#for lemon

Crushes were the worse, you reflected as you idly picked at your food. The galley was loud around you, shipmates eating and chatting away. All of it was just background noise, as you only had eyes for a certain division commander.

Thatch stood—he always stood during meals you had noticed—talking to his fellow commanders at their designated table. His large brown pompadour is easy to spot above the crowd. As you watched, Thatch threw his head back in a loud laugh at some joke you couldn't hear. But the sound of his laughter managed to carry its way over to you past the din of the crowd and you melted just a little.

God, you had it bad but what was there to do? You weren't in his division so it was difficult to manage an excuse to spend time around the man. You weren’t comfortable enough to just...hang out in the kitchens, as you knew others did. You'd be more likely to hover awkwardly and not talk to anyone. Then the moment someone asked you what you were there for, you'd just mumble out an excuse and leave anyway.

The embarrassment from the thought alone made your cheeks hot.

Thatch looked up and happened to catch your eye. Goosebumps broke out over your arms as he smiled widely, brown eyes crinkling at the corners before he made his way over to you. You straightened up, trying to not let the panic set in. Why was he coming over?!

"Hey sweet cheeks," Thatch greeted casually as he slid onto the empty bench across from you. "Saw you starin', something wrong? You've barely touched your food."

"It's fine!" you managed to squeak out. Thatch's brow furrowed.

"Now, if it's not to your likin' that's fine, I can whip up something else. Don't want anyone to go hungry. If you don't like it, I'm sure I can find someone else to finish it up for ya. Ace eats a mountain of food anyways, could just shove it off on him while I cook you something you’d actually like.”

"N-no it wasn't that! I was just um," quickly, please think of something quickly, your mind screamed. "Admiring you."

You almost slapped yourself as Thatch's concerned expression melted away into a sweet-as-honey smile, slow and dripping.

"Oho? Admiring lil ole me? I'm flattered. Anything specific?"

Thinking fast, you scrambled to try and salvage the situation, though it was already embarrassing enough. "I like your hair! A lot actually. I think it's really cool." You almost winced at the piss-poor excuse. Everyone made fun of Thatch's hair you had overheard it often enough. There was no way he was going to buy that excuse.

Thatch's eyebrows rose in surprise as a palm stroked along his heavily styled hair. "Yeah? You think so?"

His voice sounded so hopeful your mind rushed along without your permission.

"Yes! I wish I could style something like that, it's awesome," you smiled encouragingly. It was lie of course, but a harmless one. You did like his hair; it was unique and so utterly Thatch. However, you also weren't interested in doing that for yourself either.

"I could style your hair if you want!" Thatch said eagerly. Your smile froze on your face. "It'd be a lot smaller than mine," he continued, hand coming up to stroke his chin, pulling the hair in thought as he looked you over critically. "But I think I could make it work."

"Could you?" you repeated, voice just a little strained. Thatch nodded.

"When do you have free time? I'd love to do that for you!"

Seeing how utterly pleased he looked that you were interested in getting your hair styled by him, you folded quickly. The two of you made plans to meet up tomorrow after the morning rush.

It was, you reflected gloomily as you forced yourself to appear chipper as you waved as Thatch left, probably a little dumb. But you tried to be positive, at least you got to spend a little one-on-one time with the man, right?

The next morning found you outside Thatch's quarters, hands shaking as you forced yourself to take a deep breath. Shifting from foot to foot you brought up one fist to knock quickly.

Immediately the door was flung wide and you suppressed a surprised squeak as you jumped a little. Thatch beamed at you, his tall frame towering above you.

"Right on time! Come on in," he waved you inside and stood to the side as you passed into his room.

The spicy tang of his cologne that you would sometimes catch a whiff of—if you were lucky—was amplified in the small space. You had to fight from taking in a deep breath, wanting to hold it for as long as possible. Thatch gently gilded you with a hand at the small of your back to a chair set out in the center of the room.

After taking a seat, he shuffled through some products sitting out before grabbing up a hairbrush.

"Alright, you ready to get Thatch-ified?!"

You blinked before letting out a short burst of laughter. "Thatch-ified??" you repeated.

Thatch chuckled, looking a little embarrassed but smiled all the same. "We'll be matching! It's gonna be so cute. Hope you're ready for some good ole fashion ribbin' sugar."

The constant nicknames didn't help calm down the racing of your heart at having him so close as he moved behind you and starting gently working the brush through your hair. You reminded yourself that Thatch called everyonenicknames, it wasn't special. It didn't mean anything.

Still, you enjoyed the treatment all the same. Since you were in his room, there wasn't a mirror so you couldn't see the transformation as it happened. Just felt the strange feeling as your hair was slowly lifted up and off your neck and piled onto your head instead.

Thatch chatted as he worked, asking questions about your division, your job, how you were fitting in, etc. It didn't take long before you were talking the man’s ear off you felt. But it was nice, the whole experience was nice.

So, when he finally stepped back with a satisfied, "Done!" You were shocked. The time had felt like it had flown by so fast.

"Come on, come on," he hustled you up and out of the chair and into his small bathroom. It only housed a tiny shower, toilet and of course sink complete with a mirror. Thatch hovered over your shoulder as you took it in, turning your head side to side slowly as you stared.

"Well?" Thatch asked and your eyes flashed to meet his in the reflection.

"I love it!" you answered with a large smile. It was a little weird to see Thatch's hairdo on you but it was fun and the experience overall had been lovely. And watching his face break out in a happy smile made it more than worth it.

Going about the day, Thatch had been correct: you didreceive a lot of ribbing from your nakama. Jokes and laughter followed you around as you went about your day.

You didn't take it too hard though because Thatch seemed to be hovering around the corners of your orbit all day as well. The moment someone started teasing you—it was like a signal and Thatch would descend upon the conversation. Pulling you against his side, he'd protect your honor and tell them off.

Maybe the knight in shining armor routine would annoy you on any other day but Thatch was subsequently extremely affectionate with you. Pulling you close, but also throwing an arm around your shoulders, or whipping out his pocket comb to fix up any hair that might be drooping down. You basked in his attention and easy touches.

All in all, not a terrible experience. Later that night while you kept yawning and mentioning that you wanted to go to bed, Thatch seemed loathe to let you go. Gathered around a table of poker, you had long ago stopped playing, eyes barely staying open. You blinked and leaned heavily against the warm bulk that was Thatch, who had been keeping you close since dinnertime.

Although secretly reveling in how attentive he was over you, you really were tired. Dozing minutely, Thatch's movements as he leaned forward and back kept waking you up.

Finally, Marco had to threaten Thatch before he reluctantly agreed to escort you to the barracks.

After a short walk, you swayed sleepily you stood there as Thatch dithered in front of you outside of the door. You wanted to wash your hair out but with how slow your blinks were becoming as you stared at Thatch who seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t, it didn’t seem like you’d make it to the showers and back.

“Everything okay?” you slurred, and he rubbed the back of his head.

“You’re tired huh?” Thatch asked instead and you nodded. He sighed before giving you a small smile. “Alright, another time then. Seems like it’s bedtime for you.”

“You can say it?” you offered. “I don’t mind hearing it.”

Thatch hummed. “Let me do your hair again sometime? It was fun for me as well. My little buddy today.”

“Sure!” you tried to smile but wasn’t sure if it was successful as Thatch chuckled. The world was moving a little slowly in your tired state, so it took a moment to process when he cradled your cheek in his hand and thumbed softly over your cheek.

“Get some rest then, sweet cheeks,” he whispered, and your eyes widened. Before you could react, Thatch withdrew and walked away, leaving you swaying in the hallway, the skin where he touched you burned.

After that, it seemed as if you had unlocked some hidden switch. Suddenly Thatch was everywhere. He still worked, obviously, but whenever the two of you were in the same vicinity Thatch would instantly zero in on you.

No longer were you able to hover on the sidelines, Thatch made sure to pull you right along with him into the limelight. The man was a social butterfly. It was something you knew, but seeing it so firmly directed at you was beginning to become a problem.

His constant affection, the nicknames, it was all making your crush grow exponentially. Enough was enough, you decided grimly. There was no way you could keep going on like this, taking his affections and softness all while craving something more. That wasn’t fair to him. You had to tell him.

So, with butterflies exploding in your gut, you timidly asked for another hair make-over. Which Thatch gleefully agreed to.

Which was how you found yourself once again standing outside the man’s door. One brisk—and shaky—knock and he pulled the door open wide.

This time you didn’t jump and just wobbled a smile to his greeting before you passed him inside.

It was the same setup as last time and you didn’t let yourself be guided to the chair, nor did you spend too much time dwelling on his scent. Just whirled around on your heel once he closed the door behind you.

“Thatch, I um. Had something to ask you.”

His eyebrows rose but he smiled easily. “Yeah? Well hit me then darlin’.”

Darlin’. All the bravo you managed to gather disappeared, to join the goo on the floor. It was the first time he’d called you darling before and it got you right in the heart.

Thatch started to look a little concerned as the silence stretched and you scrambled to come up with something to distract while you once again worked up your courage. “What was it you were going to say the other night? When you walked me to my room?”

Now it was Thatch’s turn to look cagey as he suddenly looked away, seeming to find the wall very interesting as he scratched at his cheek with a finger.

“Well now, that was a while ago—”

“It was only a couple days Thatch,” you reminded firmly. There was a swoop in your belly as you felt hopeful for the first time since you decided to tell him. What you thought might be a gentle turn-down might, might turn into something else? Maybe?

“Hmm,” he looked up at the ceiling, supposedly in deep thought. “Maybe I’ll remember when I do your hair?” Thatch offered shooting you a hopeful smile. You shook your head. You weren’t about to let it go that easily.

Thatch tsked. “Askin’ an old man like myself to remember something from so long ago, gonna make me feel bad about my memory—”

“I like you,” you cut him off, recognizing an attempt to pivot out of the conversation with a long drawn-out whine, something that Thatch was well-known for being good at.

His mouth dropped. “Oh?”

“Yes. If you don’t feel the same that’s fine, I just wanted you to know—”

A lot of times you forgot—with how large Thatch was and the fact you so rarely saw him outside a relaxed setting—that Thatch was fast. Deadly with a weapon and that’s all you could think of when you suddenly felt warm lips descend over yours.

Equally warm hands wrapped gently around your upper arms, it was a soft gesture; a hold you could easily break out of if you wanted.

When you finally processed what was going on, Thatch had moved back just a fraction, likely taking your frozen state as a silent refusal. You threw your arms around his neck and tugged his lips back to yours.

His arms slid around your back, pulling you against his chest, bracing you firmly against him as the kiss turned more and more eager.

By the time the two of you parted, you were both smiling, breathing heavily into the space between you. Locking eyes, you weren’t sure who started laughing but both of you were, pressing foreheads together. The happiness you felt in this moment, you knew you’d never forget it.

“Sure you’re okay with an old man like me?” Thatch teased. You smirked.

“Only if you can keep up with me, old man.”

“Ouch,” he said, but the big smile breaking across his face told you he wasn’t offended.

“Now, do my hair for me would you?” You leaned forward and pressed one last kiss against his lips.

Later that day, the two of you walked out onto the deck holding hands and received a hardy amount of cheers.

You smiled so wide, your cheeks hurt as Thatch looked down at you, eyes filled with a sweetness that was hard to deny. You squeezed his hand and he squeezed yours back.