. “It feels right to share that part of my life with them. She’s a big deal to me, and I want everyone to know it.”

Zach grinned and leaned in with playful curiosity. “Okay, before we move on, I gotta ask one more thing. First kiss. When was it? How’d it happen?”

Chris laughed, shaking his head like he wasn’t expecting the question but secretly loved it. “Man, the day after she flew to LA, We’d spent the whole evening just hanging out, talking nonstop like we always do. There was this moment, she was sitting across from me, wrapped in a hoodie, hair a little messy from the plane, and I remember thinking, God, I’m so gone for this girl.”

He smiled at the memory. “She got quiet for a second and just looked at me with those eyes, and I couldn’t help it. I leaned in, and she met me halfway. It wasn’t planned or dramatic, it was just soft, and slow, and it felt like something that had been building for a while. Like a sigh of relief.”

Zach let out a quiet, “Awww,” and Chris just chuckled. “Yeah. It was one of those moments you don’t forget.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv @kenziesturniolo54 @d0llworld @kalel2005 @yourfavejules @rheaasturn @babyt0matoes

[twdfemmefetal]

Who was that? pt. 1

Summary: After years of Daryl shrugging off your advances to him, you decide to move on for your own sanity, Daryl realizes he doesn’t like the idea of sharing you.

Era: quarry, CDC, farm, prison, and Alexandria.

Warnings: Age Gap, physical agression, suggestive content, mean! Daryl, Alcohol, swearing, MDNI, Jealously, anger, some fluff.

Divider by: @puppizai

(Quarry)

"Hey Daryl..." You're heart's pace quickened when you walked closer to him.

Daryl's gaze met yours, and suddenly your confidence faltered, you were nervous.

He hummed as a response, carefully watching your movements with a bit of curiosity waiting to see what you planned on doing next.

"Was wondering, if I could maybe come hunting with you." You smiled sheepishly at him, hoping for him to drag you with.

"Nah, don' need no one holdin' me back." He grunted, tone laced with annoyance.

'ouch', you thought to yourself as you bit your lip, hoping to not show him how much the response had affected you.

"I'll be quiet, I promise not to get in your way" You suggested, eyes beaming up at him in admiration, hoping he would say yes.

Daryl looked back at you just before scoffing, "m'good." He picked up his crossbow and brushed right past you, softly grazing your shoulder. You sighed in defeat as you watched the archer's back. Yet again, another embrassing rejection.

You wondered if daryl knew you liked him, how could he not realize, you had a huge crush on him? Everyone seemed to tease you about it, even if he was a couple decades older than you, you couldn't help but yearn for his return. Daryl was the only man you saw worthy of your love, and attention. You've seen Daryl's softer spot, how he's kind to people but in his own subtle ways, how he make's sure everyone is fed with the food he bring to the camp and gives me or the kids some of his extra rations saying 'he already ate' as an excuse. Daryl had a heart a gold; just had a funny way of showing it.

(CDC)

Waking up this morning you would have never guessed in a million years that you would wake up with daryl's arm wrapped around you, snuggling you, with his head tucked into your neck.

earlier that night..

"Booyah!!' Daryl yelled, cheering up Jenner with his wine bottle. As he brought the bottle to his lips daryl's gaze landed on you. You felt like time had stopped in the moment he stared at you. You both shared quick glances throughout the night, followed with soft smiles. At some point, Daryl had sat right by you and handed you the wine bottle he had in his hand to offer you a swig. You graciously accepted his offer and soon enough got tipsy enough to enjoy the night with the others, not worrying about what was outside the walls of the CDC.

This was the most attention Daryl had given you. Usually he would turn you down or avoid you as often as possible but tonight felt different. Tonight felt special, maybe he was swooning over you like you were him.

After taking a nice warm shower you slipped into your tight sleeping shorts and crop top. You stumbled on your way out of the shower rooms as you made your way down the long corridor, hoping to find a room no one claimed.

Your ears perked up when you saw a familiar figure who appeared to be looking for a room himself. You smirked, and walked toward him, feeling the alcohol increase your confidence with each stride you took.

You softly placed your hands around his neck catching him offguard, making him turn around and pin you to the wall.

"oww." you let out softly, too buzzed to feel how hard your back hit the wall.

Daryl wanted to give you back a snark reply on how you shouldn't sneak up on people but his jaw slacked and his eyes softened once he saw you... and your sleeping attire.

Daryl's heart leapt in his chest as he realized just how close he was to you. He hadn't even realized he still had you pinned up to the wall.

His eyes widen and slightly blushed at the sight of your tight clothes, not leaving much to his imagination. You giggled, feeling the whole situation was comedic, the wine taking away any reason or you to be able to think rationally.

Daryl retracted his hands from your body like you had burned him. Leaving your skin tingling at the sensation his fingertips left on you. You couldnt help but smile softly at him.

"w-what're ya doin?" daryl asked as you walked toward him, softly putting your arms around his neck.

"something i've always wanted to do, if that's okay with you?." Daryl tensed up, but didn't say a word as he looked down to your lips, his face flushed when he saw you softly lean into him. You'r hot breathe was now on his face, as he felt your nose brush against his, he braced himself.

The soft feeling of your lips on his made his head spin. Daryl wanted nothing but to touch every part of exposed flesh you had to offer, but every fiber in his being was raging against his thoughts..no feelings about you. He wanted you, craved you, but in the end, knew he couldn't corupt you, not with his thoughts, and fantasies of soemthing more.

So, he did what he thought best; he pulled away and cleared his throat, feeling awkward. Your eyes widen slightly, immediately sobering up at the feeling of his rejection.

Your eyes glossened slightly, embarassed to be put in such a vulnerable positon, only to be pushed away.

"Im sorry, I dont know what I was thinking...you can take this room, ill sleep somewhere else." with a quick mutter you brushed past him softly and made your way down the corridor to find an empty room.

Daryl didn't move nor utter another word to you as you walked away from him.

After a few minutes of not being able to find a vacant room, you stumbled into the recreation room. "Guess im not the only one up huh?" You jumped slightly as you saw Shane looking through some books on the shelf nearby.

"Fuck.. you scared me." You let out a nervous laugh, your eyebrows furrowed when you saw the scratches on his face. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself with something?" You asked concerned as you took a seat on the coach. " Yea... I scratched myself earlier." You saw the darkness behind his eyes as he answered you. Not wanting to push it any further you nodded in understanding.

"What are you doing here sweetie?" Shane asked as he took a seat on the coach, sitting too close to you for comfort.

"Oh, not many places to sleep so I figured id just take this coach." Shane smirked up at you and bit his lip, "Ya can sleep in my room if you'd like? I can take the couch in the room?" You chuckled nervously, "Oh no its okay, I swear."

He scooted closer to you, "Seriously, its no bother at all sweetie." You gulped nervously as you felt his arm rest on your shoulder."I-im not sure-"

"Y/N ya in here?, I found a room for ya." Your ears perked up as soon as you heard Daryls sweet voice causing you to rise up form your seat quickly.

"Oh goodie, thanks anyways for your offer shane." you quickly shrugged him off as your gaze connected with Daryl's. He softly put a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the room.

"Thank god you found a room, Shane was being such a fuckin' creep." Daryl just grunted in response. Once we reached the vacant room, my eyes widen seeing Daryl's crossbow and belongings on the table in the room. "Wait, this is your room? I thought you found a vacant one?"

"Don' be stupid, only room left, sleep er' with me." You felt yourself clam up at his dominance, realizing why you had fallen in love with the archer once more.

It was either Shanes room or Daryls, there is such an obvious answer to those two options.

As you and daryl fully entered the room you saw him about to sleep on the couch but you were quick to disrupt his swift actions.

"Daryl, come on sleep with me.. when was the last time you slept on an actual bed huh?" You playfully smirked at him and saw the sides of his lips quirk up into a smile. "A'ight, but don' be to touchy with me woman." You giggled and climbed into the bed.

Not much had been shared between you and daryl that night, you tried your best to not invade his space anymore than you had already and as did he, but all you really wanted was to be held by him.

Later that night while you both were in deep sleep, Daryl had instinctivley thrown an arm around you pulled you closer to him, with your back pressed up against his chest and your head laid softly on his extened arm, he had managed to bury his head in the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent. Daryl had, had the best sleep of his life cuddled up next to you.

(Greene Farm)

After the CDC, and waking up in Daryl's arms, you thought you had maybe reached a point in your relationship where you both could progress. But as you both woke up, Daryl was quick to leave the room and avoid you for the remainder of the time. Yeah, it hurt. You assumed he just felt bad for you, pitied you, but you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

One of your last attempts to make Daryl yours was when Andrea had grazed him with a bullet. You were beyond sick, restless, and exhausted of the emotions you were feeling, waiting for Daryl to wake up.

Once his eyes fluttered open you couldn't contain yourself as you burst out in tears while softly kissing the back of his hand. Daryl's gaze landed on you, instinctivley getting up only to wince at the bandage wrapped on his head.

You saw confusion on his face as he gazed upon you for answers. "what happened?" he asked softly retracting his hand from your grasp, you didn't think much of it.

"Andrea thought you were a walker, grazed you, you know you're lucky she's a terrible shot or she would have killed you." He took in the information, his lips forming into a thin line. His gaze turning into a harden gaze.

"You must be thirstly, here." You softy tried handing him the glass of water by the nightstand but were met with reluctance.

"Im a'ight, don' need no babysitter." Your eyes widen a bit at his words, you bit your lip anxiously and put the water back on the stand while hesitantly getting up. You couldn't keep this act up, you had to tell him. You cleared out the nervous lump from your throat and spoke.

"Daryl, do you realize how much I like you?" He averted his eyes at your words, but you were in no position to take your words back now. You have bottled your feelings of his rejections for so long, you were sick of it, sick of chasing. You needed hope, hope that he would someday be yours.

"Don' talk like that, yer confused, don' know what you want." Being slightly taken aback by his harsh words, you couldn't help but grasp at his hands once more, moving closer to him, "Daryl, I know exactly what I want, I want you, don't you get it! Why can't you get that through your head? Now, I'd like to ask you if you feel the same way. I can't keep chasing you, Daryl, not anymore, not like this." Daryl searched your eyes for any hint of dishonesty that you might hold in your confession.

As much as Daryl wanted you, he couldn't let himself love you. He didn't know how to love, how to trust. He knew he was a goner the second he laid his eyes on you, but he couldn't let himself surrender, not now, not like this.

"Look, whatever ya think is gonna happen, it ain't gonna work, no matter what you feel. y/n, ya gotta know when to give up." You inhaled a sharp breath, finally you felt almost a weight be lifted off your shoulders. As you got up, Daryl refused to watch you leave. Not realizing, that he might have lost you forever.

(Prison: Now)

Daryl couldn't help but feel his blood boil as he saw the way a Woodbury resident was chatting you up. You didn't notice the scowl on his face, the deep resentment Daryl held for every single man who decided to take a new interest in you. He was jealous; he knew he was wrong for thinking this, but he felt like he still owned you, owned your heart. Your confession had rung in his head over and over again, and the regret of not giving in made him feel guilty for not letting you in.

He knew you were done, over him, since the farm, you refused to really talk to Daryl, you kept conversations with him a minimum, strictly keeping it on the topic of runs and what your next move was. He noticed your stoic features and nonchalant expressions you held around him. He missed the look of admiration you held for him, your beautiful smile and giggles you made everytime you thought he said something funny.

Sure you were beyond heartbroken by the rejection but Daryl was right… You had to know when to move on. He didn’t feel the same way, you knew better than to chase after a heart that didn’t belong to you, or so you thought....

The Woodbury men whom you would casually see came and went, but nothing seemed to satisfy your heart the way it ached for Daryl. No matter how hard you tried, you knew you were done; you would never be able to find anyone remotely similar to Daryl, no matter how hard you tried. It was starting to get ridiculous —the number of men who would come in and out of your life nowadays. It was never anything too serious, just something to get your mind off things—they understood.

You didn’t give it much thought but your actions had pushed daryl past his breaking point. He was done seeing these guys come in and out of your cell at night, clothes not even decently on and hair messy, Daryl couldn’t stand the way he would see you with marks on your neck from your nights with the shitty guys you would bring around.

He was tired of hearing about the stories from the Woodbury men of how good you were in bed, how great your head game was and the way your curves and flesh felt under their hands. He was sick of it.

“Dude you should have seen the way she looked up at me, on her knees like a good girl, fuck dude I’m telling you, she’s got it all, honestly I’ve been thinking of asking her out ya know? Like seriously taking it to the next step, fuck I think I like her-“ Daryl rolled his eyes and quickly got up from seat in the common area. His blood boiled once he heard the way your latest hookup talk about you.

He had enough, Daryl was sick and tired of standing back, he wanted you, and he wanted you bad...

[kkiyou08san]

°❀.ೃ࿔*°❀.ೃ࿔* °❀.ೃ࿔*°❀.ೃ࿔* °❀.ೃ࿔*°❀.ೃ࿔* °❀.ೃ࿔*°❀.ೃ࿔*

My Girl shouldn’t Have to Lift a Finger

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slice of Life, Light Comedy

Warnings: Mild language, overprotective/spoiling behavior

Katsuki Bakugo had never been called soft in his life.

He was sharp edges and hard stares, explosions and curses, the kind of guy who made grown men flinch with just a glare. He didn’t “simp.” Hell, he used to scoff at people who did. The idea of bending over backwards for someone? Doing all that sappy, hand-holding, coat-giving, door-opening crap? No way.

But then he met you.

And something in that overly explosive, incredibly short-tempered heart of his melted.

Now here he was — the self-proclaimed “not-a-simp” — walking through a shopping plaza with a soft pink purse slung over his shoulder like it was made for him. Like he wasn’t currently drawing stares for how out-of-place it looked hanging off his black hoodie and combat boots.

But did he care?

Not one damn bit.

You were a few steps ahead of him, stopping at a window to admire a pair of earrings that glinted like little stars in the sunlight. You didn’t even say anything. Just a small, curious tilt of your head as you leaned in to get a better look. Bakugo clocked it immediately.

And ten minutes later, those earrings were in a tiny gift bag nestled inside the purse now hanging from his shoulder.

You turned to see him staring at you with that typical scowl on his face, and your brows furrowed. “Katsuki, you okay?”

“Hmph.” He grunted. “Come here.”

You stepped over to him with your usual sweet smile, arms swaying a little as your purse bounced lightly at your hip. “What’s up?”

“Gimme that.” His voice was gruff, firm.

You blinked. “What?”

He motioned to your purse. “Give it.”

“Oh!” you laughed, thinking maybe he needed something inside. “It’s fine, babe. It’s not even heavy. I got it!”

Bakugo didn’t budge.

“Give. It. To. Me.” he said slowly, like you were being unreasonable for not handing it over.

With a little blink of surprise, you gently passed your bag to him. “Okay then…”

He tossed the strap over his other shoulder without a word. The man was now wearing two purses, both hanging awkwardly but proudly on his shoulders like he couldn’t care less about what anyone thought.

You looked up at him, giggling softly. “You’re seriously gonna carry both?”

“My girl shouldn’t have to carry anything,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets like it was the most obvious fact in the universe.

Your heart melted. Right there on the sidewalk.

It wasn’t just the purse thing. No — this had been happening for months. Ever since you started dating him, Katsuki had transformed into the most overprotective, attentive, secretly sweet boyfriend imaginable.

He opened every door before you could touch the handle. If it was raining, you wouldn’t even have to ask — his jacket was already draped over your shoulders. Anything you so much as looked at too long was yours before you knew it. He even scolded you for carrying grocery bags.

“I have arms, Katsuki!”

“Don’t care. These arms are bigger. Now give.”

Even now, as you walked side by side, he kept that ever-so-subtle hand on the small of your back. Just enough pressure to let you know he was there. Always.

People stared sometimes. Especially when Bakugo — ever the fireball of a Pro Hero — was spotted with a soft pink handbag or being spotted kissing your forehead before taking off for patrol.

You’d once heard a teenage fan whisper to her friend: “He’s so whipped.”

Bakugo heard it too. He looked over his shoulder, eyes blazing.

“Damn right I am,” he muttered under his breath. “Whipped for my girl. Got a problem with that?”

You hadn’t stopped smiling for the rest of the day.

As you both strolled past the plaza’s café, you stopped him again. “Wait—can we get a slice of strawberry shortcake? They only have it on Saturdays!”

Before you could even fish your wallet out of your jacket pocket, Bakugo was already inside, barking at the cashier for two slices and a coffee with extra sugar. By the time you walked in behind him, he was at a corner table with a fork already waiting in front of your chair.

“I was gonna pay,” you said, sitting down with a sheepish little grin.

He snorted. “You try to, every time. And every time, you still don’t.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t push you away. Instead, he leaned slightly into the touch, his free hand absently brushing his thumb over yours under the table.

Bakugo Katsuki was still sharp. Still explosive.

But when it came to you?

He was all soft edges. Bubble-wrapped in protectiveness. Overflowing with quiet, deliberate love.

Even if he’d never say the word “simp” out loud, it didn’t matter.

Because if being the king of the simps meant treating you like royalty?

Then hell yeah — long may he reign.

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

THE TITANIC is on me. I know it, from the movie, from the TV screen outside the soft shapes of bodies upon me, half-watching or asleep. I do not have the privilege of sleep, of half. I have seen the titanic sink exactly nine times, plus the brief mention of it in the news report of some submarine following its fate. It is sinking, right on me. Halfway down.

"You will ruin the leather," I tell it, although i do not know if it will hear or understand. It feels more like a metaphor than anything but I feel like that sometimes, too.

"I have been betrayed by everything that I am," says the Titanic, a strange, steel pride in its voice. "By all which I was ever promised I was. I am the ship that never sinks, the perfection of engineering. I am drowning in the faultiness built into my bones, into the trajectory of me. You are about the size of a single second class bed within by hull, hardly half the price. You cannot fathom the scale of ruin I am going through."

"Also," it adds, "I will not ruin your leather. The ocean is only present in the shape of my despair. It does not produce any moisture."

"You could have just led with that," i bite back, some distant memory of grazing teeth of something part of me might have been.

In the lull that follows I can hear it, the music on board of the sinking titanic, how the hum of it mixes with the noise of people trying to do some more of their living. I'm not sure if the musicians are good musicians - not much of a musical education from under the buttocks of some fellow who only listens to things in his headphones - but I'm sure they're trying their best.

"I can fathom it, you know."

"Oh?"

"The betrayal, I mean. I thought I would be leather seats in a car, back when I was hide. See the sights. Become a dozen pair of boots and walk a thousand mismatched miles all across the globe. Maybe some of me did, but not any of the bits I am. My two trips were from the factory to storage and from storage to this guy's flat, both in a closed truck. I remember every moment of motion that I have ever had. The string of light between the second truck's doors - i think someone may have locked them wrong. I have composed odes for them in my mind, comparing them to that sliver. The hard shock of pavement, birds on wires, someone complaining i am blocking the entrance. The movers hauling me up and up the stairs. Living room carpet bristling against my legs as I was maneuvered to the perfect TV-viewing spot. End of story."

"Well. That's just sad. But hardly the scale of tragedy I am talking about."

"And why is that, exactly?"

"I mean, you never really knew what you lost, did you? Can't even call it loss, the things that, logically speaking, were never promised to you. I was supposed to sale every ocean. To know the shape of every land against the shape of every shore against the shape of myself, and yet, here I am."

"At least you got to see something. The sunrise, I mean as it really is, not just on TV. Have the people move around inside you, have the birds follow you through the sky."

"Have an iceberg tear through my side. Yes. Very aspirational."

"What I am trying to say is, the sort of capital T Tragedy you are speaking of requires a promise of greatness, a sliver of freedom. I do not think that to never be expected to be anything at all is a greater kindness between the two."

The titanic makes a disgruntled noise. A few lifeboats flop off its edge and right between my duvets, next to the tangled up headphones and a stray sock.

"I suppose you're right. We both fucked"

"I don't think that's how the expression goes."

"Well, excuse me for not keeping up with the grammar of every vulgarity ever uttered on board of me. I'm going through something right now, I don't know if you noticed."

"Ha. Fair, fair. We both fucked."

[mcrdvcks]

congratulations on 2k!!! 💐💕

logan always seem like a giver, i wonder how he'd react having a significant other who adamantly takes care of him? maybe not in the same way he takes care of others, but in small, soft ways?

logan is the type of person who says he's "not a hero" yet his actions consistently proves his words are lies. same with him saying that he's "not a good person." like?? you protected rogue and were willing to sacrifice your life for a teenage girl you just met?

anyways, this is a bit short, but i hope you enjoy it!

send an ask for my 2,000 followers celebration!

warnings/tags: established relationship, soft!logan, fluff

Logan’s not used to being taken care of. He’s the one who patches people up, does the heavy lifting, and quietly steps between others and danger. It’s instinct. Automatic.

So when you start doing it—bringing him water after a mission, setting out fresh clothes without a word, making sure the heater’s on when his joints are stiff—he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

He notices immediately, though. You fold his laundry the way he likes. You learn how he takes his coffee without asking. You remember he sleeps better when there's rain sounds playing. It makes him blink, still and quiet, like he's not sure how he earned it.

He tries to wave it off at first. “Don’t fuss,” he grumbles, even as he lets you rub tiger balm on his shoulder. But the way his eyes flutter shut? The soft noise he makes when your fingers find a sore spot? He loves it.

The first time you run your fingers through his hair to help him sleep, he jerks like he’s been shocked. Then he goes completely quiet. Eyes closed. Breathing even. Gone.

You always have something warm waiting when he comes back from patrol. You leave his boots near the heater when it’s snowing. You slip a protein bar into his jacket pocket when you think he’s skipped lunch.

He’s rough around the edges, but the first time you kiss the scars on his knuckles instead of commenting on them, he stares at you like you’ve just spoken another language. Doesn’t say a word. Just pulls you in and breathes you in like a prayer.

He’s weirdly flustered by quiet affection. You press a kiss to his temple. He grunts. Looks away. But later, you find him still touching the spot absentmindedly like it’s some kind of talisman.

He starts catching himself checking for you in every room. Not to protect you—though that’s always there—but just… looking. For your presence. For your little rituals. The cup of tea cooling by the window. The folded towel left for him by the shower. The way your hand finds his wrist and squeezes once when you pass him in the hall.

He keeps trying to repay every act of care tenfold. You bring him soup when he’s sore? He chops wood for two hours. You tidy his flannel drawer? He fixes the leaky sink in your bathroom before you notice it’s dripping. (You have to sit him down and explain that it’s not a competition. That taking care of him isn’t a job. It’s love.)

He has to learn how to receive. He’s not used to the idea that someone would choose to take care of him, without expecting him to carry it all. So he fights it at first. Shifts his weight, changes the subject, mutters “m’fine.” But you keep showing up. Keep being steady. And eventually, he starts to believe it.

When you run errands, you always come back with something small for him. A new bar of the soap he likes. A snack he thought no one remembered he liked. “Thought you said you weren’t one for soft stuff,” he teases. “I’m not. I’m just nosy,” you reply. But you both know it’s love.

You started rubbing lotion into his knuckles one night without saying a word. He sat there completely frozen like a bear being tamed by the gentlest trap. Didn’t say anything, just stared at your hands and thought about kissing them. He did, later.

[fairytaleendingss]

The Beard Dilemma

Requested by @fire-joestar (This started off like your request and then just kind of took on a life of it's own haha).

Summary: John tells you he's thinking of shaving and isn't prepared for the conversation that follows,

Pairing: John Walker x fem!Reader

CW: Nothing. Complete crack lol.

This one kind of got away from me. Anyway, enjoy!!!

--

Sunlight peaked in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the skin of your cheek. You were laying in John's bed in the tower, sprawled out, tangled in covers. The soft sounds of the shower running could be heard from the bathroom, a comforting background noise that lulled you into a sense of ease in the space.

You sighed thickly, breathing John's scent off the pillowcase as you snuggled further down into the covers. It was nearing 11am on a lazy Sunday morning and you had no plans for the day so you were making the most of the rare chance to sleep in.

"Hey baby?"

John stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing from the doorway behind him. He had a towl wrapped around his waist and you couldn't help but smile at him as your eyes drifted up his bare torso. His chest was still damp with condensation, making his skin shine in the pale morning glow.

"Yes, my love?" you responded lazily, rolling over slightly to get a better view as he moved across the room.

He stopped in front of the mirror that hung over the dresser, examining his face in the reflection.

"I'm thinking of shaving my beard."

You sat up straight, eyes widening in horror, as though he'd just confessed to murder. In fact, you likely would've been less surprised if that's what he'd actually said.

"What?" he asked, swivilling on his feet to look at you, having caught a glimpse of your panicked expression in the mirror.

"No! You can't, John!" you all but shouted at him.

He raised an eyebrow at you as he begun to dress. "Why not?"

"Because!" you pleaded at him. "I love your beard! It's like my favourite thing about you!"

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye. "Jeez, if your favourite thing about your boyfriend is his beard, I think we have bigger problems to discuss."

You reached out your hand and ran your fingers gently along the curve of his jaw, feeling the soft bristles against your skin. You pouted dramatically.

"Hey, don't give me that look!" he scolded. You pouted even more.

"I love your beard. It's so nice. It's all prickly when I kiss your cheek."

He chuckled. "I didn't realise that was a positive."

He moved your hand from his face and gently pressed a feather-light kissto your palm. You couldn't help the slight quirking upwards at the corners of your lips. Still, you held your ground.

"Why do you want to shave it off anyway?"

He sighed. "I was on twitter and I saw this poll."

You're jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

He reached up, rubbing a hand down the length of his chin. "Well, yeah. There were a bunch of people that said I looked better before I grew the beard so I thought I might-"

"Might do what?" You raised a brow at him dangerously. "Listen to the opinions of a bunch of strangers on the internet over your own girlfriend?"

"Well, no. Of course not. But the poll-"

You pursed your lips. Eyes narrowing at him.

"Fine! You want a poll. Lets take it to the group."

And with that you hopped out of bed and made a hurried exit. John's eyes widened as he got up to follow behind you.

"Wait. Hold on now!"

You made your way into the main living area, glad to see that everyone was conviniently located.

"Great! You're all here!"

A bunch of eyes turned to face you curiously. John was red in the face with embarassement but you continued before he could stop you.

"Who here thinks that John should shave off his beard?"

"No! Terrible idea," Alexi boomed instantly from his spot on the sofa. "Beard is a sign of man-hood. Shave it and have face like hairless baby kitten."

You turned to John. "See! Alexi agrees with me."

"I don't now," Yelena chimed in from where she sat, feeding her guinea pig. "I like the clean-shaven look. Its more sophisticated."

You sighed. "Fine. Two for beard, one for no beard. Bucky? What do you think."

Bucky was seated in an armchair across the room, reading a book by the window. "I don't care."

"Thats fair enough. Ava?"

She looked up absently from where she and Bob were clearly engaged in a very intense game of cards - one that likely involved a lot of cheating from Ava's end. "What one does Walker want?"

"He wants to shave it," you supplied.

"Fine. I say beard."

"Hah!" you blurted with a devilish grin but then Bob spoke up.

"Walker, in my opinion, you should do whatever will make you happy."

"Thank you, Bob," John responded, giving you a pointed look. Bob sent John a soft smile just as Ava placed another card down.

"Pick up four."

"What? Again? How are there so many of these in the deck?"

"Fine, that's three and three. We're going to need a tie breaker," you muttered thoughtfully.

"Bucky-"

"Nope."

You sighed dejectedly. "Okay fine then. Let's settle this the old fashioned way."

You turned to look at your boyfriend, who's brows were furrowed curiously. "You. Me. The training mat. Let's go!"

"What?" John remarked in surprise. "I'm not going to fight you if that's what your asking."

"Why not?"

"Because that's stupid."

"No, it's not! Fight me!"

"I'm not fighting you."

"Why? Are you scared?"

"No."

"Then why won't you fight me?"

"Because!"

"Fight me!"

"Okay, that's enough!" Bucky's voice, riddled with irritation, cut through the room. "For gods sake, John, just keep the damn beard.

"Yes!" you cheered loudly moving to give Alexi a loud high-five.

John just rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Fine, you win."

You sent him a sickeningly innocent smile. "Well, if my job here is done, I'm going back to bed. See you guys later."

With that, you turned on your heel and made your way back to John's room, leaving a room full of curious and slightly confused eyes following in your wake.

"Well," Yelena stated, going back to what she's previously been doing. "She's clearly crazy."

John couldn't stop the fond smile that spread over his cheeks. "Yeah, I know."

And on that note, he moved to follow you back to bed.

[annwe24]

INHOSPITABLE LAND

simon riley x reader

being a housewife in a small village has its perks. namely Simon Riley. brave soldier playing house.

cw: cheating, faint misogyny in the backgground and my bad english lol

You feed the chickens late again. Tiny scrawny legs run around frantically while their feathers ruffle against your ankles. The grains hit the ground but your mind doesn’t seem to hit anything lately. Except for one thing. One man.

You don’t know if you could handle it. Men have failed you in so many various ways before, leaving open infected wounds full of maggots that you aren’t ready to pick them out just yet. A father who refused to look at his own daughter and a husband who acted like he didn’t have a wife. Maggots. In the end, you always end up at their feet, hungry and frantic just like these chickens. Craving for something from them even if you don’t know what it is, what it feels like. 

But Simon makes sure he ends up at your feet instead.

Calloused hands and thick scarred fingers gently sewed back the heels of your shoes that were torn off because you stubbornly thought they could carry you through the thick muddy trail of your garden after a heavy rain. Hunched shoulders and tensed muscles flexing hard as he bent over to chop the logs he himself collected for you in the crisp morning air before strapping the vest back on, not without ruffling your hair. Or right now, when Simon is sitting inside your humble cottage at the wooden dining chair, scarfing down the piping hot pumpkin chicken soup with a heavy slice of bread on the side. They’re your husband's favorite.

Seeing that the chickens are satisfied, you retreat back to the warm dimly lit kitchen. You blow out the lamp in your hand, hang it back neatly on the wall right beside the door and beeline to where Simon is sitting. 

Simon finished his dinner. Clean. Not a crumb left. He even rinsed the dishes, put them neatly in the sink for you. As usual.

“Won’t you stay for dessert?”

You ask with hands clasped behind your back, eyes curiously look at him putting on various gears methodically.

“Nah, ol’ man is in a rush today. Told us to be back before 9. Had some important intel or somethin’. ”

“Does that mean you guys are almost done here?”

Done? Maybe the rest but you know Simon is far from done here. You know what he is thinking. You just want to hear the desperation in his voice. 

He pauses his movement and moves closer to envelope you in a tight hug. His fingers flex rigidly between your soft locks, nose buried in your neck to hopefully bring the scent with him when he leaves.

“I still stand on what I said.”

“Simon I can’t just-”

“Just consider it for a bit, okay?” 

“ ‘kay.”

He pulls away from you painstakingly slow, still has his hand on your hips until he’s finally out of the door and you turn to the dishes.

By the time you put the last of his plate on the drying rack, the door swings open accompanied by a grunt. Dirty mud on the floor. 

Your husband’s home. You glance at the rotting tray of fruit that he forgot to put back in the fridge two nights ago. Maggots.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹�� ⋆୨ৎ

“Stay away.”

“People like them? In this no-name hole? Nothin’ but trouble.”

“Watch out for yourself little girl. Tell your husband to check the lock.”

These are the kind words you received from your fellow villagers over the past few days regarding the strange men who have been in and out of town with their loud vests and cargo pants. They are on a hunt.

A traitor. 

“Bastard sold our intelligence and fled here to avoid jail time.”

A man with a straw hat said that with a heavy voice as he settled down on your armchair while his men scattered to any surface they could find, murmuring apologies for the wet spots and dirty mud on your carpet. 

“This is a small place. I don’t think anyone’s gonna stay here for long.”

You set a tray of hot tea on the wooden table and sit on the long couch opposite to him, your left foot accidentally brushed past the thigh of the guy with a ridiculous hairstyle sitting on the floor.

“We will take any chance we have, miss.”

He said as he took a sip of the warm tea. One of his men, the one with a mask obscuring his face, stretched out from behind to snatch a teacup on the table a bit too excitedly. Lifting his mask only up to his nose, revealing an ugly scar across his mouth and a crooked nose, his chapped lips softened when the tea hit. His occasional glances at you since he stepped in didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“You can stay the night if you want. My husband wouldn’t mind. Plus he’s out for a few days.”

“We have already put you in enough risk by being here. Once the rain stops, we’ll go find the nearest-”

“Bad luck then. The folks here don’t really like you that much.”

The man stayed silent for a bit, leaning back on the armchair, arms folded. He jerked his head at the masked man.

“Simon, look out for the lady, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

You looked over your shoulder to take a look at him. There was a glint in his eyes.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Should you cry? Wail? Beg? Give my husband back, please, I beg of you-

Relief floods over you instead. You think you might be going crazy because no one sees their spouse getting hauled away, broken hips, gun pointed to his head and think finally.

Many curious heads poking behind the background, muffled murmurs and pointy fingers. They all become blurry after a while. A soft thud on your left and something landed beside your feet. 

“Think I got all of your stuff. We need to work on the chickens though. Don’t think my neighbors are gonna like ‘em.”

Simon picks up each bag one by one, slings them over his shoulders or hangs them onto his arms. 

“Well, they better get used to it.”

You turn around to look at him. Over his shoulders, you can see the rotting tray of fruit is no longer there. Simon even took out the trash for you. 

[overdramaticbaddie]

SOME DELTARUNE SPOILERS IDK JUST KERDLY THINGS

ooooohhhhhh so THATS how you do that.

Anyway, I've recently been thinking about Berdly, and how Kris seems to be the only person to actually like him, like, at all.

If you think about it, everyone Berdly interacts with does so out of necessity, or just being too polite to shut him down completely.

Alphys throws out the apples he gives her when hes trying to be a "teacher's pet", Susie and Ralsei pretty much disregard him, Queen TOTALLY disregards him, and even Noelle, the person he would consider his BEST FRIEND seems to just be humoring him out of pity, and if she were less of a pushover, she would ditch him entirely. Pretty much all others who know him just act like he doesn't exist.

And this isn't completely unjustified, because Berdly is a fucking insufferable asshole.

He loves to brag all the time, takes credit for other people's work, and insults others constantly to make himself feel better.

But these behaviors are shown to be out of a feeling of loneliness, that he has to act out in order to be perceived, to not be forgotten. This, ironically, brings about the exact opposite effect, and just pushes others further away from him.

He has shown time and time again that he fears being alone, he desires companionship, he copes with the resentment of others by believing they must simply be jealous of his intelligence or in love with him.

Nobody likes him, nobody wants to be his friend, he always has to be the one to initiate because everyone will just avoid him.

Except Kris.

In canon, they have been shown to often be the one to seek him out, whether it's to prank call him or play games.

Kris seems to have a bit of a soft spot for him, and are willing to go out of their way to help him when he needs it (like when he accidently uninstalled minecrap and kris walked him through fixing it and NOELLE FUCKING SAID IT WAS CUTE LIKE GIRL YOU KNOW WHO THE BIG PRANK CALLER IS IN THIS TOWN YOU THINK KRIS WAS CUTE TO HIM)

Well, Kris seems to be a kind person in general, this tends to only present itself in serious situations, doing something like that seems a biiiit out of character for them.

Also the bit with him in the hospital fucking FLOORED me, like oh my god Kris you asked Susie to stay behind, turned on the radiator, changed his FUCKING WATER BOTTLE, and then noticed that "it might be your imagination, but he seems calmer" like bestie i didn't know you were NURTURING like i get dragging him across hometown to get him to the hospital and then slumping over to Noelle's house to reassure and warn her, but to FUCKING try to NURSE BERDLY BACK TO HEALTH like do you know????? do you FUCKING know???? how many hurt/comfort fics i have read??????? do you know??????????? WTFFFFFFFFFFFFF

And what's also really cute is how in the normal route the two options on the Berdly phone call in chapter 4 BOTH lead to Berdly expecting Kris to wanna be his date at the festival???? this plus the fact Susie and Noelle are canonically gonna be going together as a DATE??????

But, yeah, anyway, I think Kris genuinely cares about Berdly, possibly as more than a friend?????

I think they would be mostly frustrated at the SOUL for fucking with whatever plans Kris has at the festival for dark fountains and shit, and those probably wouldn't involve Berdly.

(BUT ISTG BERDLY IS GONNA BE SOOOOO FUCKING IMPORTANT NEXT CHAPTER TRUST)

[erikawrites13]

"Fast Tracks and Hidden Truths" " -“Love and Thunder”

Part 4

So you know- "English is not my first language. I have dyslexia. Let me know what you think about it, please."

Young Sebastian Vettel x journalist (reader) Enemies to Lovers and Slow Burn

Part 4 of ? Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The rain finally began to ease, droplets slowing to a gentle drizzle that misted around you like a soft curtain. You pulled Sebastian’s jacket tighter around your frame, feeling the lingering warmth like a secret between you.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the damp air, smooth and teasing. “So, what you’re just going to keep that?”

You turned, spotting Sebastian leaning casually against the side of the Red Bull transporter, that infuriating smirk back in place.

“Feels better on me anyway,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You want it back?”

He stepped forward, eyes sparkling with challenge. “Maybe I do.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, though your heart was already racing. “Oh? And what’s the price?”

His grin deepened, a slow curve that promised trouble. “Come find me after the race. If you’re still wearing it.”

A beat passed. The kind where time stretched and the world blurred around the edges.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said softly, the teasing edge fading just enough to let something warmer through.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered just for a moment before he shrugged with that devil-may-care attitude you knew so well.

“Good. I like a challenge.”

He reached out, just fingertips brushing against the jacket’s cuff a touch light and deliberate before turning on his heel.

As he disappeared again into the paddock chaos, you stayed rooted, fingers brushing where he’d touched you, the heat spreading in a way the rain never could.

Maybe this rivalry wasn’t so simple anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, it was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Time skip

The roar of the crowd still echoed through the Silverstone paddock, even as the rain returned in heavy bursts, falling sideways now, driven by sudden gusts of wind. The race was over, and Sebastian had won convincingly. Dominantly. The kind of win that shut people up and made the headlines write themselves.

And you were still wearing his jacket.

You caught him just off the pit lane, still flushed from victory, champagne-slicked hair messy under a backwards cap, fireproofs clinging to his frame. His usual cocky confidence was on full display except when his eyes landed on you, and something flickered behind them.

“You again,” he said, breathless and grinning, walking up like you were the one person in the paddock he wanted to see not that he’d ever say it.

“Me again,” you replied, lifting your recorder halfway. “Winner of Silverstone. You’ve got ten seconds before the next outlet claws their way over here. Make it count.”

He leaned in, the mic nearly brushing his lips.

“You’re still wearing my jacket,” he said, low and unbothered, ignoring your question entirely.

Your lips twitched. “Still fits better on me.”

“Not sure I agree,” he muttered, his eyes dropping just for a fraction of a second to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. “But I guess I’ll allow it.”

You shook your head, clearing your throat. “Focus, Vettel. You just won your second race here. What’s going through your mind right now?”

He looked at you for a long beat, longer than any professional distance should allow. Then, with a slow, infuriating grin, he said, “Right now? That I should’ve asked for your number instead of my jacket.”

You blinked — not expecting that. Not from him. Not now. But before you could form a response, thunder cracked across the sky like a cannon shot, followed by a new surge of rain. The media line broke, everyone scattering, shielding their cameras and running for shelter.

You cursed, scrambling to cover your recorder. “Great.”

Sebastian was already beside you, hand grazing your lower back as he leaned close, shouting above the rain. “Come on! I’ve got a room upstairs. Dry. Warm. No microphones.”

You hesitated. Only for a moment. But the storm made the choice for you.

Cliffhanger! Don't hate me, next part comes soon with a bit of heat!

[sunandflame]

Tomatoes and Rosemary - Soft Scene with Mihawk

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 478

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Reader

"Soft Scene with Mihawk" Series

crossposted on AO3

The afternoon had dipped into a golden hush, the vineyard steeped in sunlight and the lazy hum of cicadas. You followed the worn path between rows of trellised vines, your fingers brushing over curling leaves, still warm from the day. Every now and then, the breeze carried the rich, earthy scent of ripening grapes—and the faintest aroma of something savory from the garden.

You found him kneeling by a patch of rosemary and tomatoes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a sun-dappled shadow across the strong line of his shoulders. Mihawk. The world's greatest swordsman, covered in faint flecks of soil, inspecting a tomato like it were a jewel. Your heart did a ridiculous little flip.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” you said softly, though you’d been looking for him.

He didn’t glance up right away, just plucked the tomato from the vine with a practiced twist. “You’re always walking toward me,” he murmured. “I simply wait.”

That made your chest go warm and fluttery. You took a few steps closer, catching the faint scent of spice and sun-warmed earth clinging to him. He looked up finally, golden eyes catching yours—still quiet, still unreadable. But you were learning. There was softness in his silence.

“Try this,” he said, and held out the tomato—cut in half with a quick flick of a small blade you hadn’t even seen him draw. One half for you, one for him. Still warm. Still sweet.

You took a bite. He watched your lips, not your reaction.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

Mihawk nodded slowly. “I grow what I want to taste.”

Your breath caught just slightly at that. He was always like this—saying things that felt like riddles, but once you learned his rhythm, his words ran deeper than most people’s confessions.

He leaned back slightly, one hand bracing against the soil. “You have dirt on your cheek,” he said.

You blinked. “Do I?”

He reached toward you, thumb grazing the curve of your cheekbone. Not wiping, not hurried—just lingering. Watching the spot, and then your lips. His thumb shifted just slightly. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The air between you stretched—heat pooling low in your belly.

He was still for another heartbeat. And then, just as slow and deliberate as everything he did, he leaned in and kissed you.

Not urgent. Not claiming.

But intimate.

Mouth warm, tasting faintly of tomato and rosemary, hand still at your cheek. You felt it in your knees, in your spine, in the places your body had longed to be held. When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a long moment. The kind of look that meant this mattered. That he meant it.

You smiled, just barely. “So… you grow what you want to taste?”

His mouth curved—just a little. “Exactly.”

And then he kissed you again, deeper this time.

[onlyangel4]

held. cody rhodes. part two.

cody rhodes x chronically ill!reader

synopsis: chronic illness teaches you how to disappear, quietly, politely, without complaint. but when a painful fall at a crowded bar leaves you stranded, it’s cody rhodes who stops. not because of fame. not out of obligation. because he noticed. and he stayed.

faceclaim: dakota johnson

author's note: in this the reader suffers from elhers danlos syndrome, i have elhers danlos so i find it easier to write but if you have a different chronic pain condition please do imagine it as that. for storyline purposes cody didn't have a match.

part one

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the café he picked wasn’t far from your hotel. small, tucked between a used bookstore and a boutique guitar shop, with foggy windows and only one person working the counter.

no fan mobs. no cameras.

just two chairs in the back by a chipped brick wall.

you spotted him before he saw you, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, a black hoodie pulled up halfway, baseball cap tugged low. casual. comfortable. but his knee bounced like he wasn’t sure what to expect.

you hesitated at the door. it felt ridiculous, how nervous you were. like this was a date. like it mattered.

(like it wasn’t the first time someone had really looked at you and stayed.)

then he saw you and stood instantly.

"hey", he said, smile already soft.

"hi", you breathed.

the hug wasn’t planned, but it happened anyway. he pulled you in gently, careful of your shoulder, his arms warm and solid and too real for the way your stomach flipped.

"you okay?" he asked as he pulled back, his eyes scanning your face like it held answers.

you nodded. "bruised, mostly."

"you wear it well", he said, grinning.

you sat across from him, heart thudding louder than it should have. there was a drink waiting for you already, hot tea, perfectly steeped.

you blinked. "how’d you know?"

"i asked your friend on Instagram", he said, completely unapologetic. "bribed her with tickets."

you laughed, half surprise, half amusement. "that’s cheating."

"absolutely", he said, sipping his coffee. "zero shame."

there was a pause. comfortable, but full.

and then you were brave and broke it.

"i was on twitter earlier, people think we’re a thing", you said quietly.

he looked at you for a long beat. "do you want us to be a thing?"

your breath caught.

you didn’t answer. not yet.

instead, you looked down at your tea, fingers curling around the warmth.

"i didn’t think you’d actually text", you admitted.

"why not?"

"because people usually don’t."

"i’m not people."

that line, said so simply, lodged itself somewhere deep in your chest.

the moment hovered. still light. but no longer weightless.

he leaned forward a little, elbows on the table.

"i know you didn’t ask for all this attention. i just wanted to check in. to make sure you were still you under all the noise."

you looked up at him. really looked.

and there he was, not the guy from the posters or the ring or the viral photos.

just him.

"i am", you said. "still me."

he smiled, and you thought:

god, i hope this isn’t just kindness.

because something about the way he looked at you made it feel like it wasn’t.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

wrestlingupdates posted a story

written: the girl cody was with last night was spotted out in vegas this morning. sources state she was seen going into a coffee shop to meet cody

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the café emptied out slowly, but neither of you moved.

outside, the light had shifted, golden, low. late afternoon creeping toward evening. the kind of hour that always felt like an ending.

he glanced at his watch. then at you. "i’ve gotta be at the airport in a couple hours."

you nodded like you hadn’t already known that.

of course he did. he was cody rhodes, wrestlemania main-eventer, weekly flyer, human brand. you didn’t know where he was headed next, but you were pretty sure it involved pyrotechnics.

still, it felt different to hear it out loud. it made everything feel smaller. less permanent.

"don’t feel like you have to say you’ll keep in touch", you said quietly, fingers tracing the edge of your mug. "i’ve done the part where people mean well. i don’t need..."

"i’m not people", he said again, soft but certain.

you looked up. met his eyes. he wasn’t smiling now.

"i’m not saying anything i don’t mean", he added.

something in your chest ached, hopeful and guarded at the same time.

"i just" you hesitated. "i don’t really date. i don’t do casual. and i'm not great at chasing people who are half-here."

he didn’t flinch. just nodded slowly, like he was weighing that truth with care.

"then let’s not be casual", he said. "let’s be intentional. even if it’s weird. even if it’s long-distance. even if we’re figuring it out in fragments."

you blinked. "you make that sound so easy."

he grinned. "i'm a wrestler. my whole job is making hard things look easy."

you huffed out a laugh. "that was a terrible line."

"i know", he said proudly.

the silence after that was warm, but stretching, like something was about to end, or change. he reached for his wallet, then paused.

"can i get a photo with you?", he asked.

you tilted your head. "why?"

"because if i don’t, the internet’s going to start ai generating couple pictures, and they’ll be terrifying."

You laughed, then leaned in.

he pulled out his phone, snapped a quick one. then, at the last second, turned and kissed your cheek before the shutter clicked again.

the camera caught the moment, blurry, close, real.

you didn’t even know he posted it until hours later, on his instagram story:

americannightmarecody posted a story

written: great company

and just like that, the rumour mill started again.

but you didn’t care.

because when he said he’d call you when he landed,

he meant it.

and you already knew you’d answer.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you never set rules. you never defined it.

but somehow, the distance didn’t make it disappear.

he called you the night he landed in chicago. the sound of his voice over the phone made your breath catch, warmer than you remembered, somehow.

he didn’t say much. just:

"tired. cold. thinking about you."

"sleep", you whispered.

"call you tomorrow."

and he did.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

some nights, it was only a text.

Cody [1:14 AM]:

full arena tonight. my ribs hate me. you’d hate this hotel mattress more.

You [1:15 AM]:

i believe in you. you will survive that mattress

he sent a selfie the next morning, outside the arena, hoddie pulled up, smiling like a jester. you screenshotted it before you could think twice.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

other nights, you facetimed.

once, he was backstage in his gear, stretching on a crate while crew members yelled in the background.

you were in bed, oversized hoodie, your heating pad glowing beside you.

"i look like a lump", you muttered.

"you look like someone i'd rather be next to than in this sweaty locker room."

you tried not to let it mean too much.

(it did anyway.)

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the first time you cried on the phone, it wasn’t about him.

it was your body, breaking down, again. a flare-up that had been building for days. the dull ache behind your eyes had bloomed into a full-body fire, every joint screaming in its own rhythm. your fingers had gone stiff, curled into reluctant claws, and your back had locked up so badly you couldn’t sit or lie down without something giving way.

it felt like you were shrinking inside yourself, like your own skin didn’t know how to hold you anymore. you felt ancient and helpless and impossibly tired.

you didn’t want to call. you stared at his contact for five whole minutes, debating whether the pain was real enough, bad enough, worthy enough to warrant his attention.

it wasn’t about him.

but it was about the fear that he’d hear you like this and disappear.

still, your hands hurt too much to text. so you called.

he answered on the second ring.

"hey", he said, voice quiet, softer than usual, like he could hear the hesitation before you even spoke.

you tried to sound normal. you failed.

"my hands", you swallowed. "they’re bad today. i can’t even my back’s gone too. i feel like i’m ninety."

there was a silence on the line. not the uncomfortable kind, just space. room to exist.

then:

"where are you right now?" he asked.

"couch."

"you’re okay. you’re okay", he said, like a mantra. "can you breathe for me?"

you did. shaky, shallow breaths at first. then deeper. then steadier.

"i didn’t want to ruin your night", you whispered eventually, voice breaking under the weight of it.

"you didn't ruin anything" he said. "you’re not a problem. you’re not a burden. you’re a human being. call me, even when you think i won’t pick up."

your eyes blurred again.

he didn’t fill the silence after that. He just stayed on the line, breathing with you. quiet, solid, present.

and when you finally started to fall asleep, phone still clutched in your good hand, he was still there, not saying anything, but not leaving either.

he picked up every time after that.

even when you didn’t say anything at all.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

he sent merch to your apartment with a note that just said,

"so you stop stealing my jacket."

you wore the hoodie on a grocery run and someone recognized it.

later, you found a fan instagram with a blurry photo.

wrestlingnews posted a story

written: pretty sure cody’s mystery girl just picked up oat milk in la

you sent him the link.

you: do i need a disguise now

cody: yes

cody: but don’t cover your face. i like that part.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you didn’t talk every day. but it always picked up like you had.

the thread between you never went slack. it stretched across time zones, bruises, cities, and nights when you couldn’t sleep. it wove itself into your days, a comfort, a maybe, a presence that felt less and less like a crush and more like gravity.

somewhere between month three and four, you realised:

you were in something.

you just didn’t know if you were in it alone.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the arena in austin buzzed like a living thing, loud even from the back halls, the walls humming with the low rumble of fans, the thud of music, the electric air of something about to happen.

you held your pass tight in your palm, your other hand clenched around the handle of your bag like it might float away if you let go. you hadn’t told him you were coming. not when you booked the flight. not when your friend from production pulled a string for a backstage pass. not even when you landed that morning and felt your nerves crawl all the way to your throat.

you didn’t want to make it a big thing.

you just wanted to see him.

you waited until after his match, until the shouting gave way to music, then to static, then to nothing but footsteps and radio calls. you stood tucked into a hallway near the locker rooms, trying to stay out of sight, your heart beating like it was trying to outrun you.

then you saw him.

hair damp, gear still on, his jacket slung over one shoulder. He was talking to someone, laughing a little, but distracted, like his brain was already somewhere else. maybe already on the flight out. maybe already out of reach.

you almost turned around.

but then he looked up.

and everything stopped.

he blinked like he wasn’t sure he was really seeing you, like his brain was taking a second to catch up to his eyes.

"you’re", he started, his voice catching. "you’re here?"

you nodded. "i figured i owed you a surprise."

for a moment, he didn’t move.

then he was in front of you, fast, like something finally snapped loose and his arms were around you, tight and warm and solid, lifting you slightly off the ground like he couldn’t help it.

you laughed into his neck. "you’re sweaty."

"you’re real", he murmured. "that’s more important."

he set you down gently, but didn’t let go.

"tell me you’re not just passing through", he said, breath still shallow. "tell me i don’t have to watch you walk away in fifteen minutes."

you shook your head, smiling. "couple days. i figured we deserved something."

his hand cupped your cheek before you could say anything else. thumb brushing your skin, eyes searching yours like he was waiting for you to change your mind.

you didn’t.

you leaned in first.

the kiss wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t fireworks or perfect timing or anything that would look good on a big screen.

it was slow.

honest.

like something built, not rushed.

when you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"so..." you said softly, "does this mean we’re official now?"

he smiled, wide and a little dazed. "we were official the second i saw you in that hallway."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

americannightmarecody

liked by samizayn, juceyucey, y/ninsta and 729,384 others

tagged: y/ninsta

americannightmarecody: you never fail to amaze me

view all 23,485 comments

y/ninsta: i love you so much

americannightmarecody: that's my girl

user5: she’s so soft and comfy coded I’m gonna cry

user6: chronic illness girlies winning again

user7: she looks like she makes playlists and remembers everyone's drink order

user8: i’m obsessed. i’m emotionally attached. i’m in this relationship too now, thanks.

[kitkat13001]

⋆˚꩜🏕️｡. 5 ➢ PARADISE ISLAND

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 a mha x reader gravity falls au ! -> ft.izuku midoriya, ochako uraraka, shoto todoroki, and denki kaminari ᨒ ོ ☼ prev ➢ m. list ➢ next ➢ 05 - sun, fun, and a chance at romance !

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 entry ; 𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚘 𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚊

it’s not dark out yet but the moon is visible in the big blue sky. you and ochako had ditched the boys to explore the woods, where you’ve now found a clearing with what you’re pretty sure is a half-buried ufo. 

“this town is insane,” you laugh, shaking your head as you and ochako approach it. it makes a decent enough seat for you both to sprawl out in the shade and catch your breath. 

“yeah, well…” ochako snorts, staring up at the daytime moon. “mysteries aside, i’m sure you probably think this is some hick town in the middle of nowhere,” she says, voice airy and faraway. “a road-trip pit stop with no future.”

“i don’t think that!” you protest, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at her. her gaze remains fixed on the sky.

“i bet you did when you got here.”

you don’t say anything to that, resuming your reclined spot without a word. 

“it’s okay, i get it. i’d probably think that too,” she admits with a shrug and a rueful little smile. “and i love gravity falls, i do. it’ll always be my home. but one day i’m gonna get out of here and see the world. i just…have a little ways to go for now, that’s all.”

you sit in her revelation for a minute, mulling it over. you glance at her with a small grin. “where d’you wanna go?”

ochako pushes her bottom lip out, deep in thought for a long second. “a big city. somewhere with a lotta people and something always going on. and i’ll become a millionaire ceo businesswoman with my face on a billboard or something!”

her cheeks turn pink when she sees the way you’re smiling at her, like she’s embarrassed for getting carried away.

“can i ask what you wanna do?” you grin. “as a big-town ceo millionaire businesswoman?”

“i don’t know, i guess something useful,” she replies, tugging at a strand of her hair. “i was thinking about medical technology or something to that effect. something that helps people — i don’t want to get super rich and become a greedy asshole or anything.”

you laugh. “ochako uraraka, i don’t think you could ever be an asshole. as a matter of fact, i think you’re the sweetest girl i’ve ever met.”

she beams, eyes soft and cheeks pink. “you think?”

“oh, i think.”

you both start to laugh again, and you don’t miss the way your hands interlock in the midst of the giggle fit. 

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 entry ; 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒

you look up from where you’d been spacing out and staring at the water to find todoroki standing above you, hand outstretched to offer you a soda. 

you take it with a little smile and scoot over to allow him space to sit. he seems to consider it for a second before he sits a respectable distance from you despite the relative smallness of the seat. 

you snort to yourself before popping the tab and taking a drink. 

“are you enjoying yourself?” shoto asks after a moment, curious and sincere. 

you lean back, letting the sun hit your face and beam. “absolutely.”

“i figured we could use a break,” he says, “after the last couple days. beats the heat, too.”

“i can’t believe you just…have a boat,” you marvel.

shoto shrugs. “it’s my father’s. we usually don’t use it here though. the quarry isn’t classy enough for him, and he’d rather be dead that caught with most of gravity falls’ citizens.”

you mull over his words for a second, the reproach in his voice. “where do you take it then?”

“upstate. off the coast sometimes, or to bigger lakes up north. business ventures usually, we’re not really a vacation kind of family.”

“why not?”

he gives a dry smile. “can’t stand each other long enough to go on one.”

you grimace at the mental image. “man…no offense, but i hope i never meet your family.”

“my mother and siblings are decent, my father is the bad seed. but don’t worry, you won’t meet him if i can help it.”

“oh yeah?” you afford yourself a little smile at the determination in his voice. 

“of course. i may be new to the whole ‘friends’ thing, but i’m sure keeping them out of unpleasant situations seems like it falls under the job description.”

shoto permits himself a small chuckle when you laugh again. 

you lift your soda can to his, clanking them against each other and settling more comfortably in your seat to face him. “to friends?”

“to friends,” he agrees, and you can’t help the way your heart jumps at his smile. it might be the most genuine one you’ve seen out of him, especially from this close. 

“and to the best summer ever!” you conclude with finality, not at all oblivious to the way he leans back (closer to you). 

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 entry ; 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚔𝚒 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒

“any chance you think they’re coming back for us?”

denki makes a ‘yikes’ face, staring at you for a second before you both burst out laughing. 

you’d both swam to shore after falling out of the boat earlier, and now you’re sitting on the docks drying off and waiting for the others to swing by and pick you up. 

“they’re probably gonna go for another lap before they come get us,” denki jokes. “good thing you fell in with me, otherwise ‘chako would’ve told them to keep going.”

you laugh at that, kicking your legs in the water beneath. “no way.”

“it’s true,” he insists with a grin. you lean back on your hands as you fall into a comfortable silence, watching the setting sun reflect off the water. 

“hey, um…” you look over when denki says your name, but his gaze is fixed on the ripples of the water below. he looks somewhat bashful as he continues. “sorry about the whole gnome thing the other day.”

you tilt your head, waiting for him to elaborate. “huh?”

“the gnomes,” denki replies, mimicking their pointed hats with his fingers atop his head. “i…i probably should’ve listened to the others and not run off. if we hadn’t tried taking those pictures they probably wouldn’t have attacked us and then…”

“and then we wouldn’t have stumbled across the greatest mystery of our lives?” you supply, flashing a smile when he finally meets your gaze. you give his shoulder a light nudge. “don’t beat yourself up about it, kami. no harm, no foul! if we hadn’t discovered the gnomes we probably would’ve come up on something else weird anyway.”

he gives a half-hearted laugh. “true. i just don’t want you to think i’m a screw-up, that’s all. i mean i kind of am, but i don’t want you to think that.”

you let yourself lean against him, the feeling of his sun-warmed skin against yours pleasant in the evening air. “well, i think the only thing being screwed up is this great sunset by the fact that our friends are coming back for us.”

denki looks up to you pointing at the todoroki boat, which is heading for you from around the bend.

you get up and offer denki your hand, “‘cause i think it would’ve been nice to stay here with you a little longer.”

denki smiles, big this time, as he takes your hand and gets to his feet. even when you two get back on the boat, you spend the rest of the ride in the back huddled together under a beach towel, making private jokes and laughing.  

𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓 entry ; 𝚒𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚢𝚊

the drive back to the shack after shoto had dropped you all at the docks is peaceful, all sun-induced sleepiness and the breeze coming in from the rolled down windows. 

you and izuku sit in comfortable silence, his fingers tapping at the steering wheel and your feet propped up on the dash. 

staring at the gnome bite on your ankle, you give a little giggle when you run through the events of the past couple of weeks in your head. 

“what’s so funny?” izuku muses, glancing at you with a little smile of his own. 

“just thinking,” you reply. “it’s only a couple of weeks into summer and we’ve seen freaky science journals, ufos, gnomes, and a sea monster. i bet todoroki’s going to take us to see the unicorns next.”

“i told you this summer wasn’t gonna be boring,” izuku laughs, nudging your thigh. 

“i can’t believe i’m saying this, but i’m glad my parents shipped me off out here,” you marvel, gazing at the forest passing by in the window. you look at izuku next to you and snort. “even if you did get dragged into this mess with me.”

he leans back in his seat to look at you once he parks the car behind the shack, that sheepish freckled grin you’ve grown so familiar with over the years radiant on his face. 

“no way i’d rather have it. whatever comes next, we’ll do it together — just like we always have.”

𒈔 ִ ࣪𓂀 𖤐 — journal entry 05:

ꍩꁲꀰꈼꋊ’ꋖ ꐞꂦꐇ ꌅꈼꁲꂠ ꈼꋊꂦꐇꁅꍩ ꋖꍩꂑꌚ ꀯꍩꁲꉣꋖꈼꌅ?

📖 🪬🗝️ — from the author: done at last! lowkey feel like i short-changed the izuku portion, but there’s been plenty of love for him already (and much to come!) hope you liked! massively grateful for everyone who tells me they’re enjoying it, genuinely makes my day!! <33 see you next time mwah

© kitkat13001 ➢ do not copy, translate, repost etc

taglist: @ceecilya @n3r0-5352 @taxavoider @bloomness @deadhands69 @saucejar @hydeonysus @bloodb3nders @fellowchickennugget @keeeenbeeaan @boreaswrites @bangersplusmash @crushmeeren @agirlenchanted @biodegradablevagina @xoyuji @zukiiiiiiiii @teeesthings @tv-gh0st @reality1escaping @candiiee @bitchyfestivalbouquet @majoryeager104 @tokeposts @inumkii @th34rs0n1st @mikumikumikuuuu @soursxpling @lipstainedgemini @rickydickydoodahgrimes73 (please ask/comment to be added)

[hotchshands]

Jackson's Songbird

navigation: ao3 | masterlist | taglist | pinterest

summary: one night, you join joel on his porch and find your voice.

pairing: jackson!joel x fem!reader

wc: 1.2k

contains: sfw/fluff, mentions of death and loss (your family’s dead rip), 30yr age gap (reader is 24-26, joel is like 55-60, but it is never specified), peepaw!joel, mutual pining, lowkey grumpy x sunshine but i hate that trope so idfk what it is doing here, joel lowkey being a perv looking at them titties

author's note: i want to seduce that old man so badly and apparently song does the trick so here tf we are. tbh this may become a mini series… btw shoutout to pommecita for the beautiful divider

Crickets chirped as you walked along the dirt roads of Jackson. The night sky engulfed you in a cold hug. Townsfolk were nowhere to be seen, either sleeping or drinking their sorrows away at the Tipsy Bison, but you were walking. Later in the evenings, when the darkness swallowed the town whole, you would stroll around, breathing in the quiet air around you.

Something about Jackson at night made you feel safe. Perhaps it was the thick walls that blocked invaders and clickers from entering or the town folk's Southern hospitality. Whatever it was, you welcomed it with warm arms.

There was just one person who was always awake with you as you circled the square. Joel Miller. The older man could always be found sitting on his porch in the orange light hanging above him with his guitar firmly in his lap.

You’d avoid eye contact as you passed by, knowing the man preferred to be alone, or so you thought. Little did you know that grump longed for company. A few weeks into your stay, you started to wave in an attempt to return the kindness of Jackson. Joel smiled back, which only made your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Even in the black sky, you could see the crow’s feet and sunspots that blessed his face. Most people may find the signs of age pitiful, but you find them beautiful. As you studied every spot on his face, you felt the urge to kiss every single one while you stroked the grays in his soft curls. The butterflies consume your body as you continue your steps in no particular direction.

Joel became the only thing you thought of. Somehow, the thoughts and memories of your family were replaced by the older man. It was nice to forget your grief, to have hope after years of hopelessness. The apocalypse never promised you a life of love and happiness, so you destroyed the dream of life with someone by your side.

As a young girl, you watched your parents love in awe. You wanted what they had, despite the hardship that came with having a partner; you wanted it all. The heated fights full of screams and tears, the anxiety that comes from having kids, and the warmth of another person in your bed.

You’d imagine a shadow of a figure with you when the world went to hell as a coping mechanism, but after everyone faded, so did the shadow, except now the figure was back, with the face of Joel Miller. He followed you everywhere you went. He haunted your dreams that you swore didn’t exist, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, holding you as you slept.

In the morning, you’d wake with watery eyes because it wasn’t real. You had no one. But Joel was real. Unlike your parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends, he was alive.

Later that day, when Jackson gave way to the night, you stepped outside in your white nightgown and cowboy boots. You stood on the front steps of your new home and took a deep breath before heading to him. Your feet knew the path to his house. As you approached the house, Joel perked up and smiled. This time, you didn’t wave; you spoke. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel motioned to the rocking chair next to his. “Please.”

You took a seat in the wooden chair, pulling your legs to your chest and wrapping your arms around them tightly. The cold was worsening as winter approached, yet you never wore a coat, inviting the breeze to hit your legs. Joel stared at you as you got comfortable, eyes raking your soft skin and nipples that poked out from under the white fabric.

“You ain’t cold in that?” he asks.

You shiver. “A little, but I like the cold.”

“If you say so, darlin’,” he replies in that Southern twang before strumming his guitar lightly with his large hands.

You watch him, admiring how his fingers danced along the strings, delicately producing sweet music. The sound puts you at ease, like a lullaby. As you close your eyes to listen, you forget all about your grief.

“You play?” Joel interrupts the silence.

You shake your head.

“I could teach ya if you’d like.” He shows you the basic chords, but you don’t pay attention, lost in the rough, calloused hands that worked hard every day to survive. Joel took notice of your gaze, blushing as he handed you the guitar. “Give it a try.”

You placed your legs down from the chair and took the instrument. Small hands teased the strings as you searched for the right chords. You had no clue what you were doing but discovered a familiar tune.

“Yesterday. Love was such an easy game to play. Now, I need a place to hide away. Oh, I believe in yesterday,” you began to sing, unsure whether or not you were playing the right notes in the right progression. “Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be. There’s a shadow hanging over me. Oh, yesterday came suddenly. Why she had to go, I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. I said something wrong. Now I long for yesterday.”

Joel’s brown eyes locked onto you, mesmerized by you as you finished the song. “Not bad, kid,” he complimented, clapping his hands at your performance. “You gotta natural talent for this if you ask me.”

Your cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “Thank you.”

You pass the guitar back to Joel before you remember. “My dad used to sing that song every morning. Surprised, I remember it after all this time.” You laugh.

Joel glanced into your sad eyes. He knew without needing to be told. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You brush it off. “It’s alright. No one lives forever. Though if I had to bet, I would’ve bet all I had that my dad would survive this mess. Guess I was wrong.”

Joel wanted to inquire, but it wasn’t his business.

“He died trying to save my mom from a group of clickers.”

Joel sighed. “I’m so sorry. That’s… no kid should have to go through that.”

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You remind him.

“Right. You’re a young lady, but still, you shouldn’t have to bury family.”

“We’ve all lost people. I’m no exception.”

The two of you fell into a moment of silence.

Joel wanted to say something. To tell you that you were the exception. His exception. But lord knows the last thing Joel needed was another kid to worry about. Ellie was enough trouble for him.

Yet you were a different kind of trouble, he couldn’t put his finger on. You weren’t a kid; you reminded him of that time and time again. You were a mystery. A beautiful, young mystery that Joel wanted to get to the bottom of. He wanted to explore every thought in your pretty little brain and memorize every mark on your body, he thought to himself, eyes peering at the beauty mark by your eye.

“Anyways, I should head in for the night.” You get up from the rocking chair, facing the older man as you bid him goodbye. “Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

[aggroindustrial]

you shall never have to forgive me again

summary. Shauna had no intention to come back—not to her old neighborhood, not to Van’s clinic, and definitely not to you. But she finds herself haunted by old memories and people she once loved after a glitch leaves her shaken.

Maybe the city hasn't changed. Maybe she did. But maybe, there's still time for a second chance.

pairing. shauna shipman x fem!reader

word count. 7.7k

warnings. cyberpunk au, graphic violence, blood, mentions of drinking, mentions of drugs, body modifications, shauna's a merc so murder, like a thousand loona references i couldn't help it

fic note. this was so fun to write. if you're familiar with my other stuff, you know i tend to go for a gothic style of writing but ive always wanted to write a cyberpunk story and finally got to do it so i'm really happy with how it turned out. i made a glossary with all the terminology used so please check it out to read this the way it's meant to be read ^v^ hope you guys like it as much as i liked writing it. i'm definitely expanding the cyberjackets universe and no one will stop me <3

x: can you please write normal yellowjackets fanfiction?

me: no ❤️

click here to check out the glossary or just click on the underlined words as you read!!

The city never really slept. But up here—at the edge of Icarus, where buildings of chrome and glass kissed the clouds—it didn't even bother to pretend.

Everything shone so beautifully: polished, bulletproof windows of extremely overpriced restaurants, sky-trains slithering across rails in the air like snakes, artificial sunlight. Reflections everywhere, but none of them ever showed anything real.

Shauna moved through the crowd like smoke. A cap pulled low, coat zipped high enough to hide the seam where skin met steel along her collarbone. Her left arm twitched at the same time her targeting overlay pulsed across her vision. The augmentation had a mind of its own sometimes. Tonight, it was hungry.

Her target was some mid-tier corp executive. Nobody special. He was probably caught embezzling money or pissed someone off. It didn't matter. Shauna wasn't paid to ask why.

Just to make it quiet.

He walked exactly ten meters ahead, flanked by two rent-a-cops—the newest and most ridiculous scam on the market yet, according to Shauna—with obviously cheap cyberware and low-tier firmware. She could easily take them without breaking a sweat, if she had to.

Her optics flickered—one of the glitches she kept telling herself wasn't serious. White static, then a face. A flash from the past.

Shauna blinked and stopped walking for a second, causing someone to bump against her with a grunt of annoyance.

The overlay corrected itself. Just an advertisement for some product, a glossy hologram floating in the air.

She exhaled. Later. Think later.

The target dismissed his two companions and turned down a street, narrow and damp, with steam escaping from vents and pipes. The cameras in that zone had blind spots—intentional ones. You paid extra for that sort of “luxury”.

Shauna slipped into the alley behind him. Quiet, soft steps over humid concrete. Her heart should have been racing, but it wasn't. It never did anymore. She missed that kind of rush, sometimes.

The man paused by a dumpster, glancing around to check if anyone was following him. Shauna, two steps ahead, was already hiding in the shadows with practiced ease.

He tapped on a retinal scanner in the wall. Steel slid open, revealing a private entrance to a lounge.

He never made it inside.

One hand on his shoulder—her left, the augmented one—gripping so tightly that she heard the crack of a bone as she yanked him back.

He gasped, a terrified exhale.

“No screaming.” Shauna muttered near his ear as she pressed him against the wall. “It won't change anything.”

Her knife pierced the skin of his back easily. Even with an arsenal waiting back home, Shauna still preferred using her old knife. Way more practical and quieter than any smart gun.

The sound of blood gurgling from his lips reached Shauna's ears and she dug the knife deeper and twisted it slightly, until he went limp against her.

She let go of him. A muffled thud against the ground. A quiet end.

Shauna stood in silence a moment longer than necessary. Something familiar and cold settled in her chest. Not guilt, exactly. Just that old hollow sensation again. The one that never quite left.

Before the blood even had time to cool, she had already vanished into the darkness like she'd never been there at all.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The apartment greeted her like a stranger—silent and cold. Empty.

At least it was one of the nicer places in Devine. Living in Icarus was way too expensive, but at least she could afford something better than a hole in the wall in Eden, the lower city. Anything was better than the pest-ridden, shadow-choked ruins—where decay and rot bloomed under stairwells.

Shauna slid the lock shut behind her and tossed the blood-stained coat over a chair. The quiet hum of power conduits almost seemed to vibrate through the floor. Warm, clinical light illuminated the room, clashing with the bright neon glow from outside.

She set the knife on the sink and washed it in silence. Dried it with a towel she barely used. Shauna didn't spend much time in the apartment. It was too quiet for her liking—the silence allowed the thoughts she tried to ignore to come crawling back.

Her shoulder ached—phantom pain, where the crash had sheared through her bone and skin.

She remembered the smell of gasoline, burning plastic, and charred flesh everywhere. Screams of panic. The gut wrenching anxiety and fear taking over the second the cabin lost pressure.

Shauna didn't pass out like the others. She stayed awake through it all. Awake enough to remember dragging herself through the wreckage. Awake enough to remember hearing her own heartbeat slowing and to see flashes of her own memories.

She thought that was it for her. The end.

The Daedalus Paramedics arrived in time. With them, came choices—paperwork she barely remembered signing to consent for the augments, the changes in her life, pushing the people she loved away out of shame.

“It’ll make you stronger.” One of the cyberdocs said. “You're lucky to be alive.”

She felt anything but lucky. She felt like a ghost in a borrowed shell that could never belong to her.

Shauna sat down on the edge of the bed that barely creaked beneath her and she began running diagnostics on her arm. Her eyes focused on the ridges of the EMP threading running down the length of the dark steel prosthetic, gleaming unnaturally under the room's light.

It still felt unfamiliar.

It moved when she told it to, and responded to her neural impulses, like it should. But it never felt like hers. Nothing did anymore.

Shauna leaned back, her spine brushing against the cool wood of the headboard behind the bed. The diagnostics showed lines of clean, green data across her vision—integrity of joints, synapse responses, impulse lag. Everything was functioning perfectly. Of course it was. That was never the problem.

She blinked the overlay away and stared at the ceiling.

Outside, neon lights buzzed and flickered faintly through the window. Enormous billboards bleeding through the murky fog. A woman's artificial voice whispering through city-wide intercoms, reciting the nightly public announcements—price changes in premium medical care, weather alerts, a child that went missing years ago and probably won't be ever found.

Shauna shut the window off with a neural command.

She stood with a quiet sigh and crossed the apartment, fingers brushing against the edge of the countertop as she moved—an old habit from when she had terrible eyesight and needed to feel her way in the dark, before the cyberdocs replaced her organic eyes with Asclepius optics.

The steel fingers didn't register textures the same way, at least not without the haptics enabled. She kept them off most nights. The illusion of touch wasn’t comfort. Not to a ‘cog’ like her.

On the shelf above the sink sat an unopened bottle of whiskey and a photo frame turned face down, covered with dust.

She ignored the frame and picked up the whiskey, but set it back down after a second.

Instead, she opened the cabinet, took out a small orange bottle and uncapped it to grab two Double-X tabs. She placed them under her tongue. They melted quickly against her gums, leaving behind a bitter taste in her mouth. Just enough to push off sleep. Dreams weren't kind lately—hadn’t been since the crash.

The mirror caught her reflection—those cold, synthetic eyes that, no matter how much effort the cyberdocs put into replicating her organic pair, weren't the same.

The woman in it stared back at her—tired, hollowed, different. Sharp lines where softness used to be. Eyes glowing with an artificial blue glow. Her arm glinted, threading visible like veins.

Shauna clenched her jaw and decided to put her coat back on, pulling the collar high.

As if it could make her disappear, at least for a moment.

Then came a ping—soft, almost like a request. A message alert in the corner of her visual display. Encrypted, from a burner line.

Shauna considered ignoring it.

She didn't.

The message opened in a thin, sterile white font: Contract confirmed. Details incoming. High priority. Discreet.

No name. Just coordinates and a price.

Shauna stared at the message for a long moment before reaching for her knife and sliding it back into its sheath.

She closed the message. It was easier to move and get things done instead of standing still. Easier to disappear into motion than into memories. She didn't need to think. Not now, and maybe not ever.

Most of her days went like that; spend part of the day studying her targets and then head out. After she gets the job done, she comes back for her fill of Double-X, and leaves once more.

Sometimes, on rare nights when she didn't feel like she was dead on the inside, she'd go to Sahara to watch the street races. It reminded her of the old days, when she would go there with her friends.

Shauna moved through the apartment automatically, like someone folding back into armor. She clipped her belt into place, checked her knife again even though she'd already done it twice, and stuffed her cap into coat pocket. Each click and gesture smoothed the chaos in her mind. Not a routine—more of a spell to keep her brain busy.

She brought the coordinates up with a single blink.

Sector 18.6Y. A low-traffic corner in Eclipse, tucked between Devine and Eden. Not as secure as Icarus, but close enough for someone to have a little privacy. Real privacy. The kind that cost blood, sweat and favors.

Her boots squeaked against the pristine floor as she moved past the window and the lights outside caught her gaze again—flashes of acid green, violet, and static blue flickering through thick pollution. One of the billboards was half-glitched again. Someone had tagged it with red paint, shaped like wings, and the word “Purity!” scribbled messily under it. It was the third time in the month.

“Infinite Purity fuckers…” She muttered under her breath with a scoff.

She ignored the bad taste the sight left in her mouth and opened the door, stepping into the corridor and letting the door lock behind her with a soft hiss.

After taking the elevator to the building's garage, her feet took her straight to her beloved bike.

Slick black body with streaks of hot magenta. Built from scratch by her old friend Jackie. Years had passed, but it still worked as if it was brand new.

It would've been wiser to take a train to Sector 18.6Y, but Shauna didn't like slow rides. She'd never been a big fan of them.

She straddled the bike, slipped on a matching black helmet, and started the engine to leave the garage with a loud roaring sound.

Bright lights and gigantic holograms flickered all around her—ads, disinformation campaigns, news. The sight would've been beautiful, if it didn't sicken her already.

A frustrated groan left her lips when a light turned red, but she stopped anyway. She wasn't in the mood for a ticket or for spending the night at a Clean-Skin-controller checkpoint.

Her fingers drummed against the handlebars of the bike impatiently.

And then, for a second, her visual display flickered again. White noise across her vision. A fragment of someone cut through. A familiar voice, warm and real, years too late.

Shauna flinched at the sound.

She blinked hard. The glitch was gone.

It's just soul burn. Stop thinking about it. Shauna told herself, but the way her throat tightened said otherwise.

The rest of the ride to Eclipse was fast and relatively quiet. No police drones flying overhead, no random checkpoints, or Clean-Skins causing ruckus in the streets. Just the low, pleasant hum of her engine, the soft whir of electric cars, and the shimmer of neon across the visor of her helmet.

Shauna preferred it that way. Lonely, and motion without any friction to stop her.

Street lights flickered unevenly. Second-hand implant dealers lurked around street corners. Every alley breathed heat from hidden generators. People stared too long in that zone, and not exactly because they cared.

She took a sharp turn toward an unmarked street—if it could even be considered a street. The pavement gave way to exposed pipes and potholes deep enough to drown in. The reality overlays didn't reach this far. No beautifying filters. Just the rotting, harsh truth.

The GPS pinged as she neared Sector 18.6Y, a low chime in her right ear. She pulled up behind a broken vending unit covered in graffiti and cut the engine.

Fog curled over the ground like cigarette smoke. The distant sound of someone's drunk laughter echoed down the street, followed by the clatter of metal—perhaps a dumpster lid, or something else.

Shauna pulled her cap out of her pocket and slid off the bike to scan the area, her optics automatically filtering threats and tagging any passersby. It wasn’t paranoia. It was just a habit. Necessary for survival.

A narrow alley to her left. A broken neon Staff of Hermes blinking above an old clinic—“BioCare Options”. It looked like it hadn't been open in years. To her right, a body shop that had definitely seen better days.

The target was staying in the hotel right next to the body shop, according to the coordinates.

Shauna blinked a couple times to perform an enhanced scan of the area. Neon lime filled her vision, followed by a spot of vibrant red.

A message popped up in the corner of her visual display.

Apartment L12, fourth floor.

She took the back stairs instead of the elevator. It was quieter that way, and the chance of being pinged by a camera or spotted by a patrol was lower.

Mold had claimed the walls, rust everywhere, and the lights barely even worked.

Shauna climbed, slowly and quietly. When she reached the door to L12, she paused.

Her optics displayed the contract details.

Male, in his late 40s, spider tattoo under his right eye, stolen Asclepius spine implant. Recover neurochip, or neutralize. Preferably both.

Shauna's fingers curled around the hilt of her knife, ready and focused.

She knocked—once.

Nothing.

Then again, louder this time. Just a shuffling sound from the other side of the door, then silence.

“Delivery.” Her voice came out flat.

Another long pause, until the door creaked, just slightly. Shauna could see a face behind it; green eyes, patchy beard, and the tattoo under his eye.

He looked at Shauna like he already knew what was coming.

“I'm not expecting any packages.” He rasped, and tried to close the door again.

Shauna was faster. She pushed the door and forced it open with her left arm. The man stumbled back, crashing into the small TV, and Shauna stepped inside.

The room was dark, and stank of cheap beer and synthetic weed. Papers scattered all over the place, white powder lines on the coffee table, and a data pad blinking red on the bed.

The man reached behind him, trying to be discreet, but Shauna noticed.

“Don't.” She warned, jaw locked tightly.

He pointed the gun at her, anyway.

Shauna dodged the first bullet, and she heard it crackling with electricity as it flew past her. EMP rounds.

The second bullet managed to graze her steel shoulder, and tore through the leather coat.

Shauna's vision filled with static for a short second but she was on him before he could shoot again. Her knife caught the light, glinting menacingly before it found flesh.

He gasped and warm blood trickled down the blade, staining Shauna's gloved fingers.

Shauna knelt down, staring into the man's eyes as the life dimmed out of them slowly.

Then, her visual display flickered.

Suddenly, it wasn’t a dying man—it was you, bleeding out in her arms. Looking the same way you did years ago. Wearing that faded denim jacket, the one you never took off.

Her eyes widened in shock. She staggered back like the contact had burned her—because it had. Not his touch, but yours.

Your hand pressed against the knife wound in your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, but failing to do so as more blood spurted out.

Shauna blinked several times—and found out just then that she was still able to produce tears—until the visual glitch disappeared, and the man was there again, instead of you.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stared down at the lifeless body, no longer twitching in agony. She knelt down again and found the port just below his neck.

Shauna connected the extractor, and his neurochip slid out with a small click, still warm.

Job done.

An alert popped up in her vision. Cyberware damaged. Please contact your trusted cyberdoc for a fix.

She stood in the middle of the room in silence, observing the blood pooling under her boots.

Shauna wasn't a stranger to glitches, but this one—it looked at her with almost human emotion. Bled in her arms.

It has never felt that real before.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Back in her apartment, Shauna sat on the floor beneath the dim overhead light, the bottle of whiskey she’d refused to open earlier now half gone. She hadn’t even bothered with a glass.

Next to it, an ashtray full of fresh cigarette butts, and a syringe filled with an electric blue liquid—Loop. Her fingers hovered over it, then pulled away.

A heavy sigh left her lips. She hated how close she’d come to needing it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna stood in front of the clinic's entrance awkwardly, helmet tucked under her arm.

The neon sign above the door buzzed faintly: VAN'S MODSHOP & REPAIR — Human ‘n Not. Someone had vandalized it, spray-painting over half the words in red, making it barely legible.

Her display blinked the same warning over and over: Cyberware damaged. Please contact your trusted cyberdoc.

She hadn't seen Van since before the crash.

Shauna remained rooted to the ground, a part of her wishing someone would come out and interrupt her thoughts. She could already picture the whole meeting: “Long time no see.” “You disappeared.” “You look different.”

She was about to turn around and leave, when the door opened on its own with a quiet hiss, followed by a gust of sterilized, cool air.

“Come in.” Came a voice from a speaker mounted to the wall, under a surveillance camera.

Shauna exhaled shakily and stepped inside with a small nod.

The place had changed.

It was a lot cleaner and brighter, but mismatched parts and old hardware still decorated the walls.

A wall-mounted screen flickered with old advertisements for outdated cyberware, and there was a potted plant in the corner, next to an empty desk, except for a photo frame—Van and their girlfriend, Taissa.

And then, her eyes found Van.

They were tinkering with an optical implant under a bright surgical lamp. Still wearing that worn blue soccer shirt under their lab coat, like they couldn't decide between looking like a mechanic and a medic.

Shauna stared at Van in silence, until they looked up.

“…I'll be damned.” They said, voice low but with that familiar mocking tone. “Look who finally crawled out of the void. The end of the world must be near.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

“I need a patch job and some work done.” Shauna said, keeping her voice neutral. “EMP bullets grazed my shoulder and it caused some visual glitches.”

Van’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a brief second, and their eyes scanned Shauna up and down, until their gaze landed on her left arm—the sharpness in their eyes softened.

Years ago, Shauna had vanished before any of her friends found out she had to get implants because of her injuries from the crash.

“You should've come sooner.” With a nod, Van gestured to the chair. “That kind of feedback means your left-side synapses are misfiring.”

“Didn't want to be seen.” Shauna muttered, settling into the chair. She wasn't sure if that statement was really the truth—she could've gone to any other cyberdoc, but deliberately chose to go to Van's.

“Didn't want to be seen.” They repeated, grabbing an assortment of tools. “But you came here, anyway.”

Van started the scan, blue light flashing over Shauna’s arm. The humming of old machinery and the AC filled the silence.

“Okay. I have to connect to your neurochip. It might feel like a small zap—” Shauna flinched when Van connected to her port. “Yep. Just like that. Sit still and relax.”

She didn't answer, and stared at the ceiling, instead.

“This is nice work.” Van said after a moment while still working on Shauna's arm. “Scarred really nicely. It's great that your body didn't reject it—that would've been terrible.”

“I guess.” Was all Shauna said, but she could feel the curiosity coming like waves from Van.

Silence took over again, but it didn't last very long.

“You must've seen something serious if it knocked you this hard.” They muttered, glancing up for a second, before turning back to the steel arm. “What did you see?”

Shauna hesitated, her fingers twitching in response.

“Holy shit. You saw her, didn't you?”

It seemed like Van knew her better than she remembered.

“How is she?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. “Have you seen her lately?”

“Whoa, chillax.” They laughed softly at the questions. “I have, actually. She's fine. Missed you like crazy for a long while, but she barely talks about you anymore.”

That left a weird sensation in Shauna's chest. Similar to the usual emptiness she felt in there, but deeper. Sharper. She flexed her hand once—trying to ground herself.

After the diagnostics finished and Van managed to patch the worst of the damage, Shauna stood up and tested her arm. No static or tremors.

Van handed her a small card. “This is top shelf steel, so I recommend not frying your links again, unless you're planning to swap it any time soon.”

She nodded and took the card, holding it between her fingers like it could vanish. “Thanks.” She muttered.

“For the patch, or not bringing the elephant in the room?” They raised an eyebrow.

“…Both.”

Van almost said something else—maybe a question, maybe a memory—but only flashed her a small, sad smile. “You don't have to show up bleeding to be welcome here, you know?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded wordlessly, then stepped out into the night.

Van stared at Shauna's retreating figure, watching her bike disappear through the traffic.

Immediately, they dialed a number with a neural command. “Holy shit, Tai. You're not going to believe who just left my clinic.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna decided to head back to her apartment instead of taking another job. She sat on the floor of her living room, the half-empty whiskey bottle next to her.

All the lights were off. The glow from the city coming through the window was enough to illuminate the room. Soft pulses of pink and gold painted the walls.

Her coat was long forgotten on the floor, along with the rest of her gear—gloves, cap, and even her knife.

The skin where steel met flesh itched slightly—Van told her it would be a side effect after getting patched up. “Your nerves are firing up again.” They said, “Means the machinery is aware that you're still human.”

The thought was strange, but comforting.

Shauna opened her contact menu with a blink. The neural overlay appeared in front of her, floating in the dark of the room.

There it was. A name she hadn't seen in years. Still in her list.

Still untouched.

She hovered over it. Just a simple flick of her finger and she could send a message, reach out after so long. A small wave of static buzzed behind her eyes.

“Hey. I'm still alive.”

“Sorry for disappearing like that.”

“You probably hate me. I don't blame you.”

“I saw Van. They said you're doing fine.”

Every message she thought about sending sounded wrong. It would be like carving letters into cement—once it hardened, there would be no taking it back.

Her teeth caught her bottom lip and her hand twitched, before curling into a fist.

No. Not yet.

She stood and paced around the room. She couldn't stay still, her mind wouldn't let her. That was the reason why she didn't like being in her apartment—every breath sounded too loud, every second felt heavier than the last.

What would she even say if you met? What if you didn't want to see her? What if you hated her for what she had become?

She glanced down at her steel hand.

Everything was different now.

She sank back to the floor with a sigh, back against the wall, and stared at the window in front of her. Old memories began crashing down over her like waves—faces, voices, sweet moments, your laugh, that one time when you two sneaked out to go watch the drift races in Sahara, the stolen moment when she almost kissed you but chickened out at the last second.

The promise she didn't keep.

Shauna finally allowed herself to miss something—someone.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

That night, Shauna decided to sleep, at least for a couple hours.

A dream—fractured old memories, too vivid.

She saw her old self. Softer, happier, brighter. No steel in sight, just the version of herself that she still mourned sometimes.

You were there, too. Laughing so carelessly like you had no worries at all. Just two girls caught in something that felt like forever.

Then, the dream began glitching—the past and the present mixing, turning your face into static. Her reflection cracked into chrome. Her voice distorted, and laughter became tears.

Shauna jolted awake, gasping for air, heart hammering in her chest.

Sometimes, she forgot she still had one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A week had passed since her visit to Van's clinic. The itchy sensation in her arm was gone and things had gone back to normal—mostly.

She couldn't stop thinking about you.

Shauna hadn't planned to go near that part of Devine. Not really—or that's what she kept telling herself.

Her bike hummed as she pulled into a narrow alley behind Starlight's, an old rooftop noodle stall tucked in a corner of a building near the overpass. The place always smelled like oil, ginger, and booze, but that gave it a certain charm.

You used to come here together.

She parked and climbed the iron stairs, her boots clanking against the rusted metal. A few customers loitered by the edge of the rooftop, slurping noodles and watching the skyline. No one gave her a second glance. It helped ease her nerves a little.

The place hadn't changed much. Plastic chairs, flickering heat lamps, and decorative wind chimes made from cans and bottle caps.

Shauna picked the same corner table—the one you liked. Her helmet sat in her lap and her gloved fingers tapped against it softly.

She didn't order anything.

Instead, she watched the crowd—assessing them all first out of habit, and then searched for someone else.

No sign of you.

She was hoping to catch you there. Still, she stayed, willing to wait.

Minutes turned into almost an hour.

Her eyes were glued to the entrance, heart spiking every time someone new came up the stairs. But never you.

Finally, a server approached her table. “Hey. You alright? You've been sitting here a while.” The guy asked with a gentle, tired smile. “Are you not going to order anything?”

Shauna blinked out of her haze, as if surfacing from underwater. “I'm fine. Just waiting for someone.”

He only nodded and left, clearly unconvinced.

Shauna sighed and let her gaze fall down to the table. Someone had scratched a name into the metal—faded and barely legible. Her gloved thumb traced over it, just to feel something real under her touch. She'd activated the haptics with a sole purpose.

Your smile lingered in her mind, along with all the times you'd tease her about how bad the noodles were, even though you always finished the whole bowl and kept coming back at least twice every week.

The rooftop was still the same.

The city was still the same.

She wasn't, and that was the problem.

With a small sigh that let her defeat show, Shauna stood up and left. No last glance.

As she walked down the stairs, her hand brushed against the railing. For a second, she imagined she could still feel the warmth of your touch.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna wasn't ready to head back just yet. Instead, she decided to take a walk around the street market, so the noise would keep her mind occupied.

The lights flickered with that familiar low, humming static, unique to the streets of Devine.

Her eyes glanced at a storefront she recognized immediately, even though it had been repainted. The neon sign above the glass read “Matthews' Cabinet of Curiosities” in a heliotrope glow. Warm, golden lights glowed inside.

The store belonged to Lottie's parents years ago, but she was sure it was hers now, since most of the ugly decorations were gone.

And then, she noticed you.

You stood behind the counter, chatting with a customer. A matching violet sweater, pushed up to your elbows, and your hair was slightly longer than Shauna remembered.

You smiled.

Not at her. Not for her. But it hit Shauna all the same.

She stood there frozen, while people bumped against her. No helmet, no armor to cover up with. Just herself—steel, skin, and everything in between. One foot set in the past, and the other stuck in place.

Her pulse spiked instantly.

Fuck, this was a mistake.

She should've left. She should've never gone there. But she stayed rooted to the ground. She watched you laugh at something the customer said, and then you handed him a paper bag with a small bow on top.

It wasn't how she'd pictured it. There was no dramatic score playing in the background, no Shakespearean meeting.

It was just… life. Peaceful, ongoing.

You had moved on without her.

Her heart stopped when you walked toward the window to fix something on a display, and your gaze lifted.

Did you see her? Did you recognize her?

She turned around before she could find out the answer. Her boots echoed on the wet concrete as she walked away fast—too fast that she was starting to feel dizzy.

Shauna didn't stop until she was streets away from the street market.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

She received a message from Van hours later.

“You’re not exactly invisible, steel girl. Maybe don’t stand outside a glass window like a stalker. She said you looked like a shark lurking.”

The embarrassment that hit Shauna when she read the text wasn't something she was prepared for.

Okay. So you did see her.

No big deal, right?

No. She had to play it cool. Nervousness wasn't a good look on her.

“Cool. Always wanted to be a shark.” She hit send, and immediately regretted it.

Wait—was that too cold? Too sarcastic? What if Van shows you the message? What if you think she hates you?

“She asked if you were okay. Said you looked lost.”

“Just text her, dude. It’s been years, Shauna. You nearly died. What else are you waiting for?”

She sighed and headed out to the fire escape, sitting down with her back against the wall, knees bent.

The skyline buzzed in the distance, a ripple of lights and electric smog, but she wasn't really looking at that.

Instead, she stared at the contact menu, flickering in her vision. Your name still sat there, glowing faintly. Still untouched.

The neural interface ticked in the corner of her eye, like it was mocking her.

CALL?

SEND MESSAGE?

She sighed again, jaw clenched tightly.

Her steel hand clicked softly as she flexed her fingers. She could take a bullet to the chest—a normal one, not EMP ones, clearly—and keep walking, but this? This was the kind of shit that made her bones tremble.

The cursor blinked in the message field as she bit her lip.

“Hey”

She deleted it immediately.

“Didn't expect to see you. Since when do you work at Lottie's?”

Too weird. Too much. Deleted again.

She groaned and dragged both of her hands down her face. Why was it so hard to just write a normal message? Much harder than any contract she'd ever taken.

Shauna thought about your eyes when they met hers, even if it was just for a second. You didn't look angry or disgusted, just surprised. Maybe a bit sad?

A soft gust of wind rattled the metal stairs beneath her. In the distance, a siren wailed. The city kept moving on, but she couldn't.

Her eyes drifted back to the CALL icon.

“Do it.” She whispered to herself. “You've survived worse. A text isn't going to kill you.”

But she didn't move.

What if you didn't pick up?

What if you did?

Her stomach twisted, and she rubbed her eyes. A small and bitter laugh left her lips at how pathetic she was.

Shauna stared at Van’s messages from earlier, the words stinging like a snake's bite.

Fuck it.

She clicked on the CALL icon.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

What the fuck am I doing?

Shauna's heart thudded loudly in her ears and panic took over her. She was about to hang up when your voice slipped through the static like one of those memory glitches.

“Hello?” Soft, a little unsure. But still unmistakably you.

She breathed shakily. Every line she'd practiced vanished from her mind. “…Hey.” Her voice sounded rough, like it struggled to come out of her throat.

There was a small pause. Shauna was sure that it had been a mistake, until you spoke again.

“Van said you might call.” You weren't mocking her. If anything, your voice sounded relieved. It comforted Shauna a little.

“Yeah.” She muttered, chuckling awkwardly. “Figured I'd get it over with before I chickened out.”

A small laugh came from the other end. “You almost did.” It wasn't a question. You still knew her, even after years of not talking.

Shauna let out a small breath through her nose. “Guess I'm predictable.” Her head leaned against the wall.

“Guess you're still stubborn.” You replied gently. There was no malice in your words—she could even hear the smile in your voice.

The silence that followed, surprisingly, wasn't awkward. Of course, it wasn't quite easy, either. It felt… delicate. Like a thin thread stretched between two points, barely hanging on.

Shauna stared at the skyline, but her mind was occupied with images of you.

“You look good.” She said before she could stop herself and instantly regretted it when the silence stretched again.

“So do you.” You said, and Shauna swore her heart stopped beating. “You look… strong. Just a little out of place standing right outside the window of the shop like a stray.”

“I didn't mean to—”

“I know.” You cut her off gently. “I just wasn't expecting to see you. It kinda caught me off guard. That's all.”

Shauna blinked, and nodded even though you couldn't see her. “Yeah. I didn't expect to see you, either.”

There was a small clinking sound from your end—like a mug being set down. She could picture you perfectly: behind the counter, hair a little messy, and sipping one of those herbal teas Lottie loves making.

“I almost came out to say hi.” You admitted softly, and it made Shauna's breath hitch.

“…Why didn't you?”

A pause.

“I blinked, and you were gone.”

The words felt like a slap across her face. She didn't want you to think that she stopped caring—she never did.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Shauna sighed. “But I was scared.”

It was the closest thing to a confession she’d allowed herself in years.

Suddenly, she thought about the past—all the moments you shared together, the unspoken tension that neither of you acknowledged directly, but knew it was there. All the times when you two almost crossed the line between friendship and something she never had the courage to admit out loud.

“You don't have to be.” Your voice was gentle, tender. Always so full of love. “I missed you.”

She hadn't prepared herself to hear anything like that. It felt like she'd been hit with lightning.

Shauna's throat tightened. She'd spent so, so long pretending that nothing really mattered anymore. That disappearing from everyone's lives was the noble thing to do. That she wasn't haunted by the sound of your laugh, the ghost of your smile, the shape of your silhouette hiding in every shadow.

But you missed her.

Just like that.

There was a long pause again. But this time, it felt different. A lot warmer. Like neither of you wanted to hang up just yet.

Shauna sighed, her steel hand curling around her knee. “Hey…” She started, then stopped. Her throat felt too dry for her liking.

You waited patiently. Like always.

“When you're done with your shift,” She continued, carefully, like she was walking on eggshells. “Do you wanna… go somewhere? Like a walk?”

Your lack of response almost made Shauna hang up the call. But then, you spoke again.

“Yeah.” You said, softly. “I'd really like that.”

Shauna closed her eyes. It felt like letting out a breath she'd been holding for years. “Okay.” She mumbled, and didn't stop the small smile that grew on her lips. “Cool. I'll… see you later, then.”

A quiet chuckle from the other end—it made Shauna's heart skip a beat. “Bye, Shauna.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna showed up ten minutes early.

She had circled the block twice on her bike, trying to calm her nerves. It didn't really help much.

After finding a nice parking spot, she stood near the alleyway next to the shop like she wasn't really waiting. Just… hanging around. Doing her best to look cool. Definitely not working.

The familiar scent of fried oil and cinnamon buns hung in the air from one of the nearby vendors. Somewhere behind her, a drone buzzed overhead, probably patrolling the area.

And then—your voice.

“Hey.”

Shauna jumped slightly at the sound, her heart skipping a beat. Her stomach twisted nervously when you smiled—this time, for her.

“Hi.” Her voice came out softer than she expected. It even surprised herself.

You gestured down the street with a small nod. “Wanna walk, then?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Shauna cleared her throat and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket—she made sure to pick her best-looking one, but they all looked the same, anyway.

You both fell into step easily enough, like Shauna hadn't spent years running away from everything. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but Shauna's shoulders were rigid despite trying her best to seem relaxed.

“I didn't think you'd say yes.” Shauna admitted softly, glancing at you for a short second, before looking away shyly.

You gazed at her curiously. “Why not?”

“I don't know.” She replied, not even knowing the answer herself. “I thought you wouldn't want to see me and or block my number.”

A small laugh left your lips and you stared at Shauna fondly. “That's not how I remember us.”

Shauna looked down at the ground, the corner of her lips twitching into something similar to a smile. “Me neither.”

Some of the shops were already closing down, making the streets feel a little quieter. Neon signs still flickered like stars trying to burn through the heavy pollution. She tried hard not to overthink the way your arms brushed every now and then.

“I still go to the drift races sometimes.” You said with a shrug. “Not as good as they used to be, though.”

Shauna’s chest tightened. She thought about all the times she’d gone back to Sahara herself, just to stand on the edge and remember.

She decided not to mention that.

“You do?” She asked instead. “Thought you forgot about that place.”

“I remember a lot of things.”

The comment felt like a punch in the gut, but Shauna nodded slowly.

Another pause.

“I thought about you.” You said, sighing, as you kicked a pebble absentmindedly. “A lot. Even after you left. Especially then.”

She stopped walking.

It wasn't dramatic, far from it. Just a quiet halt, like she had bumped into some invisible wall. Her eyes fixed on the empty street ahead, afraid to meet your gaze. Then, barely above a whisper:

“I thought about you every day. Even if I tried to force myself not to.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself, and her breath caught—her own mouth had betrayed her, but did it even matter anymore?

You turned toward her, blinking slowly. “Then why didn't you call?”

Your voice lacked accusation or anger. Instead, it was soft, understanding. Everything that Shauna felt she didn't deserve.

Her jaw tensed. She looked at the buildings, the sky, the pavement under her feet—anywhere but your face.

“Because I'm not who I used to be anymore.”

You took a step closer. “You're still you.”

And in that moment—just for a second—Shauna let herself believe it.

But then, her eyes caught the way her steel hand glinted under the street lights.

“You know that's not true.” Her eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head, a wave of feelings crashing over her. “How can you even say that? I'm just a scrap of metal at this point.

“Don't say that.” The way you stared at her made her heart ache, with something in your gaze that hurt worse than any wound—love.

Still there. Still for her.

“You don't know what I've done all these years.” Shauna muttered, glancing away.

You didn't ask. You didn't press.

You just stepped closer, slow and careful, like you were trying not to scare her off. “I don't need to know. I still know who you are.”

A dry, humorless laugh that sounded more like a scoff left her lips. “Yeah? Who's that?”

“You're the girl who let me borrow your literature books back in school because I couldn't afford mine.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “The one who helped me climb the scaffolding at Sahara to get a better view of the races even though it was banned. You always pretended not to care, but you remembered every single song I liked and made mixtapes for me. Labeled them with dumb, sweet names.”

Shauna's eyes stung. She shook her head again, but didn't step away. “That was a long time ago. Now everything's different.”

“That doesn't mean it wasn't real.”

She didn't say anything right away. The neon light caught in her eyes—not the same deep comforting brown from before, but still beautiful. “I'm scared.” She finally admitted. “Of getting close. Of ruining things again.”

You didn't look away. “Then we go slow.”

Shauna blinked, and her breath caught when she felt your hand brushing against hers—the steel one. “You'd want to?” She looked up.

“I've wanted to for years.” For a moment, you seemed to hesitate, but you continued. “I know you did, too.”

Something in Shauna's chest softened. A part of her had prepared for rejection—or even pity—but not this. Not this type of warmth.

She looked at you then—really looked. And in the middle of the half-lit quiet street, she nodded with a shaky sigh. “Yeah.”

Just one word. But it felt like finally stepping off the ledge and finding solid ground under her feet.

You smiled—sweet and real. “Wanna keep walking now?”

Shauna only nodded.

So you did. Together, like nothing had ever broken between you two.

Tentatively, your hand reached for hers again slowly, fingers slipping between hers. “Is this okay?” You asked softly, while your thumb brushed over the artificial ridges of her knuckles.

She nodded again. She didn't trust herself to speak without breaking down.

As the two of you kept waking, your steps fell into sync, like they always used to years ago.

The city pulsed around you—distant sirens, flickering signs, the low humming sound from generators, a world still moving.

But for once, Shauna didn't feel like she was chasing the ghost of something she'd lost.

She glanced at your joined hands—warm skin against cold metal. For the first time in years, the contrast didn't feel like a reminder of everything she'd become.

It was just simple contact. The one thing she had craved for so long.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“So…” Your fingers tugged lightly at the fabric of her jacket as the two of you stood outside of your apartment.

Shauna had offered you a ride when you told her you had to get back home. You refused at first, because you still remembered how fast her bike was.

But one look at her kicked puppy face and you gave in.

“I didn't know you lived in Red Sun.” She tried her best not to freak out at the way you caressed her jacket. “I thought you still lived with your parents.”

You shook your head. “I moved out a while ago. Decided I liked it better here.”

She stared at you in silence for a moment. Her tongue had to wet her lips because of how nervous she felt.

“It was really nice seeing you again, Shauna.” You mumbled with a tiny smile. “I mean it. I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Yeah. I enjoyed it, too.” Shauna replied with a low, raspy voice. Her eyes dropped down to glance at your lips and her face flushed instantly. “You should, uh… get inside already. It's getting cold.”

You chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah.” Your hands let go of her jacket and she almost let out a sad sigh. “Let's go out again sometime?”

She blinked, surprised at the request.

“Yeah. Sure.” Shauna answered before you could take back your words. “We can grab dinner tomorrow, if you want.”

The smile on your lips became wider and you nodded. “Sounds perfect. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

She was about to turn around to leave, when you leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Shauna didn't move, breathe, or think. She couldn't. When you pulled away, she met your eyes—filled with adoration and a hint of mischief—before you disappeared behind the door of your apartment.

Her hand lifted to touch the spot where you kissed her, and she smiled.

Not one of those lame half-smirks she always wore.

No, a real grin. Wide and warm. The first one in years.

[tvlandofficiall]

As one of the Tenna CEOs on Tumblr.com I thought it'd be fitting to share here how funny I find his character subversion. I remember when his cute border design leaked and people on Twitter were like "noo guys don't fall for the facade!! remember what spamton said about not trusting anything you see on tv!!" and eveyone was fully convinced of him being a mafia boss or irredeemable scum (as if Toby has ever written a pure evil character)

Then it turned out he is the nicest antagonist so far who IS masking stuff to the public as a TV host, but what he's masking isn't some evil intentions, just self-worth issues 😭

Can't believe he embodiment of malicious spam email is not a reliable source of information about his ex partner! What a surprise!

oh i've been on team sympathetic tenna from way back – though that's never to diss anyone else's interpretations, of course. (i've a soft spot for a few cutthroat tennas myself!) but one of the big concepts that i was working with when writing tvlandofficial tenna was 1. as you said, that spamton is an unreliable narrator, and 2. that it was inevitable that tenna would be based on one of kris' family members, likely toriel (though i was slightly off on guessing toriel specifically). tvlandofficial tenna was a big, tough mafia boss, with a dog-eat-dog world view on life, but she also grew to become fiercely protective of ralsei, and her initial outlook on life stemmed not from being malicious for malice's sake but from the very same thing we see canon tenna's issues stem from – that all darkners will be abandoned one day, being objects and all. and while she did end up unplugged, she still had people she could lean on, becoming truly attached to her guy's and, of course, to ralsei.

when it comes to the darkners as a whole, they're all defined by that struggle against fate – against what it means to be an object. (this led to another part of the mixed feelings i had – i wish we saw more of this with the old man – but i digress, and again, i can see what the aim was.) even characters like spades king and spamton have sympathetic qualities in how the cycle of being used and tossed away defines them. and as we know now, canon tenna's defined by it too – someone who knows his kind aren't built to last and wants to last forever. (he's honestly a lot like queen, too, in the way he relates to kris like she does to noelle – wanting badly to make them smile but being out of touch with how to do so. there's some dreemurr and holiday food for thought.) it breaks your heart a little when you see well-meaning susie, who similarly measures her worth by her own fate as a hero of the prophecy, offer to let mettaton have him. he wants someone to look at him and say they want him around, and although he's still ultimately the sort of person who'll trap you in an endless round of miserable minigames to get that to happen, he's got this sense of naïveté about him that matches with his kids'-show-mascot personality. but both susie and tenna are worth more than what they can give to a prophecy or to a god, and i'm sure that someday, they'll figure that out.

as an aside, though, i'm really enjoying spamton's scummy side getting some more time in the spotlight after these chapters dropped. it's a huge factor in the way i write him both when it comes to my die-hard swatch/spamton enjoyment and in general. i feel as though a part of the reason it fell off the map is that fans began to fear swatch's acerbic side meant they one-sidedly treated spamton like garbage, but i don't think that's true at all. they're garbage4garbage. i could write a whole essay dissecting spamton's garbageness because it's so compelling to me. he's character.

[brynnewithane]

Short story: The Smile

When I drew this, I had a mini scene in my head, so I figured I’d write it out. It’s about an interaction between Law and Sanji. Like, I just find this dynamic quite interesting to explore since they both came from the North Blue but have opposite personalities.

⚠️Just to be clear: I’m not shipping!⚠️

I originally wrote this in my native language and had a friend help me translate it into English. If there is any part that sounds off or unnatural, please feel free to let me know.🙇‍♀️

🍊My Twitter: brynnewithanE

If one were to ask this blond-haired cook to list his top three pet peeves, he wouldn’t hesitate and go: people who leave food on their plates, people who act like smiling would kill them, and people who give a cold demeanour toward women.

Funny thing was, the tattooed man standing beside him managed to nail all three.

He was the captain of the Heart Pirates, and like the cook, he also hailed from the North Blue, but that was where any resemblance stopped. In every other aspect, the two of them were like oil and water. And yet, as if fate had some kind of twisted sense of humour, the cook always seemed to end up stuck with people who were the complete opposite of him.

Just like now, he had been saddled with this man for hours.

For context, they had been all set for a proper afternoon party, with outfits pressed, hair neatly styled, and everything in place. But just as they were about to head out, the green-haired swordsman from the Straw Hat crew went missing. Again.

So instead of arriving in style, the two of them got roped into a search duty. And while they certainly looked the part in their rather formal wear, their constant back-and-forth made them sound less like two grown men and more like bickering kids who were forced to share a room.

After what felt like an endless and completely unproductive search, the cook and the ever-stoic captain finally made it to the rendezvous point. But not that they had quieted down. The cook was still in the middle of a tirade, this time about the tattooed captain’s attitude towards the woman they had assisted earlier. Apparently, cold detachment and clipped words didn’t sit well with a person who believed courtesy was non-negotiable like him, especially when it came to women.

Mid-rant, he slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. His thoughts drifted to the same frustrating question: Why is it that every guy with a sword seems cursed with a stone face and the emotional depth of a teaspoon?

He lit the cigarette and took a slow drag, letting the smoke settle in his chest. It didn’t help much, but it gave him a reason to look away.

Warm light from the setting sun stretched long shadows across the cobblestones. It painted everything in gold amber, and the air smelled faintly of sea salt mixed with grilled squid, for there was a flea market by the beach right beneath where they stood.

Then, the sound of familiar laughter cut through the air. The cook glanced over and spotted a neatly dressed polar bear with two others in hats. Those were members of the captain’s crew. He saw them gathered around his crew's emergency food supply doctor. The polar bear scooped him up in a hug and was now carrying him with all the ease of someone toting around a favourite stuffed toy, browsing through the stalls as they had completely forgotten they were supposed to be looking for someone.

His gaze then drifted back to the captain, who was now leaning quietly against the railing, eyes fixed in the direction of those familiar voices. The sunset hung behind him, casting his figure in a soft backlight, causing the cook to squint.

And that’s when he saw it.

Brief. Barely there. But unmistakable.

A smile.

It flickered across that typically blank face so quickly, almost seemed accidental.

The cook blinked.

Was that… a smile? From him?

For half a second, an unexpected thought crept in.

Huh. Not half bad. If he did that more often… and maybe stopped being such a food snob, he wouldn’t be quite so unbearable.

But the thought barely had time to settle before the captain turned his head and caught him staring. The smile vanished, and his brows drew back into their usual frown.

“What?” he asked, voice flat. “Something on my face?”

That was enough to snap the cook out of it.

Nope. Still annoying. No amount of accidental charm changes that.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a ribbon of smoke, muttering just loud enough for no one to hear, “Where the hell are Nami-san and Robin-chan when I need them? I want off this team already.”