#and if i pointed at something they'd dig it out and hold it up

[bhaalsdeepbat]

i literally walked into this space knowing NO ONE, sat off to the side and told them, "I'm sorry, I'm like a cat. I have to just watch for a second, then I'll socialize more." and like. the entire group was just like YEAH MAKES SENSE. no one took it wrong. they just let me observe until i was ready to mesh in more. and now almost two years later I am now burrowed so deeply into this troupe that i wouldn't have the friends or opportunities i have without it.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[jean-meowreau]

Andrew being tasked by Bee to start vocalising the things he appreciates that people do for him. It doesn't do much, not really, until he's making out with Neil and whispers, "You do this thing with your tongue that I'm exceptionally grateful for." and Neil goes red. His fingers tighten where he's holding Andrew's shoulders, perched in his lap. His breath hitches, and this time when he kisses Andrew again it's hungry.

His fingers shift and he's breaking the kiss to ask if he can hold Andrew's jaw. "You're so good at asking for permission," he breathes out as he releases Neil's waist to grab his wrists and set his hands against his jaw. He flutters his lashes as he continues, "I'm grateful for that."

Watching Neil's pupils dilate is something Andrew became addicted to the first time he watched it happen. Neil leans in and feigns a kiss, eyes raking over Andrew's face as he takes in the half frustrated half desperate look.

Andrew clenches his jaw before admitting, quietly, "I enjoy the way you look at me. You're good at it."

Neil bares his teeth as he shifts in Andrew's lap. His breathing picked up and hasn't slowed down. "I don't get to often."

Andrew sits back against the couch cushion and watches Neil after saying, "There's nothing stopping you right now."

"May I be greedy?"

Andrew hums thoughtfully before nodding. Neil shivers, rife with anticipation, before he pulls Andrew's shirt off. Pierced nipples, a slightly hairy chest, and healthy fat are on full display. Neil clenches his hands into fists before reopening them, hungrily eating up the sight of Andrew laid bare. "I wish I had your memory, sometimes. So I wouldn't forget or question myself about what you look like."

Andrew shifts, grimaces, and hates the heat he feels blooming in his cheeks. "I'm grateful you don't have an iedetic memory."

Neil huffs out a quiet sound before grabbing Andrew's wrists and lifting them so they rest behind his head. He drinks in the slope of his forearms, the contours that the black arm sleeves hug and accentuate further with the contrast against his pale skin. Then past the sharp jut of his elbow to his biceps. Neil bares his teeth again, overwhelmed with the need to sink his teeth in and taste, but he doesn't. "Flex," he demands, slightly breathless.

Andrew smirks. "I enjoy when you're too horny to speak," he says as he does as Neil asks. "That you think I'm this attractive."

"You are," Neil says matter-of-factly, dark eyes tracing the shape of muscles as Andrew makes them stand out. He brushes his fingers over the curve of his bicep, mouth going dry as he remembers the power these arms hold and that the man that wields them uses them to protect Neil. He shudders, letting out a shaky gasp, before he leans in to Andrew. He stops before their lips connect, and before they do, Neil whispers, "I love the way you love me."

The effect is immediate, Andrew going rigid beneath him. Neil smiles as he keeps kissing him, coaxing him into it. When he finally kisses back and grabs Neil's waist once more, he relaxes down into the blond, shifting to the lazy makeout they'd been in earlier.

When they part, both slightly breathless, Andrew's brow is furrowed. He's thinking about something, and Neil knows he will share with him when he's ready. So he drops his lips to Andrew's jaw, cupping the corners and tilting him slightly this way and that as he maps out the feel of Andrew's mandible with lips and tongue. He checks his teeth, no matter how much he wants to clamp down. And then he dips lower, over Andrew's pulse point and then his jugular. He can feel every shaky breath beneath his lips laying feather-light kisses.

"Andrew."

"Collarbone."

Neil makes a soft sound, a happy one, and immediately drops his head to sink his teeth into the meat of Andrew's chest, over the hard line of his collarbone just beneath the surface. He sucks at the skin there, teeth digging in just enough to meet resitance. He wants to dig in until Andrew bleeds, but the thought of hurting him in that way has always kept him in check.

"I-I--" Andrew starts and stops, clearing his throat after he hears his reedy tone and the stutter. "I appreciate when you use me like a chew toy."

Neil groans quietly, hands moving to hold Andrew's jaw again as he surges up to kiss him on the mouth. "You don't even know the half of it," he mutters, gently sinking his teeth into Andrew's lower lip for a brief second. "I am a rabid dog and you are my favourite squeaky toy. I want to--" he pauses, shivering, and after letting out a slow sigh, he continues. "I want to sink my teeth in until I meet bone. I want to shake you around until you split in two and then I have even more Andrews to chew on. I want to eat your fucking heart," Neil mutters, finally tearing his eyes away from Andrew's parted, spit-slick lips. His eyes are dark, eyelids heavy. "I want every piece of you in my mouth at any given point during the day. I want to forget how everything else tastes, and only know the taste of you."

Andrew doesn't say anything, not right away, but he stares up at Neil. And then takes in the flush sitting high on Neil's cheekbones, his lips parted as he pants, breathing in Andrew's essence as he waits for the impact of his words-- positive or negative, he isn't sure. "I appreciate that you tell me everything, even the weird shit," Andrew says finally, hands sliding up Neil's back. One shifts to grab the back of his neck while the other settles between his shoulder blades. He moves them, laying Neil against the couch cushions as he holds himself up over the redhead. "I'm gonna blow you."

Neil's eyes flutter shut, back arching so he can press his chest to Andrew's. "Yes."

Before he moves further, however, Andrew kisses Neil quickly once more before saying, "I love the way you love me."

In his next session, Bee asks how the Words of Affirmation and Gratitude exercise went. "Good." was all Andrew gave her in return.

[alchemistc]

Married In Vegas Interlude: The Patio

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

"I miss you," Evan says, strain in his voice, around his eyes. "I went out with a guy the other night and he said movies are for the weak-minded."

Evan always fell asleep halfway through movies. Not enough stimulation, so Tommy had started massaging his leg, tossing a nerf ball back and forth, asking Evan to paint his toenails. He's got a knitting for beginners kit sitting at the bottom of his mud room ottoman because that had been his next attempt to keep him entertained enough to make it through a single theater run-time Lord of the Rings.

"I hired a Taskrabbit to box up all your things because every time I saw them I wanted to call you," Tommy admits.

"Even the -?"

"That too," Tommy interrupts, and Evan scowls.

"You always do that."

"Anticipate what you're doing to say?"

"Never let me finish."

Tommy can't help himself: "I don't recall that ever being a problem." The first time Tommy had found his prostate he'd made noise like a dying cow and Tommy had been worried his neighbors would call the cops and a station they both knew would show up just in time for Tommy to drown in a puddle of Evan's cum.

Evan kicks at his leg. "We never talked about the things we did that irritated each other."

Tommy gets both calves wrapped around the offending ankle and holds them in place, hovering above the cheap and patchy artificial turf.

"Like you always pretending you couldn't overpower me if you tried?" he asks, and Evan bends his knees and hooks his toe and if Tommy didn't let the hold go they'd both end up in the ER tonight.

"Like turning the thermostat in the loft down every night when you snuck down for water after you thought I was passed out."

"You have fifty blankets within arms reach up there," Tommy argues, and something satisfied sparks behind Evan's eyes. Was he not supposed to cop to that?

"You flirt with my barista every time you wake up early to buy me coffee at the cafe downstairs," Evan says.

"Tawny is basically my barista at this point, she never saw you." It's been six months. Tawny is definitely not his barista, anymore

"Maybe I wanna be the one who wakes up early and treats you, every once in a while." Which makes Tommy snort, and tip his beer against his lips to drain the rest before he digs in the bucket for another.

"You're the biggest pillow princess I've ever met," he snaps, and then amends his statement. "That isn't one of the irritations," he says, softer. When he drops his free hand on the table, Evan snatches at it, fingers stretching over the back of it before twisting Tommy's wrist to reveal his palm. He does that thing that always made Tommy a little boneless: fingernails snagging on Tommy's calluses as he traces the patterns on his palm, up the lengths of his fingers. "I like taking care of people. You. I like taking care of you."

He curls his fingers in to catch his movements on a downward drag, slides them into the empty spaces between Evan's and presses their palms together. It's silent. Tommy feels heated, and he's not sure he can blame the three straight whiskeys he'd pounded back when he'd caught sight of the breadth of Evan's back, assumed it was a stranger, and thought to himself: I deserve to be haunted by this ghost.

"Can we please talk, Tommy? For real?"

Tommy pulls another beer from his bucket and passes it off to Evan. "I miss you too, Evan."

Evan drags his chair half an inch closer and beams.

[angelsrcute]

Haloo :D im wondering if u r taking requests now but if u r can u write a fyodor with immortal female reader ? It would be wonderful if u can can but u can ignore this request if u want to

“ But can't you see my dear? I am your doppelganger ♡”

⌗ A LOVE IMMORTAL SUCH AS MINE, WILL COME TO ME, ETERNALLY. 𐙚˙⋆.˚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Immortal!Vampire!Fyodor + Sub!Immortal!Vampire!F!Reader ➜ cws: Modern au, Jealous!Fyodor, Vampire themes, fwb → lovers, alcohol mentions, biting, unprotected sex + use of lube, tit play, overstimulation, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), slight Yandere!Fyodor(?), Soft!Fyodor.

꒰ † ੭ — this ended up being my longest fic ever, lol, 1.3k words!! I am taking reqs! + a lil inspiration from olgami, it's such a good webtoon. (人´∀`)♪ Translation: "Мышка" (myshka)

When humans age, they die and pass on to the afterlife, don't they? Death was something that never came to you, ah immortality, such a cool thing. It was more like a curse to you, humans coming and going, years passing by but still no one seemed to notice the same face walking among them for all these decades. Faces unrecognisable as you try to remember their names, their relation with you, not that it mattered anyway.

Relationships were a nuisance, blink and they're already gone, dead, as you stand in their funeral. It was a really funny thing, oh how you wished you could die instead of watching your loved ones die.

Fyodor Dostoevsky. Not a famous name for humans but for vampires, they say he's the oldest vampire to ever live. Have you ever met with him? You did, decades ago, in his bed, in his mansion, fyodor needed some relief and so did you.

He was the one who saved you from your death, why? Because he thought you were interesting. He'd take care of you and teach you how to hunt, how to kill people and make sure no one finds out. He seemed like a lonely man too, house deep in the woods, living all by himself.

The other vampires though, had this bloodlust, to kill him, to become the lord themselves. Everyone clawing at any chance they get, to paint their fingers red with his blood. You never understood their reasoning, what's so good living a life like this?

Dressed in the finest silk and jewelries, he liked seeing you in white clothing the most. He said it made you look like a saint, the saint that brought some change to his boring life. He definitely wasn't a fan of other vampires eyefucking you at meetings. Well, they'd end up going missing anyway.

Cleaning up after him was annoying, why did he have to be so busy? that also playing the piano as he drank wine. Blankly staring at the body in front of you as you clean the floor, muttering curses at him.

It didn't take long but you fell for him, yearning for his touches, but you could never confess, fearing it would ruin your relationship. Your body burning like fire as he kisses you, snapping his hips against you, dress ripped off and discarded on the floor.

“You liked that dress? I'll tell them to make one for you again, money isn't a problem for me.”

Cold slender fingers playing with your nipples as he decorates your neck with bite marks, drawing blood from them. Tongue darting out to lick the blood as he whispers about how sweet you taste to your ears. Your nails digging into his shoulders as your eyes roll back from pleasure, his hands holding your leg up at this point.

Everything was going smoothly until one day he disappeared, without a single word. All the other vampires went crazy over this fact. Some were happy thinking he finally died, some just disappointed that they couldn't be the one killing him.

You returned to Russia after a lot of years, travelling all over the world, everything was different to you, with the years, technology also grew, like for instance, this human was staring into a phone. Bumping into you and not saying a single apology but they had the audacity to curse you instead, calling you blind.

Well, guess you just found yourself dinner, how lucky. Hiding the body with no effort, muttering to yourself “The world would be a little better without people like this.”

You went down an alley, there was a nice bar here, you remembered. Entering it, you took a seat after ordering your favourite drink. From the corner of your eyes, you could see a stranger coming up to you, sitting beside you, “I've never seen you around here, darling, do you need some help? I know a really nice place around here–”

The man went on rambling about nonsense, poor attempts at flirting, and why is he even talking about himself, you don't remember asking. Quietly sipping on your drink as you ignored the stranger. The stranger, though, seemed offended, “Hey I'm talking to you, whore, if you don't want attention, dress up more!”

Now that part really got on your nerves, what were you supposed to wear, a long ass winter jacket? You could just pretend to play along and just kill this guy, not even interested in drinking his blood! But someone else's voice stopped you, a voice too fucking familiar.

It was none other than fyodor, you watched as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you by his side, eyes narrowing at the stranger with a smile, “It's really rude to flirt with someone's lover, don't you think? You'll walk away from here and remember nothing.” The guy on command, got up and left the bar, the people in the surrounding, definitely didn't care.

“You look like you've seen a ghost, Мышка.” He chuckled, as if he just met you yesterday and not decades ago.

“What the fuck? Where the hell were you for all these years!?” You shouted at him, burning a hole into his face with your glare, “Of course I'm surprised, am I not supposed to be when you appear like that? God!”

“Let's discuss it somewhere private, shall we? I know a hotel nearby.” You hated how composed he seemed to be, but still followed him, giving him a chance to explain himself.

“I was a bit hurt, dear, why didn't you tell the man to leave? or were you interested?” He asked while sitting down on the bed.

“Is that what we're talking about? Give me an explanation, fyodor, where the hell were you?”

“A bit busy, don't mind me, I had business that needed to be taken care of.”

“That's it? You could've at least told me a goodbye! or sent letters.”

“Ah, but that would give away my location, wouldn't it? I didn't want any disturbances, but enough about me, where were you? I couldn't find you in my mansion.”

“I was travelling, and I did not see a point in staying there if you weren't there but you really had me worried, you know?” You sighed, sitting beside him.

Well this was supposed to be meeting up with a past ‘friend’. So why did this turn into a fucking session? According to a certain someone, he wanted to make up for his mistakes!

Currently between your thighs, lapping up your folds like he hadn't eaten in years, savouring the taste like it was his favorite meal. He teased your clit with his tongue, gently flicking it, before sucking it into his mouth. Your moans and whines were music to his ear, he could feel you were close, his tongue speeding up to make you cum.

“F-fuck…gonna cum–” You stammered before cumming, lewd slurping sounds filling the room before getting up and kissing you, slipping his tongue in your mouth, making you taste yourself. A string of saliva joining your tongue after he breaks the kiss, he definitely likes seeing you like this— face flushed, hair disheveled, neck decorated by pretty hickeys by him.

You don't remember what round it was, all you can feel is the way he keeps fucking his cum back in your cunt. Sweat glistening on your body as you can't help but let out whimpers due to overstimulation, “T-Too much, fedya…slow down–”

“I'm sure you can cum for me again, my dear.”

He kisses your tear soaked face while rubbing soothing circles on your clit to calm you down. You pull him closer to kiss again, running your hands through his soft hair before he cums in you for the last time and pulls out.

Fyodor runs you a warm bath and then puts you on the bed, climbing in to cuddle with you, well, such a memorable get together isn't it?

Taglist: @blueberrisdove

[mee3pp]

Farm house Pt 2

Pricesduaghter!reader x Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Cw: swearing, over protective father

Farm house Pt 2

“Ay I wasn’t thinkin’ bout anything Cap” Soap says throwing his hands in the air in defeat. But John MacTavish was not a man who gave up easy, Price knew what. “I’m serious MacTavish, if I catch ya messing with ma’ daughter I’ll make you regret it” Price says lowly hoping his point gets past Soaps thick skull.

You skip back into the room in what you deemed a more appropriate shirt. A baggy off the shoulder t shirt that didn’t show nearly as much cleavage as before. Price smiles at you clearly approving of your new shirt, not that he would ever dare to tell you to change your father can fight after all. He just can’t stand watching Soap ogle you. “I just put a roast in the oven there should be enough for all of you but I’m taking you all eat as much as my father?” You tease as you tie the pretty frilly lavender apron back around your waist.

“Sounds lovely, I’m sure the boys can refrain from stuffing their faces for one night” Price smiles as he ruffles your hair which earns an annoyed pout from you. He made your hair messy after all, you spent an eternity wrestling with it this morning as it just wouldn’t cooperate.

Your dad takes his boys into the lounge room with beers and a glass of bourbon for Ghost. His own bottle of course, it was only sensible for him to have one here as he stayed all the time. You stay in the kitchen chopping some vegetables and bread for the boys to go with dinner. You prepare a fuck load as it is presumed they all eat as much as your dad, which is a ton. Seriously it’s almost impossible how much he eats.

6:30 pm

"dinners up!" Your sweet and warm voice calls out, despite the warmth and friendliness your voice carries the same authority as your father. The boys hastily get up and head to the dining table. the dinner is prettily arranged on some fancy plates and some fancy napkins, you smile as they all sit down borderline drooling over the food and after a glare from Price they all mumble a quick "thanks".

"didn't av' to break out th' fancy plates sweets" Your father smiles as he and the others dig into their food. "we av' guests that's what th' fancy plates are for ?" You retort your british accent thick and rough just like your fathers. "eh, ya av' a fair point" Price shrugs and tucks back into his food. "this is fuckin' good lass" Soap mumbles through mouth fulls of food which earns a small chuckle from you and a frown from your father. "watch ya language Soap" Price grumbles and he earns an annoyed scoff from Soap in response.

"yer soundin’ like me mam" Soap jabs back at Price the tension between the two men is thick. so thick you could walk on it like a bridge; Ghost rolls his eyes and Gaz chuckles at the two soldiers' silent argument. A simple "Dad" with the right amount of harshness coming from you is all it took for Price to let it go, only for the moment but it was something. If the others were honest they'd say how uncanny the similarities are between you and your father, the same blue eyes and dark hair and not to mention the way your presence demands the whole attention of the room when you want it.

"Simon and Soap you both are washin' dishes with me come on" You command as you clear the table efficiently. Neither of the boys complain about washing dishes, maybe it was their discipline and training or the wrath of their Captain that was holding back their complaints. You fill the sink with hot soapy water and you start to scrub dishes not before throwing a towel at both Soap and Ghost, getting Ghost in the face and Soap in the chest. “Bitch” Ghost mumbles and he smacks you on the back of the head and it earns a confused frown from Soap. The frown is quickly wiped away as you mutter back at Simon “grumpy asshole” and you flip him off before starting to wash the dishes.”Ya getting Christmas off Simon?” You ask your voice full of warmth and familiarity as you talk to the big man. “Depends if we’re busy, why? Ya lookin’ forward to seeing me?” Simon teases with a small smirk, you shake your head and scoff “nah was checkin’ when i needed to book me plane tickets out of th’ country to avoid ya” you jab back as you place a wet plate on the bench to be dried. Soap raises an eyebrow in confusion. “You stay ere’ all th’ time Ghost?” Soap questions and he can’t help the slip of distaste in his voice. “Nah not all th’ time i’d go mad, just a few times through th’ year Johnny” Simon chuckles his gravely voice carries through the kitchen. “Few times my ass you’re always bloody ere’ can’t fuckin’ get rid of ya” you scoff and place another plate on the bench to be washed.

10:30pm

“Tsk tsk thought i told ya to stop smokin?” your father sighs as he walks to you as you stand outside in the warm summer air on the deck. “Thought i told ya i’m an adult? I’m 28 if i wanna get lung cancer i can” you scoff but there’s a hard to miss smile on your pretty face. “Ya gonna turn into Ghost if ya keep it up” Price chuckles and he pats you on the head. “Ugh guess i’ll quit now” You giggle as you stamp out your finished cigarette. “Sweets” Your dad says in a more serious tone. “Ya?” you hum back reluctantly as you have a feeling as to where this is going. “Can ya do me a favour? Stay away from Soap don’t go getting feelings mixed with him” Price gruffs out which earns an annoyed groan and a scoff from you. “Oi don’t gimme that attitude i’m just lookin out for ya, i don't need Soap ruinin’ my Daughter” Your father dares to continue which only serves to piss you off more.

You storm off back inside huffing and puffing, with the occasional curse towards your father. “Stupid old bitch… think ya can control me?” you mumble. “Who's controlin’ you?” the all too familiar gruff and gravelly voice hums. “Fuckin John” you huff out as you look up at Simon, he raises an eyebrow at you its quite entertaining afterall you having a tantrum. “Thinks he can stick his fuckin’ nose into my love life” you huff pouting up at Simon. “Who’s he tellin’ you to stay away from this time?” Simon prods even though he knows full well who your father is telling you to stay away from. “That is none of your business mr nosey” you sigh before walking off towards the kitchen to stress bake of course because what else should you do? Simon of course trails behind you like the nosey bitch he is. He likes to pretend he doesn’t live for the drama and gossip that goes on in the world around him, it’s his guilty pleasure.

tag list (lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist)

@tabbslouuformer

[eccentricwritingbaby]

she’s a lady

charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary - based on the song 'shes a lady' by tom jones. just y/n being cool and charles being a simp lol

masterlist

-

Well, she's all you'd ever want

She's the kind they'd like to flaunt and take to dinner

Well she always knows her place

She's got style, she's got grace, she's a winner

charles did not want to go out tonight, he really didn’t. but there was just simply no possible way he could ever say no to that wonderful face. you came prancing into the bedroom you both shared bubbling over with excitement as you began to devise your outfit plan of the night while charles just laid on the bed with dreams in his eyes. you had tumbled into his life unexpectedly yet perfectly a few years ago and fit him like a glove. you were a girl constantly sought after, therefore you played hard to get when charles began his pursuit yet ultimately fell into the drivers arms at last. but, charles did not mind the chase, he would drive, run, skip, throughout all of monaco - hell europe hell the world - if it meant at the end of the day you would be his and his only. 

“cherie?” you called out from your place in the closet. charles quickly dropped his phone, hopped off the bed and walked into the closet at your beck and call.

“oui, mon amour” he quickly replies while holding onto your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“do you like this dress for tonight? or this other one?” you briefly pointed to two different dresses, both small and revealing the only difference being the color - black or red. 

“y/n what am i going to do with you,” charles sighs while squeezing your hips. you proceed to chuckle feeling something familiar pleasurably digging into your back. 

“char, the dresses aren’t even on and you are already turned on? oh however will you last through the night,” you sigh through the last portion to give him a quick tease as you continue to sort through your dresses. 

“i really do not think i will, mon ange,” charles whispers into your ear and proceeds to give your neck a kiss while replying again, “and you know i love you in red, always,”

She's a lady

Whoa, whoa, whoa she's a lady

Talkin' about that little lady

And the lady is mine

as the two of you approached the club all of your friends were at, charles began to notice the stares that were always pointed at you. he was a large celebrity and received a lot of people staring but that was all from proclaimed shock. the men - no - boys staring at you were gawking and undressing you with their eyes. normally charles would feel quite protective, and he does at times, but in these moments as your hand tightly grips his while walking through the crowded venue, he feels only pride. people look you up and down hoping you even so much as glance in their direction yet your eyes will never leave charles, you’re his. its never been in a possessive manner, only that you and charles have been absolutely and blissfully head over heels for each other from the moment you had laid eyes on each other. 

Well, she's never in the way

Always something nice to say, oh what a blessing

I can leave her on her own

Knowing she's okay alone, and there's no messing

you sat gracefully at the vip table that charles and your friends had reserved for the night out. charles watched as you nodded along to something joris was speaking to you about, a polite smile never leaving your face. you added in small comments here and there which made joris laugh while also listening intently and honestly, something that is so rare nowadays. 

carlos’ voice pulls charles from his thoughts as he asks the question charles asks himself everyday, “how y/n said yes to you i will never understand, chico, how did you get that blessing of a woman to be with you?”

charles receives this joke quite often, with you being so perfect and all. he understands that carlos is only joking with him and therefore replies back with a grin, “because i am the charles leclerc, mate”

charles’ grin grows wider after his laugh once spotting you walking over to him, “char, im heading to the bar for another drink, you need anything?” 

your deliciously sweet tone along with the sexy and sultry outfit you had on ruined charles in one altercation, therefore leading him to quickly stutter out a, “n-no thank you, love”

“okay, ill be right back, boys,” you smile to the rest of the group and only to charles do you drop your left eye into a small wink. the boys cheer for a minute and continue to hide their bits of envy in an easy teasing to charles - who accepts the teasing with pride because if you’re going to get made fun of by friends, it might as well be for having the perfect girl. 

as you continue to the bar, men begin to approach yet you remain oblivious only carrying tunnel vision on getting your drink and heading back to your man. you ignore the looks, the attempts at flirts and god-awful pickup lines while simply getting your drink and heading back towards the vip booth. right outside the booth and in complete view and earshot of charles, a relentless man keeps trying to talk and flirt with you. 

“c’mon love, just one dance, i promise i’ll take good care of ya,” he says to you. charles is about to come rescue you, but you have other plans.

“i said no and that i have a boyfriend you fuckhead, now please go away so that i can actually enjoy my evening,” you finish the easy tell-off with a few bats to your eyelashes and the man is turned away but not without muttering a quick ‘bitch’ under his breath, “excuse me?!” you whip your head around to him once more.

“i called you a bitch, lady,” he says once more, you give a whole-hearted laugh which just confuses him further. 

“i am a lady, but i will still set you straight,” you finish off while staring at the man.

“what do you mean by that, bitch” he taunts further. and with one simple swing, the man is on the ground and you’re shaking out your soon-to-be bruised hand. charles comes rushing up to you and engulfs you into a hug. 

“mon amour, are you alright?” he quickly questions.

“i am a lady who can handle herself, char, no need to worry,” you reassure and give a kiss to his awaiting lips. 

over to the side, joris leans over to whisper to the group that witnessed it all happen, “he’s too damn lucky to have her, she’s a badass,” the men just all look at each other while nodding in agreement to his statement. charles was lucky, but you knew that you were too. there is a reason that you felt safe enough to punch the man and also easily ignore all the stares that were given, because your protector was right behind you, fueling you with confidence and ease just as you do for him. 

She's a lady

Whoa, whoa, whoa she's a lady

Talkin' about that little lady

And the lady is mine

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Sprung

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Struggling to Make Ends Meet, Light Angst, Sacrifice, Love, Making a Life Together

"Steve, please," Eddie says, and Steve stills.

"I thought you were asleep?" Steve whispers in the dark, and Eddie's not sure why Steve's trying to be quiet at this point. They're both awake now. Steve's made sure of that.

"I was," Eddie huffs out, annoyed, because he had been. But Steve's constant flopping around has ruined that. Steve's become the world's shittest sleeper lately, and that's not exactly ideal in a bed partner.

"Sorry," Steve says, stilling, "I'll try to stop moving around."

Eddie just mutters something that he hopes passes as a thanks, and rolls back over. He has to get up at six, and he fucking needs his four hours. That's not too much to ask for, goddamnit. 

Steve's still for a few minutes, but then rolls over in his sleep, again, and the whole bed shifts and shakes. Again. Eddie's had enough, and snags his pillow off the bed, padding down the hallway to crash on the couch. He's exhausted. He can't do this tonight. He can't.

He still wakes up tired, because it was too cold in the living room. Their shitty radiators either don't work, or boil you. No middle ground. Fucking shithole. But it's the best they can do for now, since they're barely keeping their heads above water, as is. Working just to live. It's been hard. Harder than Eddie expected, and he grew up with fucking hard. 

He'd hoped they'd be past that now, hoped he'd finally catch a goddamn break.

Of course not.

It's the Munson curse. 

And now Eddie's in a bad mood, even as Steve's pouring coffee into Wayne's old thermos for him, packing Eddie's metal lunchbox, to keep him going on the jobsite all day. 

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking it, and Steve just nods silently, clearly aware Eddie's in a mood this morning.

Eddie worries they're circling the drain, from circumstances alone. It's not a love problem, it's a life problem, and that makes it worse.

And before long, Eddie realizes he broke the seal, having introduced a new wedge between them. Now that the couch is in play, they aren't even sleeping in the same bed most nights anymore. Steve will go, or he will, and now they're sleeping apart more nights a week than they sleep together. Maybe they're getting more rest, but they're also growing even further apart. 

Today, Eddie's coffee and lunch are on the counter, but Steve's already in the shower, and their ten minutes together in the morning are gone.

Just like that.

Eddie grabs his work boots from the closet, flopping down on Steve's side of the bed to put them on, and he's suddenly assaulted, poked right in the ass by whatever Steve's left laying on the mattress. 

Standing up, he's sliding his hand over the bed in the dark to see what the fuck he sat on. Nothing. He yanks the sheets back, and there's still nothing, so he strips it further.

It's a spring. 

And it's threatening to fully poke through, probably right where Steve's back rests. Goddammit. No wonder Steve can't fucking hold still at night. He's being tortured, Eddie thinks, as he presses his hand against the spring, feeling it bite into his hand. 

A rogue mattress spring.

That's what's divided them, broke them down. 

Eddie sits back down, lets the spring dig into his ass, and holds his head in hands. He's not gonna cry. He doesn't have time. He has to go to work. But goddamn this. 

He's still sitting there when Steve comes in and is rifling through the closet, "You okay?"

"No," Eddie says.

Steve walks over and puts the back of his hand on Eddie's forehead and Eddie laughs, wetly. 

"You don't feel hot," Steve declares. 

"No, I don't," Eddie mutters, because damn, he fucking doesn't feel hot at all. He feels broken down and worn out. 

He reaches up and catches Steve's hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it. 

"I'm sorry about the mattress. I didn't know," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Steve says, and he rubs his fingers against the top of Eddie's head.

"You shouldn't have to be," Eddie says, dejected. 

Steve Harrington chose him, loves him, and Eddie can't even give him a bed to sleep on that isn't trying to pierce his spleen every night.

They can't afford a new one, not right now, and Eddie hates that he can't fix this. 

"We'll flip it," Eddie offers.

"Then it'll have the crater on your side again," Steve says with a laugh. And yeah, Eddie'd forgotten they flipped it last year, after his side started breaking down. Sucking him inward, like a gate into the Upside Down.

That doesn't matter.

"Well, that's gotta be better than this," Eddie admits, bouncing a little. Anything would be better than this torture device.

Steve kneels between Eddie's open thighs, "It's okay, Eddie."

It's not. 

"I'm sorry I was being a jerk. I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve answers, "I didn't want you to worry."

Eddie brushes Steve's hair off his forehead, "I'm still sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

Steve grins, and it's blinding, "Always. Work now, worry about the mattress later."

Eddie nods, smiles, and when Steve moves from between his knees, Eddie leans over and laces up his boots. Ready to start another day.

That evening, when Eddie pulls into the driveway, Wayne's truck is parked behind Steve's car. Eddie hadn't realized Wayne was coming, and grins. This day just got way better.

Eddie plows into the house, and finds Steve in the bedroom, a pair of needle nose pliers dug into a small hole they've cut in the mattress, trying to bend the spring back into its original position. Wayne's standing there, talking Steve through the temporary fix, until they can afford something better.

It's gonna be okay, Eddie realizes. They're just a little bent out of shape right now. A little sprung. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[enkvyu]

2:24am — getou suguru ;

a cold, bitter chill sweeps the courtyard of jujutsu high, snow like dust clinging to tree branches and settling atop slopped roofs.

you shiver, the cold enough to penetrate even the thickest of your sweaters and your cigarette does little to numb your body. even the flame at the end whimpers and dies against the wind.

with a sigh, you scrap the end of your cigarette against the wall, dragging a long charcoal line. getou perks up when you take out another cigarette and chuckles when you fumble around.

you glare over at him, but ask him anyway. "do you have a lighter i can borrow?"

he raises his eyebrow at you, drinking in a deep exhale of his own cigarette. "you forgot to bring one?"

"i think i left it with shoko and who knows where she is right now."

"this is your third cigarette in a while now, you good there?"

"is this a smoke session or a therapy appointment?" you reply with a lazy smirk, just enough to show that there were no hard feelings. "if i wanted to talk about my feelings, i would be drinking until i see the bottom of a bottle, not standing outside in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of winter, with you."

getou raises his arms as if to relent, his cigarette tilting off his bottom lip. "just thought i'd check in. you needed a lighter, right?"

you point to your cigarette, also resting in your mouth. "does it look lit to you?"

your classmate takes a step forward, hand digging around in his pant pocket when an idea struck him. he makes a show of shoving his hand in his other pocket, and then peeking into his shirt, flicking his bangs to the side to get a good look, before coming back emptyhanded. "oh man, looks like i left my lighter behind as well."

"yeah? where'd you leave it?"

"with gojo."

you send him an unimpressed look. "the non-smoker of our group?"

"he wanted to see if it would light underwater. called it his hypothesis. if it's him, he'd probably make it somehow."

though it was very difficult to believe getou's terrible excuse, you don't disagree.

you scan him up and down, from his warm smile that would fool everyone but you, to his pants that dragged down on one side, something heavy causing the shift in fabric. "is that a lighter in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

"i'm always happy to see you. hey, come here."

your body stutters at that. "what?"

getou ignores your deer-in-headlights look and steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one step. leaning down, he secures his cigarette with two fingers, using his other hand to balance himself on the wall beside you, and presses it against your own. you didn't see this happening, you could only infer as your eyes dances around his face instead, captivated at the proximity and the smoothness of his skin, the way his hair fluttered gently in the winter air, the slight redness of his nose and the furrow between his brow as he held his cigarette.

he peers down to ensure the two sticks meet, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheek.

when your cigarette catches on, and you don't see this from happening either, getou's eyes flicker to look at yours. your eyes meet with a spark that doesn't come from your cigarettes, and holds until you feel the smoke irritate the back of your throat.

taking a step back, you lightly clear your throat. when you take a deep breath of your cigarette, you realise you really needed it. "what the heck, getou, that was too smooth. you could make a girl swoon with that."

"well, did it work on you?"

you meet his eyes with a start. "did you want it to?"

you let the silence draw out, looking into his eyes as if they'd give you an answer, especially when he doesn't. suddenly, getou breaks the eye contact, a slight red dusting his cheeks. he chuckles humourlessly. you watch as getou inhales and exhales, leaning against the wall and looking straight ahead.

"way to turn it back on me." he says.

"it's your fault for not being prepared."

"how can i ever be prepared when you find the weirdest things to say?"

"it's been three years now, you'd think you found a way around that already."

you huff out a condensed breath of smoke and when the wind doesn't start to blow it away, you do it yourself, fanning it with an irritated wave. when your hand comes back down to rest on the wall, your pinky hits getou's hand.

you don't pull away, but you look over at him. his faux indifference isn't lost on you, his gaze pulled to the side opposite you as if there was anything interesting about the trees and rocks. even though his head is turned away, the red on the tips of his ears and the smile he tries to hide with his cigarette is unmistakeable.

you blink slowly, the tingle from the connection making your heartbeat faster even when the chemicals in your cigarette work to slow it down. finally, you intertwine your pinky with his. you hear him exhale deeply, and then shuffle to face the front once more. what he didn't expect was you, staring right at him to catch his eye.

getou's face burns. "what is it?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"nothing."

"if it was nothing, you wouldn't be looking at me like that."

"i was just thinking. it took you a while to finally make a move, is all."

getou splutters and it's so out of character that it makes you laugh. he groans, covering his face with his other hand, cigarette wedged in between two fingers.

“since when?” he asks behind his hand.

you hum in thought. “maybe last year. what about you?”

“first year. when we first met.”

“love at first sight? you are so cheesy.”

he huffs, the corner of his smile visible despite his efforts. “right? almost wished i didn’t fall in love right then and there.”

“fall in love?” you repeat and he looks at you alarmed. “i was just talking about a little crush, what’s this about love?”

“you—”

your grin steals the words from his mouth and he sighs into his palm. he lets it drop, defeated, cigarette end crunching against the wall. “fine, you win. i should have done something sooner, whatever. you’re terrible.”

you're urged to tease him more when he interlaces with your hand, the grip warm against the snow, firm and steady like it was always meant to be there. this time, when you look up at him, getou’s already gazing right back at you. he doesn’t break his hold this time and it’s your turn to blush at his assertiveness. only then does he seem to falter, feeling conscious.

"now we're just two blushing idiots in the snow."

getou smiles at that. "talk about cheesy." his gaze falls to his cigarette, the end only smoking every now and again. it's dead, he realises, so he puts it out under his foot. "want to head back inside? it's getting cold."

"really?" you say, lifting your interconnected hand. "it's pretty warm for me."

getou gives you a lop-sided grin. "cheesy." he tugs you towards him, towards the door of the school and you have to groan at the prospect of returning to class after all the trouble you went through to get away. you let yourself be dragged off though, hand holding getou's, ready to face the rapid-fire questions you know you'll get asked when you make it back.

still, the heat of your hands makes it way up to your face and you have to tuck your chin into the collar of your shirt to hide the evidence.

the winter air whistles in your ear, its cold a faraway problem.

the urge to make the reader die in getou's arms or irruptively after any super fluffy moment is Intense. like toji just appears with a gun and bang (sorry getou i would pray for your happiness but i'm an atheist)

[bonny-kookoo]

Can we get cherry jks reaction when Mc finally shows her tattoo to jk😊 thanks

A/N: Warnings for sexual tension

"So." He grins.

"..So." You parrot back, though not as confident.

You're both sitting on his couch again, facing each other. Suddenly, you feel odd. What if he's disappointed by your body? What if he thinks you're a lot prettier than you actually are? And what if he thinks your tattoo is stupid, badly made, or doesn't suit you?

"Do you wanna.. take it off yourself, or..?" He wonders casually, leaning his head a bit to the side.

"..you." You point towards him, unable to really bring yourself to undress. It's not even all that bad- he's gonna be able to see the tattoo without you taking off your bra anyways. You're not gonna have to get naked.

But you kind of want to be, just to see what he thinks of you.

He's clearly scanning your face and rest of you for any sign of discomfort as he scoots closer to you, fingers pulling your shirt out from where you had it tucked into your shorts, before he slowly lifts it up, your hands lift to make it easier for him to pull it over your head.

Of course your underwear would be cute- lace rim sitting snug against your skin, little bows placed right where the straps begin, one singular one right in between the two cups that hold your tits all securely inside.

He actually thought about what they maybe look like. He didn't think they'd look this pretty.

"Can I touch you?" He wonders, and you shrug, before nodding, his hands surprisingly warm as he smiles, before he leans in a little closer. "Lay back for me a little, yeah?" He asks, voice lower than before, less clear, a lot more breathy. You nod, letting him help you lay back down as he sits right over your legs, knees digging into the couch below so that he doesn't put his weight on you.

He pushes up the hem under your bra, but you notice he's struggling a little not to go too far-

so you move your hands and unhook the back of your bra, catching him off guard as his hands leave you, eyes wide open before he laughs, face resting on your stomach, exhale from his nose tickling your skin.

"God damnit woman, give a man a warning!" He scolds, looking back up at you. "I thought I broke it!" He complains, causing you to laugh as well now.

"Sorry." You apologize, and he shakes his head, before he looks back at you. "You can take it off too." You approve, and he licks his lips, gaze now darkening quite a bit at the prospect of being allowed to do something like that.

He looks almost concentrated as he rids you off your underwear, leaving it to hang over the backrest of the couch to not get lost.

"That's, without exaggeration-" He says, leaning back a bit to look at you. "-the best pair of tits I've ever seen." He nods, playfully acting impressed, like an art-critic looking at a painting revealed. "Like, I know I'm supposed to look at the tattoo but wow.. can I touch them?" He wonders, and you nod- his entire demeanor making you feel awfully comfortable.

His palms immediately take the place of your bra earlier, and he personally thinks his hands are a way better fit and sight than the undergarment.

But maybe that's just him.

The moment he finds the tattoo however, he's interested. Fine lines, some already quite faded, no shadowing whatsoever. It's a simple flower design, very pretty, doesn't need any bold colors or more additions to it.

It's fine as it is. Fits you perfectly.

"I could re-trace those lines here. They're almost invisible- which happens a lot with fine line artworks.." He mumbles, before he notices your thighs move together.

Oh?

One look up reveals your flushed face, and only now does he notice the way his fingers must've continuously brushed over your by now hardened nipples. "But maybe I gotta get more familiar with... the client first." he purrs, hands moving as his body moves to lay lower, now his chin touching your stomach. "Hm?" He wonders, and you whine, unsure what to ask for.

How far does he want to even go? Does he want full on sex, or is he still only teasing you?

"Did you know that some girls can cum from only getting their tits touched?" He asks you boldly, and you shake your head, making him grin, before he runs his thumbs over your sensitive buds, a kiss placed right up onto the lowest part of your sternum.

"Wanna see if you're one of them?"

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is scream (sorry in advance)

(654 words.)

The telltale sign that Remus is back, the crack from his apparating, comes much earlier than Sirius was expecting. He rushes from his and Remus' bedroom, wand in hand, and trying to calm his anxiety. Surely something has gone wrong. Remus could be hurt, or it could be someone else.

Thankfully, Remus is there and seemingly unscathed. That's not enough to reassure Sirius, though, what with the look on Remus' face that Sirius can only describe as shaken.

"Moony? What's going on? Why are you back already?"

It's like Remus doesn't even hear him.

"I- I forgot to apparate through the- through the points," He says to himself, eyes distant. Sirius glances down and realises that Remus' hands are shaking. Hurriedly, he moves forward. He gently pulls Remus' wand out of his hand, before taking both of his hands in his own.

"You're not apparating anywhere. If anyone had followed you, they'd be here by now." He has no clue if that's true, but he's not about to let his boyfriend get splinched.

Instead, he directs Remus to their table, letting him drop down onto a chair. Panic is slowly writhing it's way through him, but he's not going to find out what happened by panicking. Remus is staring into space, and it's enough to freak Sirius right out. He isn't like this. Even after three months with the werewolves, he managed to stay relatively composed. This is brand new, and Sirius isn't sure how to respond to it.

"Hold on, I'll make you a drink," Sirius says calmly, squeezing Remus' shoulder and heading to the kitchen.

It doesn't take long for him to end up sitting beside Remus, a mug of hot chocolate in front of him. Remus wraps both of his hands around the mug, but as he lifts it, the mug shakes with his hands. It's so violent that he has to set it down again.

"Moons, darling, how come you're back early?" Sirius tries gently, and for the first time, Remus meets his eyes.

"It- it went wrong. They knew James and I were coming." Sirius' heart immediately drops to his stomach at the mention of James. His fingers itch to dig into his pocket and check on him, but Remus is rattling like he's about to fall apart. Instead, Sirius reaches out and laces his fingers through Remus'. It's enough to spur Remus on, thankfully. "He's fine," He says hastily, which is enough for some small relief to wash over Sirius.

He squeezes Remus' hand, trying to figure out what else could do this.

"We were... outnumbered. There were five- five of them." He takes a deep, shaky breath, his eyes sliding shut. "We were doing fine, and I- I blasted one- one of the Death Eaters back." Sirius can see the anguish start to flick across his face. "He went into- into the wall behind him." Sirius is still trying to figure out where this is going. Remus meets his eyes again, and it's like the next words wrap around his throat, choking him and tipping him over the edge. "He died, Sirius. I- I killed him."

Just like that, Remus is falling apart at the table. Sirius pushes out of his chair, surging towards Remus and wrapping his arms around him from behind. Remus buries his face into Sirius' arms, sobbing in earnest as Sirius' heart breaks for him.

"James, he- he screamed, and I- he- he grabbed me so we- so we could leave," Remus forces out.

"Moony..." Sirius trails off, opting for holding Remus through it. Honestly? He has no idea what to say. This hasn't happened before. Death Eaters have been injured, vanished. Merlin, a few of them probably have died, but never in front of any of them. Nobody knows for sure if they've killed someone.

Nobody but Remus.

For the first time since they joined the Order, everything feels all too real.

[libraryofgage]

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Four

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hi hi! It's been kind of a long week for me lmao but here's the next part! You'll def wanna stick around to the very end of the post; there's a very fun surprise for y'all lol

Also! If you like my writing or want to see a quicker update of this or another series, I've opened commissions (student loans are hitting a lot harder than I expected orz). If you're interested, you can find more information in this post

Even if you don't commission me, I appreciate your likes/comments/reblogs of my work! They keep me going and make me really happy ^_^

Anyway, now for the good stuff. As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

----

Sinking a ship takes skill, intense planning, and strong tails. Or, if you're Robin and seven guppies, it takes incredible, unbridled rage and a worry that could kill a Kraken. A ship that should take half the day to sink only takes the group two hours, their tails bashing against the hull and claws ripping planks to let seawater surge inside. Dustin is particularly brutal, recruiting Lucas and Mike to help him use the same net that caught him and took Steve to drag the ship beneath the waves.

Between tending to Dustin's wounds, lying to the pod about why they're going to be away for a while, and actually tracking the damned thing, it took Robin and the guppies a few days to catch up to the ship. And as they scavenge the drowned wreckage, pushing past broken doors and through holes in the hull, it becomes increasingly clear that they're too late.

"Where could he be?!" Dustin shouts, his gills flaring and bubbles rising in an enraged pattern above him. He takes a spear and jabs it into a water-bloated plank. "If he's not here, that means he escaped, right? So why hasn't he found us yet?"

"Steve could have been taken by another ship," El points out, her head poking from behind a mast. She's gained a dagger with a jewel-encrusted hilt and is currently using her nails to dig the jewels out and drop them into a seaweed bag.

Robin frowns, swimmingly anxiously in circles. She's not the one that's good with guppies. That's Steve. If she's the fun caretaker that encourages them to play Scuttlefish with sharks, Steve is the one a tail's-length behind dragging them back to the pod before they can get hurt. He's the one who knows how to keep the guppies calm and healthy. Robin is the one who keeps them energetic and chaotic.

"He was definitely here," Will says, swimming out from a cabin on the ship. He stops in front of Robin and holds his hands out, letting her see the dull, blood-stained scales sitting in his palms.

With a shaking hand, Robin takes the scales and turns them over, hoping they're somehow not Steve's. But he's her partner. Robin could recognize him by the flick of his tail alone. So, of course, she knows they're Steve's scales at a glance.

She turns, her tail creating a small current that brushes over the guppies and forces them to look at her. "If he's not on this one," she says, "then we'll just keep sinking ships until we find him."

"Let's start with the other ship," Erica says.

"The other ship?" Robin asks.

Erica nods, pointing in the direction they'd just come from. "A few leagues before we found this one, I saw another one that was sailing in the other direction. Maybe they crossed paths."

For a brief moment, Robin wonders how she missed the other ship. But then she remembers how she's been caught between her own worries and keeping the guppies from spiraling, and she gives herself a break. "Yeah," she says, nodding as she closes her fingers over the scales. The edges cut into her palms but don't draw blood. "Let's go track down that ship. But don't keep something like that from me next time."

The guppies all nod in agreement, and Robin looks at the wreckage around them. She's half-tempted to let the guppies loot the rest of the ship, but she knows they're all aching to find Steve already. So, Robin herds them away from the sunken ship in the direction Erica pointed and hopes Steve can hold on for just a little longer.

----

Excerpt from "The Lovelorn Fool's Guide to Merfolk Courtship"

Song Types

There are several song types that merfolk are likely to use in their lifetime. While the human ear cannot distinguish the intricacies of the songs, it can tell the major categories apart.

As newly-born guppies, they know only how to vocalize wordless sounds based on their needs. These sounds are referred to as Guppy Songs. These songs are generally lacking in any real melody or rhythm. They are rough and unskilled, but many caretakers consider them precious.

Pod songs are shared tunes and melodies among the pod to communicate big news. When hearing a pod song from a lone merperson, it will sound incomplete. Pod songs usually require at least one other merperson to support or respond to the initial measures, which creates a complete and satisfying loop.

Individual songs are varied and unique, as the name suggests. They cover a range of emotions that simply can't be communicated through regular speech or bubble patterns (to learn more about bubble patterns, please see Part I: The Basics). Among these songs, the most important to know is the courting song, which can actually be multiple songs using the same opening measures and melodies with slightly different tones.

Now that you know the most basic kind of songs, we can move to harmonizing. Truthfully, a human's ability to harmonize with a merperson is nearly impossible. However, it can be done with an instrument, which can reach ranges the human voice cannot. So, if you don't know how to play one, I'd suggest learning. Harmonizing is a key step in the courtship process, after all.

----

Steve shrieks as Eddie spins him around, the sound high and grating, and clings tighter to Eddie's neck. His tailfin slaps Eddie behind his knee, hard enough to make him falter and slip on the rain-soaked deck. He falls on his ass, Steve safely in his lap, and laughs. The charms in his hair knock against each other, and Steve idly reaches up to brush his finger against one. "What was that for?" Eddie asks, the words slightly breathless.

"You surprised me," Steve says, frowning slightly as raindrops catch in his eyelashes and make them heavy. He holds a hand above his eyes and then does the same for Eddie.

"You just looked so pretty, sweetheart," Eddie says, grinning at Steve like he knows what bubble pattern his fluttering gills would create (flustered and flattered).

He rolls his eyes, looking at the sky and sea in the distance. The ocean is surging, and waves and sea foam collide as the wind picks up force. Dark clouds hang over the sea, and Steve would be concerned if he didn't know the storm would clear up soon. He can tell from the sound of the ocean and the taste in the air: the water isn't angry enough and there isn't enough salt on his lips.

The rain is still going to turn brutal, though, and Steve would prefer they weren't on deck when it happens. He overheard Asher and Jeff talking about the last time Eddie got soaked to the bone and got sick. He's not sure what a "cold" is, but he doesn't want Eddie catching it again.

"Let's go back to the cabin," he says, looking back at Eddie with a light smile. "I want to hear you play that, uh, gee-tare."

"Guitar, Stevie," Eddie corrects, holding Steve tight as he stands. He has an excited smile, something expectant in his eyes that Steve still hasn't figured out.

Steve hums, knowing very well how it's pronounced, but he likes to see the somewhat dopey smile Eddie gets whenever he mispronounces something. He gets the feeling Eddie also knows he's doing it on purpose, but he's not said anything yet.

Eddie carries him down to the captain's cabin, kicking the door shut with his foot. "Where do you want to be, sweetheart?" he asks.

After a moment's consideration, Steve gestures to the bed, looking forward to the soft pillows and even softer sheets. When Eddie places him down, he wiggles until his tail is curled comfortably, soaking the sheets beneath him, and looks at Eddie expectantly.

"Any requests?" Eddie asks, clearly amused as he grabs his guitar and hops onto the bed next to Steve. His knee brushes against Steve's tail, drawing Steve's attention briefly to the faint scar that lingers across his scales.

He's been healed for almost a day now, and Steve should probably start bracing himself to say goodbye, but he'd like to remain in denial a little longer. He doesn't want to leave. Even if he knows he'll come right back with Robin and the guppies, Steve doesn't want to be away from Eddie that long. They haven't even confirmed their courtship. Leaving before they do means any merperson with half a brain could see how much of a pearl Eddie is and try to steal him away.

Steve forces the thought away, forces himself to focus on answering Eddie's question, and shakes his head. "Just play something," he says.

Eddie nods and thinks a moment as he tunes the guitar. "Could you hum something?" he asks.

When he looks up at Steve again, there's something oddly intense in his gaze. He looks determined, as though something very important is riding on this moment. Steve isn't sure what it is, exactly, but he knows he doesn't want it to pass him by. Steve nods and starts humming a soft and familiar tune, one he's used a lot more after meeting Eddie.

It must be the right choice, because Eddie practically lights up, a grin tugging at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes as he listens. After a few seconds, he starts plucking strings on the guitar, adding a gentle accompaniment that makes Steve's humming rock back and forth like the ocean currents.

Usually, Eddie plays fast, his music filling Steve with the same heat and energy as an underwater volcano in the middle of an eruption. But this is slow and sweet like the honey Steve tried a few days ago. It creeps through him, his gills fluttering with each note that Eddie pulls from his guitar. He feels soft and happy, his voice shifting to follow Eddie's lead as inspiration hits him.

They trade the lead back and forth between them, and Steve starts to actually sing at some point. He doesn't know when he opened his mouth and started to vocalize the notes instead of just humming them, a sweet melody forming as his voice resonates with the guitar. It just happens as naturally as swimming. Steve can no longer tell where his voice ends and the guitar begins. They've fallen into sync, strumming and singing together without missing a beat.

Steve leans closer, his heart pounding against his ribs even faster than usual. They're harmonizing. He realizes it suddenly, but it doesn't catch him off-guard. It's just a whisper in the back of his mind, a little nudge that makes him smile and move without thinking beyond the desire to be closer.

The song doesn't end naturally. In fact, Eddie is in the middle of a particularly lovely string of notes when Steve kisses him, still humming low in his throat. Eddie's fingers fumble, a sour note pulling from the guitar, but Steve doesn't care. He's too busy wrapping one hand around the back of Eddie's neck and placing the other on Eddie's chest.

He can feel Eddie's heart beating just as rapidly as his own, and Steve presses closer. He's barely balancing on his tail as Eddie moves the guitar from his lap, pushing it to the side of the bed while he kisses Steve back. Eddie pushes his hand into Steve's hair, tangling his fingers in the strands.

Steve's humming happily rises in pitch, and he finally loses his balance, his weight pressing entirely on Eddie and causing him to fall back on the bed. The kiss breaks when Eddie bounces slightly, their foreheads knocking together, and Steve can't help laughing.

"You're fucking gorgeous, sweetheart," Eddie whispers, his free hand trailing to Steve's waist and settling on his back. His fingers brush against the line where scales meet skin, and Steve shudders, his mouth going dry, and he kisses Eddie again before he can say another word.

----

Tag List (the tag list is full! I wasn't able to fit everyone, so if you aren't on here, I'd suggest following #high seas steddie. I think you should still get updates on your dash if you do)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @haelreadsshit, @y4r3luv, @starman-jpg, @littlewildflowerkitten, @estrellami-1, @stevieschrodinger, @gaelicblue, @they-reap-what-we-sow

@5ammi90, @noodle-shenaniganery, @acrolius, @hallelujahimatheist, @rainbow-freckle, @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @79chevyimpala, @aliea82, @hopefulcookieoperatorpersona, @sani-86, @queenie-ofthe-void, @goosesister, @hello-fellow-nerds, @luthienstormblessed, @xtkxkrzrizir, @potato-of-the-lord, @geekymagicalpotato, @child-of-cthulhu, @aizawa-emma, @m-owo-n, @newtstabber, @cartercaptainofthemoon, @spectrum-spectre, @a-little-unsteddie

And, if you've made it this far, here's a little meme for your entertainment

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you'd gone to the school, hoping to find Wally or Shy Boy or Bitnik Girl. hell, you'd settle for Mina Volkov and her volatility, adamant that you'd had to have practiced the right procedures to join her in the rafters. At that point, you'd been willing to do just about anything (exposing your abilities included) to help course-correct after Simon had been hauled away by the cops.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.21

You'd almost been willing to do as Xavier had asked. To stay home and rest—not that you'd have been able to do so successfully, earlier events churning together in a wild storm of tragic memory, frayed thought, and sick emotion. You'd been curled up on Aidan's bed, holding Limon like a lifeline, Xavier long gone after promising to pick you up in the morning.

Then Simon had texted; had told you about Mrs. Grace striding into the interrogation room and disarming the deputies' aggressive questioning with a single look before they'd had a chance to dig in. Apparently, Simon was due back at the station the next day, informed he was to give a formal statement that would be recorded and observed by the right parties.

In the aftermath, his parents had been frantic to the point of guarding the exits and refused to let him out of his room. He'd been allowed access to his phone for ten minutes until he'd had to hand it back to his mother.

Things had gone from abstract to real too quickly for you to fathom, everything utterly and completely fucked, and you were scared. Scared for Simon, for yourself. For Maddie. It'd been Simon's texts that had spurred you into action. They think I had something to do with it, Simon had relayed, they aren't even looking at Anderson. After that, there'd been no chance you'd sit idle, twiddling your thumbs through the night until Xavier returned before school.

You'd snuck out without trouble, quick-marched the path to Split River High, keeping to the shadows to avoid late-night weirdos, and possible Neighborhood Watchers who would tattle on you. You didn't have a plan, knew the school was locked and a night guard was on duty. Either Al or Barry, the two rotating shifts between day and night week by week.

Al was old, watermelon-round, and slow; wouldn't give you more than a lazy warning if he caught you trying to break into the building. Barry, on the other hand, was young, loud; had some kind of point to prove, and acted like his uniform made him the voice of authority. He wouldn't hesitate to tell Principal Hartman who he'd caught in the halls after dark, jaundiced teeth on display as he sneered through a heavily embellished version of the truth just to make things worse for you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you hurried across the parking lot, practically jogging to the back of the school where you stopped a few feet short of the door. You were relying—perhaps too much—on the connection between you and Wally, blind hope warring with better judgment as you chanted his name in your mind. Over and over, infused with pleas to come find you. It was stupid, you thought, the dumbest idea anyone had ever had, begging a ghost to ride in like a white knight on the back of the telepathy neither of you had. What was worse was that, even upon entering the school grounds, the connection had only murmured to life, a barely-there purr reaching outward like a cat stretching after a nap. It was unbothered, the way you'd noticed it was when you and Wally weren't within a specific radius of one another.

While it made it easy to concentrate in class, that little mechanism made you want to punch a hole through the fabric of the universe and throttle whatever divine entity had thought it up. Motherfucker. Still, you prayed it would be enough to get Wally's attention.

Minutes passed and you paced a groove into the grass, hands shoved into the kangaroo pocket of Andrew's hoodie when you weren't combing your fingers through your hair or flapping them along with the angry conversation you were having in your head about weaponized bias. Because who the hell were those deputies to suspect Simon of anything? Of course, you didn't know the whole story. Simon had only had ten minutes to talk and he'd also been texting Nicole. Probably Mathilda, too, since she'd been on the verge of rabid by the time he was released into his parent's custody.

Fuck this. The connection wasn't working, or maybe Wally was preoccupied, or, who knew, he could be in that strange state of suspension that you'd read about; a whole chapter dedicated to the way in which ghosts linger between the hours, as if not existing at all, until something roused them. You didn't know enough about the connection between you and Wally to question whether or not it would be cause enough for him to come to.

Out of patience, you decided it was time to do something. You stomped around the side of the building, trying to guess where Wally would be at that time, and, god dammit, you both really needed to have more conversations about things outside of Maddie and mad teachers. Finally, you halted in front of the gym's exterior. You checked the ground for something to throw at the grated window, a stone or stick big enough to rattle the metal and make noise.

Stone in hand, you positioned yourself to hurl it at the school. Arm raised, body angled back, hyping yourself up in your head as you counted down from 3. Best case scenario: Wally came to get you. Worst case: Barry got to you first.

With a shuddery breath, you swung your arm and—

"Don't." An unfamiliar voice said from behind you as your wrist was grabbed in a hard, though not painful, grip.

You dropped the stone, "What the shit!?" and swirled around, irrationally terrified that it was Mr. Anderson come to do to you what he'd done to Maddie.

It took a moment for the fear to recoil, for your heart to slink down from your mouth to your chest. You took in the person who'd stopped you. A tall boy with South Asian features wearing autoshop coveralls, the top rolled and bunched around his waist. He studied his hand, as if touching you had caused some kind of reaction, before he looked back up and regarded you in awe.

"Uhm...hi?" You said for lack of anything better. The longer he stared without saying anything, the more time you had to process. With a thick swallow, cold dread crept over you as it slowly clicked who was standing in front of you. Arjun "Ajay" Khatwani. Died in 1992. Crushed under a car in autoshop. "Oh, fuck me," You bemoaned, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Great. That was great. Another nail in the coffin of keeping a secret you'd been sworn to by ancestral blood. He seemed to notice your despair, his posture changing from loose shock to rigidly unimpressed, arms folding and one brow arching.

"You can't be here." He said, "Especially not now." And what the hell did that mean?

"Look, buddy, I don't mean to be rude, but I really need to get into that school," You hooked your thumb over your shoulder, "and I am going to find a way to do it."

His shoulders squared, a determined expression hardening on his face, "And, trust me, I want to help. But you can't just fly in there and expect Wally not to get found out."

That was...what just happened? Wires sparked and the control board short-circuited as you tried and failed to respond. Mouth gupping as a rush-hour-of-traffic's worth of words clogged your throat. Had Wally told Ajay about you? No. He wouldn't. Logically, it was impossible to know, but something deep within you rejected the idea as soon as it manifested.

"Come again?"

"Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret. How do you think they'll feel when they find out Wally—our dopey, naive, puppy-dog mascot—betrayed everyone as well, hm?" He took a step toward you, a deep V between his brows that looked foreign on his face. "I know you have a lot to lose, too, but you have family who will support you no matter what. Here," He said, indicating more than the school, you recognized, "We only have each other."

"You just said everyone got over Charley—" Was he the kid with the glasses and the Timberlake frosted tips? "—why wouldn't they do the same for Wally?"

"It's different. Listen to me—" And then he said something that startled you back a step, your eyes bulging. Your name tumbled from his lips like he'd known you his whole life. Not your full name, no. It was the nickname Aurora had used when you were a baby. Ajay raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Please, just listen. I'll go get him, but understand," There Ajay paused, reluctant and no less determined to get his point across, "He's with the others right now and I can't think of a reason to get him alone at midnight on a Thursday. Not after everything that happened today."

"So bring them." You challenged, eyes narrowed, standing taller, because, honestly? If Ajay knew about you then what the fuck was the point anymore?

He might not have openly confessed that your sister had interacted with him of her own volition, but he didn't need to. You could sense his sincerity; his willingness not to disrupt the status quo. He wouldn't have sought Aurora out, and you hadn't seen anything from him in your years at the school to indicate he was the type of ghost to stalk the living. Not like Dreamy Dawn who insinuated herself into students' spaces to rifle through their things.

So, Aurora had dallied with a ghost, too, and no unearthly horrors had been unleashed upon her, why not say fuck you to a lifetime of indoctrinating magical gospel and do the same?

Ajay seemed uncertain, momentarily quiet as he thought about what to do. Clearly, he'd assumed you'd back down. Run home to bed, hide under the covers, and wait until tomorrow to find Wally. Yeah. Not happening. Not while Simon was on the cusp of expulsion. If you didn't find something to incriminate Anderson, something that would get Simon off the hook, you'd never forgive yourself.

"Do it, Ajay," You said, just a tiny bit smug when his head snapped up at your use of his name. "Bring. Everyone."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally had felt your presence as soon as you'd stepped through the barrier. A sweet honey tug in his gut that made his gums itch and his scalp tingle. He wanted to get up, go find you, hold you, kiss you, tell you how much he'd missed you since you'd left in a state that had broken his heart.

But he couldn't. Rhonda's change of heart toward Maddie and Charley had been hard-earned and Wally was far too nervous to do anything to rock the boat. Rhonda sat at the coffee table, an old yearbook open in front of her as she explained to Maddie what had happened to cause the Devils to become the Bandits.

Charley was curled up near Wally, back rested against the couch, at peace now that his place amongst their group had been reinstated. To Wally, it'd never been in question, and he doubted Rhonda would've let Charley's exile last more than a week, but still, it was nice to see Charley comfortable and content. Right where he belonged. With them.

The question of telling Mr. Martin about Maddie and Simon came up, Maddie making a promise that Wally and Rhonda had discussed at length after Simon was dragged away by police. Wally and Rhonda had just suggested they follow Charley's lead instead, Charley then wondering where to go from there, when Ajay poked his head into the library.

He must've heard what Charley had asked because he stuttered, "Um...guys...there's someone here who I think can help you," gaze darting around the room before resting on Wally.

In that second, Wally knew exactly what was about to happen.

He leapt to his feet, ready to dash circuits around the school to find you, when Ajay halted him with an intentional, hard stare. Something akin to how his mama had looked at him when he'd been about to blurt information she hadn't wanted her Book Club to know.

The others stood, circling Ajay with a dozen questions, Maddie's voice above the rest as she pecked for answers about Simon. "Is he here? Is he okay?"

Ajay quieted them with a wave of his hand, "All I can say is I'm sorry for not telling you about her sooner." He leveled Wally with a look. It spoke volumes, told Wally to keep his mouth shut and follow Ajay's lead or Ajay would do unspeakable things to him for the remainder of their shared afterlife. Wally gave a minute jerk of his chin that Ajay received with an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips.

"She can see ghosts," He explained to the others, "And she wants to help."

"Who are you talking about?" Maddie questioned while Rhonda and Charley stood behind her in varying degrees of shock. "Who is it?"

Ajay swept an arm, a gesture for everyone to follow him to where he'd tucked you away. "Just. Come with me."

He set a quick pace and, as Wally caught up to walk beside Ajay, he understood why. The others had shorter strides and, although keeping up pretty well, lagged behind a small distance. It was still wide enough that Wally could whisper without being overheard.

"What's going on?" He had to know. "Is she okay?"

"I swear to every god in the Hindu pantheon, Clark, if you two get caught, I am not holding your hand through whatever Charley and Rhonda do to you," Ajay warned under his breath, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

Ouch. Violent, but okay. Wally got the message, loud and clear. Despite Ajay's stiff manner, Wally deeply appreciated his friend helping him avoid disaster. He realized it wasn't just for his sake, but for yours as well. If not handled delicately, shit could hit the fan. He didn't think those in the Afterlife Support Group were too big a risk, but he couldn't be sure how knowledge of your abilities would affect the Loopers. Mina notwithstanding, obviously.

Ajay led them up the flights of stairs to the roof exit—a hatch ladder that scaled up to the already open portal above. "You come up last." He said, hushed, before the others joined them in the cramped space, "And for the love of God, Wally, do not get too close to her. "

"Got it," Wally replied, shuffling back to allow Rhonda, and then Maddie and Charley, to climb up after Ajay. There was no way to know how the connection between you and him would react once he laid eyes on you, but he'd do his best to honor Ajay's wishes...there'd be some kind of effort made, at least.

Already he felt the connection stirring to life, his blood pumping faster, pulse humming in his ears, breath quickening. Fuck, he was sure his pupils were completely blown, the smell of vanilla on the breeze reminding him of how your skin had tasted as he'd nipped and licked your neck in the theater last night, the tight little keens you'd made driving him crazy—

Ajay's head appeared through the portal, a look of total disappointment on his face, "For fuck's sake, bro, pull yourself together," he growled and reached a hand in to help Wally over the metal lip and onto the gravel rooftop.

Chagrined, Wally took a few deep breaths through his nose—which helped about as much as you being pressed flush against him would have—and he shook his head, his hands, one foot after the other, in an attempt to work out some of the electricity that sparked under his skin.

When Wally finally glanced up, the others had you surrounded, Ajay sticking close to your side and putting everyone in their place with a matronly stare.

You were so damn close and all Wally could think of in the moment was sweeping you into his arms and holding you forever. You were adorable in the same oversized sweater you'd worn yesterday, looking particularly tiny under the bulky fabric. Your hair was mussed as if you'd just climbed out of bed and...oh shit god damn. He blazed a hot trail down your body with his eyes and had to bite back a groan when he saw that your thighs were bare, your cutesy sleep shorts doing nothing to help Wally's steadily worsening predicament.

Ajay flashed him another look of disdain which served to reel Wally's desire back in. Alright. He could do this. He could be normal about you. For sure.

The others seemed to part like the fucking Red Sea as Wally stepped toward you. In his periphery, he could just make out Rhonda's deeply suspicious expression, Charley's narrowed eyes, and Maddie's woe. Shit, that's right, you probably had no idea Maddie was there. Had he mentioned that to Ajay? Crap, why couldn't he remember?! Should he say something?

He had to keep his eyes on everything except you—the ground, Rhonda's Oxfords, Charley's shoulder—as the connection crackled and licked like fire inside him. Wally tensed every muscle in his body, stiff as a board and probably emanating the most awkward vibes the others had ever seen from him, but he managed to maintain control.

Of course, keeping a level head and maintaining control wasn't really in Wally's wheelhouse. Not off the field, anyway. And especially not around you.

Like chimes in the wind, your voice clinked through the silence, a simple "Hi," forcing Wally's head up and his gaze to lock on yours, beautiful, marbling swirls the color of galaxies.

His breath caught and it was at that moment that he knew he was fucked.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY - PART TWENTY-TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[patrophthia]

it wasn’t implied? | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

genre: fluff, pining, maybe angst¿?, miscommunications, secret confessions, not proofread

wc: 4.2k

originally posted on wattpad

"i saw you," sirius said lowly, smirking, "you two think you're so sly but i see everything."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

"sure, you don't," he remarked with a roll of his eyes, "you never know what i'm talking about, not when i told you that your crush on remus was obvious, not when i tell you that remus fancies you back and definitely not when i saw —with my very own two eyes— you kissing."

"just be careful doll, i've been there before," he told her softly, making her glance at him. "you've been there before?" she repeated testingly, not understanding what sirius meant. "i was once remus when i was younger."

"where should we go next?" peter asked excitedly, holding onto the teddy sirius had won for him for dear life.

it was a hogsmeade weekend, the marauders had decided that it was a bright idea to sneak off to an amusement park. the sun was setting, a pretty mix of pink and blues with hint of gold within it. they stood in the middle of the park, pulling at their coat tightly to keep themselves warm whilst james suffered in a corner.

"definitely not the roller coaster again," said lily wearily, eyeing james from where she stood as he hunched over a garbage can with remus and sirius to his side. "anything but the roller coaster again."

"i'm pretty sure they're done with it," she said kindly, watching as remus rubbed james' back in a soothing manner, "we've been on it four times now, i don't think they'd like to go on it for any longer."

"hopefully, you're right," lily muttered under her breath as the group of boys returned.

james looked up, smiling charmingly. "what's next?"

"i wanted to go on the ferris wheel," said sirius off-handedly, his hands digging into his pocket to keep itself away from the cold, "the sunset's nice."

"okay," lily agreed; nodding her head as she approached james' side, lily looped her arm around his and began leading the way when she realized that two of their friends were missing. turning around, lily spotted the pair conversing between themselves. "guys?"

"yes?" remus looked up, finally noticing that their friends were ten steps away and blushed. "sorry."

lily only smiled, giving him a pointed look and glanced down slightly. "is she cold?"

"very," she answered, voice muffled as her head was pressed against remus' torso, holding onto him tightly. "remus is very warm."

"of course, he is. the man's a human furnace," sirius said, almost frowning, "now, c'mon i want to see prongs throw up again."

"that's disgusting," she whispered just loud enough for remus to hear, moving her head slightly to look up at him.

"it's pads, what'd you expect?" he asked in return, smiling fondly at her.

she scrunched her nose in disgust, accidentally picturing james going through hell once more at sirius expense. "less suffering for the man who's already legally blind?"

remus laughed at that, making sirius groan even more. "would you stop flirting please?" sirius whined dramatically, "seriously princess, are we going to get an apology here?"

pulling away from remus completely, she stood besides him and assessed their friends.

"sorry, i made you wait because i was cold," she started slowly, feeling as though she was a kid waking up her parents to tell them she'd done something bad. sirius tutted, pulling out his wand and casted a warming charm on her. "can we go ride the ferris wheel now?"

"of course, we can," sirius said brightly, all signs of his previous sour mood disappearing.

sirius led the way this time, bantering with lily as remus and [name] walked slightly behind. shoulders brushing against one another as they listened into their friends arguing.

somewhere between where they started to the waiting line, remus had managed to slip his hand into her's intertwining them together.

she looked up at him, surprised —not to mention, extremely flustered, and smiled. an action that remus reciprocated along with a comforting squeeze of her hand.

james, lily, sirius, and peter took a car of their own. insisting that remus was too tall (as if it made any sense) to fit into their carriage so it would be better to have her accompany him as to not have him be lonely. all four completely oblivious to just how obvious their match making attempt was.

"this is nice," remus commented absentmindedly, looking over his shoulder, "it's so pretty up here."

"it is," she concurred, eyes kept on remus. tinge of pink and blue with the slightest hint of purple, painted his face, green eyes shining brightly. "they're taking pictures of us."

remus turned abruptly, concern written all over his face, "what?"

"them." she pointed upwards, remus eyed her direction and found their friends in the other car grinning and waving at them.

lily had her polaroid camera in her hand, it pointing at them. she gestured her over, shouting about how she couldn't fit her into the frame unless she sat besides remus. she followed her request, moving to sit by his side and looked up at them.

their was a flash, lily took the first polaroid out and handed it to james who was besides her. "smile!" she shouted before adding, "move closer, [name]! you're too far away!"

again, she did what she was told, scooting over and rested her head on remus' shoulder, smiling up at lily. remus laid his head on top of hers, beaming at the camera as well. lily counted from three and the flash went, sitting back down when she was satisfied with its result.

remus hand found hers once more, holding onto it firmly. "i think i might fall asleep."

"go ahead," she said lightly, "i've been working on my levitation spell, i can get you back to hogwarts safely."

remus lifted his head up so he could look at her properly. "as much as i am honored to the first person you murder, i'm really not looking forward to dying so soon."

she moved away from his shoulder, gaping at him with mock offense. "you underestimate me, mister lupin."

"and i've always been correct with my underestimations."

"that's not a kind way to talk to your best friend."

"actually i can talk to my best friend however i want," he said matter-of-factly, "that's kind of the point of being best friends with someone, being able to act however you want."

"you know what," she said, scooting away from him, "i don't want to be near you anymore."

"is that so?" he taunted, pulling at her hand.

"it is."

"i don't believe you." he leaned forward, pushing at her buttons. the full moon was near, which meant remus' senses had been heightened, making the both of them fully aware of just how fast her heart was beating. "i really don't believe you."

within seconds his lips are on hers, closing the gap between him and her without any hesitation. the line of whether their relationship was platonic or romantic, now crossed. remus tilted his head, leaning down to help her from straining her neck. the kiss was innocent, pulling to a stop when they were ushered out of their car by their friends.

remus cheeks were red when he left the carriage, blaming it on the cold wind. james had swept remus into a conversation about the prosperity of churros when remus took her hand again, holding onto it as he amused james with questions.

sirius was walking besides her, hands tuck in his leather jacket. he nudged her lightly —an action that almost knocked her off of her feet if it weren't for remus catching her. remus scolded sirius quickly before turning to check on her, after being satisfied with her answer he turned back to james.

"i saw you," sirius said lowly, smirking, "you two think you're so sly but i see everything."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

"sure, you don't," he remarked with a roll of his eyes, "you never know what i'm talking about, not when i told you that your crush on remus was obvious, not when i tell you that remus fancies you back and definitely not when i saw —with my very own two eyes— you kissing."

"just be careful doll, i've been there before," he told her softly, making her glance at him. "you've been there before?" she repeated testingly, not understanding what sirius meant. "i was once remus when i was younger."

"sirius, you're seventeen stop talking like you're in your eighties," she said exasperatedly, "and i'm really confuse right now. what the fuck do you mean you were once remus, were you once tall and cute or something?"

sirius made a face, one of offense and irritation with the slightest tint of hurt. "are you calling me short and ugly? you wound me, sweetheart."

"i'm not calling you short, sirius. it's just that i don't have the crippling fear that you would suddenly lick my head when i'm near you."

"tall people don't do that," sirius frowned, "do they?

"i wouldn't know," she shrugged.

"anyways." sirius dragged out, moving back to the topic at hand. "what i'm trying to say is that i've put someone in the same situation as you and moony right now. it doesn't end well, [name]."

"it's really confusing —and if i'm being completely honest here, i feel guilty for everything that happened," he confessed quietly, "i made it complicated. when it could've been so easy.

"so . . ." sirius trailed off, watching her with patient grey eyes, "talk to him. make sure you know where the two of you stand before everything goes wrong."

sirius gave her one last reassuring smile before he tuned into their friends discussion on churros. remus let out a laugh at one of james' comment, a pretty smile on his lips that may or may not have pulled at her heart string.

fuck remus, where did she stand?

•••

sirius was laying on the couch, james sitting on the floor besides him along with peter while remus sat on the armchair when lily and her found them in the gryffindor's common room. there was a girl, hunched over the coffee table, a small notebook in hand talking to james and sirius as she wrote down whatever she found important.

she must've felt her presence, looking up at them with a small smile. "dorcas, we had care of magical creatures together in third year."

she replied with her name, smiling as well. "what were you three talking about?"

"a project," she said enthusiastically.

lily sat down besides james, and patted the empty spot to her left for her to take. she was about to take a seat beside lily when something tugged at her hand, she turned, following the direction of her distraction and found remus smiling at her, his hand holding onto hers.

"sit with me." she was hesitant, not knowing where she was supposed to go when the chair was so small. remus must've noticed, pulling her directly into his lap and wrapped an arm around her waist, securing her in her spot.

dorcas didn't even bat an eyelash when she continued on, "would you like to hear about it?"

"sure."

dorcas began her explanation with a clap of her hands. "so i've been reading a new romance novel and in it there's this muggle newspapers thing where people can mail something they wanted to say to someone they loved or cared for, whether romantically or platonically, it was called the W.L.U segment —standing for words left unsaid."

"i thought it was cool so i asked dumbledore if i could somehow pull an event together and he said no but i'm known to be quite annoying so i used that to my advantage and eventually he agreed."

"so." she clapped her hands together. "on march, thirteen, the fifth floor corridor will be plastered by sticky notes with hand written words on them for each person that is submitted to. it is by first name only and there would be a spell to prevent you from actually recognizing who's ever hand writing it is, so everything will be anonymous."

she had many questions, unsure how everything will work out like dorcas planned it out to. there was thousands of students at hogwarts, how can she fit them all in the corridors (even if the name were to overlap), how will the letters be submitted if it was anonymous, and most importantly —how will filch's cat resist the urge to claw off all the notes?

instead she settled on asking, "march thirteen?"

"it's when my dad first met my mother," she said with small smile, "under a clementine tree."

"can everyone just submit anonymously?" peter asked, intrigued.

"that's pretty much the whole idea, no one would know who said what. we're giving out special notes that would magick itself out of your life the second you've finished writing and it would be added to the wall. the notes will be owled out to everyone, because if you saw someone trying to get the notes you'll be suspicious of them, ya know?"

and then she added, "the identities would be unknown unless you sign it off with your full name, or initials for whoever it is you wrote it to, to guess. it's up to you really, if you want your identity to be known then you make it known."

"are you sure it will stay anonymous?" he followed up skeptically.

"cross my heart. not even the ones preparing this project would know."

•••

march came fast, so did remus' birthday —an event that had left her more confuse then she was before hand. the marauders had threw him a surprise party, one she attended in high spirits.

around midnight, marlene had dragged her into a circle where their friends was waiting for her. "we're playing truth or dare," she had told her.

the first few rounds was fun for the most part, her having done stupid dares that had spilled out of peter's drunken lips (the gryffindor is the funniest when he's absolutely wasted).

remus' birthday cake sat in the center of the circle, everyone enjoying their slices while they played the game. remus picked dare for the third time, keeping up with the courageous gryffindor spirit.

dorcas perked up at this, getting her word in before anyone else could. "i dare you to kiss the person you find most beautiful in this room."

sirius had pouted his lips out for him only to be blatantly ignored by remus. the room was —more or less— unphased when remus had made his way over to [name], cupping her face and kissed her.

soft and quick.

when he pulled away, he made his way back to his seat and acted like nothing had happened.

dorcas nudged her from her right, giggling slightly as she spoke, "i knew he would kiss you."

then the question she tried so desperately to forget resurfaces. what were they? where did she stand?

the next day comes and dumbledore introduced the project at dinner, letting dorcas up on the podium which she spoke at proudly, informing everyone of her plans and answering any questions they had.

the notes arrived the next morning, students walked around chatting about who they planned to write to and by dinner time half of the castle had written and sent off their first notes.

march, thirteen came and she was rudely awakened by dorcas and sirius pounding at her door, announcing that the project has been opened for viewing and that they needed to see it as soon as possible.

she quickly got dressed and followed them into the common room. stood by the entrance was the rest of their friend group, all looking tired out of their mind.

james led the way towards the fifth floor, the corridors walls littered with notes, all belonging to a group of names in alphabetical order.

their group went through the names one by one, being nosy when there seemed to be some sort of drama in the mysterious notes. some of the notes were on the sweet side, some malicious.

james was a common name but they were —luckily enough— able to identify which one was their james based off of how some referred him as 'the quidditch king' or 'james, potter, james potter' or the last (and definitely sirius' favorite way of identifying james out of them all) was 'james, the four eyed one.'

there was various love confessions, some cussing him for not giving them a position on the gryffindor's quidditch team, and some compliments about how much they wanted to run their hands through his beautiful, beautiful hair.

"you smell." sirius read out loud, ignoring the tiny :) that was drawn on the note to laugh at james' face. "i think that's for you, prongs."

"shut up, pads. you smell like wet dog."

then was the letter R standing tall above the name remus. on the wall stuck countless amount of notes, all confessing just how pretty they thought remus was. his pretty eyes, his pretty nose, his pretty lips and how much they wanted to kiss it and his stupidly pretty hands.

"good god moony, what spell have you put hogwarts under," james said slightly horrified, his eyes gluing to each notes that stuck under the name remus, "what have you done?"

"i haven't done anything," remus replied, his tone defensive, "and we can't be sure this is about me, i'm not the only person named remus."

"yeah but you're the only person in this school with that name." dorcas pointed out, just as fascinated as the rest of them with the amount of letters he received.

something caught her attention, making her take a step forward so she could get a better look at it. dorcas turned to her friend, fingers pointed at a note written in blue paper. "this handwriting looks familiar."

she followed dorcas' hand, reading the note to herself. i'm so confuse, remus. where do i stand? am i your girlfriend or am i just a girl that's a friend?

below it was another note written with same handwriting. i shouldn't have let you kissed me the first time and i definitely shouldn't have let you done it the second since all it did was amplify how i feel for you.

sirius cleared his throat loudly, pulling their attention to him. "this is boring," he began, grey eyes firmly locked with her, "let's go read mine."

he pulled her away with a smile to the others, hoping that they'd follow without questioning. "you wrote it didn't you?"

"wrote what." she acted oblivious, standing before the wall filled with notes for the name sirius. he, like remus, was the only one with that name.

"those notes." he rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"isn't there supposed to be a spell to prevent people from knowing who wrote it?"

"there is," he concurred, "i actually don't know for sure. 's why i'm asking you. i don't recognize your hand writing but i know the situation mentioned like the back of my hands. i can only assume and i know they can too."

"so now everyone knows that i'm confused about what remus and i are?"

"pretty much," lily joined in, standing besides her. "god, sirius why is so many people angry at you?"

"why people are upset with me is not important right now," said sirius distractedly, "what's important is that moony read those notes —just like we did, need i remind you— and he still hasn't come to try and talk to you."

"maybe he doesn't know it's from me—"

"remus is not a basket case, darling," cut in sirius. "he's being slow on purpose."

lily tsked. "men are stupid, [name]." she reminded, not sparing a second at the baffled look sirius threw her. "let's go read the ones with your name on it."

there was only so many notes for someone with her name, all littered with different colors and signed with their initials on it. she didn't know half of the possible initials but one specifically caught her eyes.

r.l

she hoped, despite knowing that she shouldn't, hoped that it was from him and that he had written it for her.

above the initials was the note itself, written in a set of neat handwritings that was so similar and yet so unidentifiable, it had her heart jumping to her throat.

i had hoped that one day i could shun you out of my mind but i cannot, not when you are the only thing running through it. not when the idea that you'd let me kiss you again is stuck in my mind. the same mind that hasn't stopped thinking about you before i even knew how much i liked you.

i can only hope you would forgive me for it. r.l

"you know," sirius said slowly, eyeing the note, "this whole confession thing would be so much easier if you just talked to each other."

"like you're the one to talk sirius," lily scoffed, "you wrote regulus a lengthy five note apology letter instead of just saying sorry."

sirius flushed at that, turning away from lily bashfully as he muttered under his breath about how she was no fun.

•••

dinner came after classes as usual. dumbledore gave the podium once more to dorcas for her to express just how grateful she was that so many people participated in the project, welcoming feedbacks with open arms.

dorcas thanked james, lily, and sirius, respectfully giving them credit where it's due. dorcas was half way off the podium when her eyes widened comically, running back towards frantically. "just one more thing."

"if someone has said something to you and you're sure that it's meant for you from that special someone." dorcas looked at her pointedly, making her avert her eyes. "talk to them, work it out. that's all, goodnight."

dessert wasn't even able to make its appearance when she was hunted down by the marauders.

"i need to talk to you." remus took a step forward cautiously. "please?"

the five of them trudge towards the nearest empty room, the other three boys leaving to give them privacy. "so," she drawled, "what did you want to talk about?"

"why did you ask me if you were my girlfriend?" he asked directly, not seeing the point of beating around the bush.

"isn't it self explanatory?"

"no, it's not actually," said remus, annoyance etching into his tone, "would you care to explain why you said so?"

"i said it so because, i wasn't sure if i was."

"you weren't sure if you were my girlfriend?" remus scoffed, narrowing his eyes incredulously, "then what were you?"

"i dunno," she said lowly, feeling stupid that this conversation was even happening in the first place, "it's what i'm trying to find out."

"okay wait." remus took in a deep breath, his hand in a pausing motion. "so for the last three months, i thought that you were my girlfriend while you thought i was just some friend who goes around kissing people?"

"that's not—"

"it's not? because, it seems to me like you thought so."

"well it's not my fault you never made it clear!"

"and it's not my fault you never asked," he argued, "because, if you did —for even just once, we wouldn't be fighting right now."

she stared at him in silence, feeling speechless. "i'm so confuse."

"you're confuse?" he asked, almost taunting, "i'm fucking confuse. i've been thinking that you were my girlfriend since i kissed you in that goddamn ferris wheel."

"you thought we've been dating for three months?"

"yes," he said with a nod, "since we went on that ferris wheel and i kissed you. you didn't pull away, you kissed me back so i thought the feelings were mutual but apparently not."

"so that night," she murmured slowly, "your birthday." she clarified. "you kissed me because you were my 'boyfriend' and not because you were drunk."

"i kissed you because, you truly were the most beautiful person in that room," remus sighed, "why would you even think otherwise?"

"i don't know—" she paused, feeling pathetic, "it's just something sirius said after we kissed, it got me thinking—"

"of course, it's fucking sirius," remus cut in, laughing dryly, "the lad makes one relationship mistake and thinks he's qualified to go off and give advice. look where that got us now."

they could hear a scowl from outside the room before a smack landed, a loud ow! and a shut up you twat, you messed this up once already following in its wake.

"nowhere bad," she said, defending sirius slightly, "he actually told me to talk to you but i didn't so it's technically my fault."

"it's not your fault, [name]." remus frowned. "this could never be your fault. i kissed you not once but twice and never bothered to talk to you about it. it was stupid of me to think it was mutual."

"but it was, remus," she told him, "the kiss. everything. it was all mutual. i just— i didn't know that i was your girlfriend."

"then i must be one shitty boyfriend," he snickered, chewing on his bottom lip.

"will you just shut up and kiss me?" she took a step towards him. "as my boyfriend this time."

remus met her in the middle, smiling shyly. "how could i ever say no to you."

—from bee: this is incredibly inspired by the unsent project,, check it out it’s pretty cool!!

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 31 - All Blends 2

Holy crap is this chapter a doozy lol. It's quite a bit longer than my other chapters. Lotta stuff happens. So I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None this time? Sad stuff happens ofc. We are introduced to someone new.

P.s. I was going to use some random son for Big Mom but like. I did a Lil research and I can't help but like Katakuri. 😬 again. I apologize if Big Mom and Kata seem a bit off. I'm trying to keep myself spoiler free for the anime.

Masterlist

Benn runs through the courtyards of Mihawk's castle, dodging swipes from the Humandrals until he hears the sound of striking steel. He turns that way, picking up speed as he goes until he arrives at a small clearing in the dirt. Shanks and Mihawk are both grinning, a joy so easy to see that Benn thinks he may go blind. Usually, he'd stay and watch, but he can still hear your terrified voice pleading for help.

He slides to a stop, and the two men sparing turn and look at him, brows raised.

“Benn? What's going on?” Shanks asks his first mate. Benn wouldn't come get him unless it was important.

“It's, _ Shanks. They found her.”

The temperature of the surrounding area plummets, and all ambient noise disappears. Neither man can believe what they are hearing. They'd both been so sure that no one would be able to find your tiny island tucked away in Paradise, so close to the Calm Belt that most ships would be torn apart by sea kings. How could this have happened?

“What did you say?” Mihawk hisses and his grip on Yoru tightens to the point of pain, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He ignores the feeling of hot liquid dripping down his hand.

Shanks isn't faring much better. He looks ashen, pale faced and nervous. He and Benn share a look, one that Mihawk easily catches.

“_ called the transponder snail. She said that the Big Mom pirates had made landfall,” Benn frowns, one hand running through his graying hair.

“She sounded terrified.”

Mihawk is moving before his mind fully registers what's going on. He speeds through the castle, grabbing his coat and bag he'd packed the other day in case you called them. His haki is lashing, sending furniture falling and making the old stone walls of the castle crack and fracture. The ringing of his snail grabs his attention, and Hawkeye grabs it before loping out of the castle and to the bay.

Shanks is right behind him, Benn keeping up with his captain. It is with a silent, shared look with his lover that Mihawk reluctantly steps aboard the Red Force. He isn't fond of being on another's ship, especially one as big as this one, but like hell, would he let the younger man out of his sight.

While Shanks is barking orders, Mihawk takes the time to answer the still ringing snail that he clutches too tightly.

Ca-lick

“Mihawk! Finally! I've been calling forever!”

Perona’s shrill voice is a little comfort, but fear still clutches Dracule by the heart. She is rattling on before he can get a word in.

“You've got to get back to _’s island. She thinks it might be Big Mom and her crew!”

Mihawk feels a vein pop in his brow with his hard he scowls down at the snail.

“I know! Where are you? How quickly can you go back?”

“I'm three days out! So, two and a half if the sea doesn't hate me. What if she's already gone? What if…what if it's worse?”

Mihawk can hear the thickness in Perona’s voice and knows that the ghost girl is probably crying now, having worked herself up in a tizzy. He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Perona. I need you to calm down, girl. Listen to me when I say that _ will be fine. We can handle anything that's happened, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”

He hears the pinkette sniff over the transponder, but she sounds like she's gotten a hold of herself.

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to go back to her island. Find out if she's still there, but be safe. If you see her jolly roger, then you sail right to us. You've got your log pose, right?”

Perona sniffs again and nods even though her father-figure can't see it, “Yeah.”

“Good. If the island is clear, then investigate carefully.” He stresses the word, “Call me back as soon as you can, got it?”

“Yes, Mihawk. Will she really be okay?”

His heart breaks at the fear that he can hear swimming in his charge’s voice. He licks his lips. He is terrified in all honesty, but he keeps it together for her sake.

“She will be. Be safe, Perona.”

The ghost girl assures the older man that she will be careful and the transmission ends after that. Mihawk pockets the snail and looks around the ship to try and find Shanks.

The redhead is at the helm, still barking orders at his crew. Dracule picks his way past the pirates until he arrives at his lover's side. Shanks glances at him and then looks away, his haki curling tight around himself as if he was trying to hide away from the other man. Mihawk can't help but feel a little hurt.

Shanks is panicking. How could he tell Mihawk that all of this was his fault? That it had been him That had slipped up, his lips loose with drink and his heart heavy with wistful thoughts of his treasure that night so long ago.

The hawk hadn't trusted him with this from the beginning, and it killed him to admit that Mihawk had been right about Shanks after all? All the trust and affection that his lover had given him would go up in flames so quickly that Shanks wouldn't even be given a chance to mourn it. The redhead had little doubt that Mihawk would spirit you away from him as soon as he was able once he found out about his mistake.

The captain keeps himself busy for as long as he is able, but Mihawk is nothing if not patient, and he stays by his side until there are no more orders to be said. Before he can make a getaway, his hawk grabs him by the arm and practically drags him across the deck and into the Captain quarters. Shanks could have wrestled away, but then Mihawk would have been even more suspicious of him.

Shanks is shoved in a chair, and his lover putters around the room, pouring them both a drink before settling down in the seat across from Shanks. He sips delicately, but Shanks' nerves have him knocking back the glass of rum like it's a shot of whiskey. He jumps when Dracule speaks up.

“Perona is three days out from _’s island. She'll call me with news as soon as she gets there and if the island is clear or not.”

Shanks forces himself to nod. He licks his lips and scrubs his hand through his hair, “Good. That's good.”

Mihawk raises a brow at the other man's attitude. The man was acting more like a scared rabbit than the powerful Emperor that Dracule knows him to be. He sets his glass away and stands, crossing the short distance to stand between the redhead’s legs, and sets his hands on those tense shoulders. Mihawk guides him forward to rest his head against his bare chest, and his hands snake up to thread into red hair.

“How are we going to find her, Mihawk?”

The Emperor’s voice sounds shot, broken and beaten, and it breaks his heart listening to it. His grip tightens in Shanks’ hair, and Mihawk sighs softly.

“I don't know. But we'll search every island in Big Mom’s territory if we have to.”

~~~~~ Tomura ~~~~~

Tomura dashes through the streets of the city, a mischievous smirk on his face when he looks behind him and sees his little sister chasing after him. You look furious, but the expression just looks adorable on her chubby baby face. Tomura had snatched her favorite blanket this morning to try and wake up the sleepy head, and the chase had been on since.

Obviously, he wasn't going as fast as he could. Tomura was older than her by almost a decade, after all, and he didn't want his sister to get lost in the crowds of people. Not that the citizens of their Kingdom would let their only princess get lost.

The people laughed and urged her in the way her oldest brother ran, encouraging her to catch up to him. Their king and Queen had always been kind to their subjects, and in turn, they stayed loyal to the royal family.

Tomura slows to a stop, ducking behind a stall selling fruit and waiting for his little sister to dash past him. He springs out and grabs her by the waist, spinning you around in the air. You shriek in laughter, clutching at his wrists as he turns his lower body into dust and flies back the way he came, back to the castle and to where breakfast awaits.

Tomura opens his eyes, squinting when the sun makes them water. He wonders what you look like now. Had you found a way to survive and flourish after he left you behind? Would you even remember him? The thought of you not knowing who he is made his chest tight with fear and his throat clog with emotions he carefully hid from his men. Could you forgive him for leaving you behind, even if it had been the best course of action?

An angry scowl twists his lips, and Delemur lets out a string of quiet curses, mostly centered around a certain red-headed Emperor who had somehow stumbled across the safe house. Damn Red-Haired Shanks.

“Captain! We're going to make landfall soon!” The voice of one of his crew startled Tomura out of the fond memory and his less than savory thoughts. He rubs his face, sighing as he straightens up from where he'd been leaning on the railing.

“How long?” The white-haired man asks and looks at the lieutenant before him.

“Lookout said we're about thirty minutes out, Sir.”

Tomura nods. They would need to be prepared if some of Big Mom’s crew were there. Same with Shanks and his crew.

“Get the men prepared for a skirmish. Big Mom won't be here, but I'd bet she'd send some of her stronger men to get my sister.”

The news of his little sister being the reason behind his sudden disregard of orders had swept through the ship quicker than scurvy. But his marines were loyal, and technically, they were still chasing after pirates, so the higher ups could be too mad at them.

“Yes, Sir!” his lieutenant snapped, and then he was off, getting the other crew members up and running.

Tomura stalked to the front of the ship, and from here, he could see the outline of your island. His mouth twists in a grimace, and he prays that he's gotten here quick enough to beat Big Mom’s crew.

However, the closer he gets, the more his chest grows tight. There is grey smoke rising into the sky on the east side of the island, and even after so long away, Tomura knows that is where the safe house is.

The shore comes into view soon, and Delemur frowns when he sees a small ship docked at the shore, a large cross on the flag. He's seen that before, but he doesn't understand why Dracule Mihawk would have a shit all the way out here. Maybe it'd been stolen?

They drop anchor in the next couple of minutes, and Tomura flies ahead and drops to the sand, taking a look around with a frown. The beach looked awful, the beautiful sands trampled all the way up to where it became grass. Most of the lush forest had been torn down, most likely caused by the larger members of the raid party. He followed the trail up, picking up the pace until he was in an all-out run.

Tomura slides to a stop, sticken at the sight before him. The entire place is a disaster, the cottage a charred husk of what it used to be. The scent of burning wood is thick in the air, and the once lush and full gardens that you had cared for have been overturned and stomped on. He can see the broken remains of a small pen on the side of the building, but there were no animals in sight.

Carefully, he steps forward, bending down to collect a shard of green sea glass that had survived the fire. The Vice-Admiral flips it end over end then pockets it before walking inside the destruction. The living room is full of burned books and clothes, the furniture broken and ashen like the rest of the house. There is a shelf holding on for dear life, an old record player with a stack of melted records resting beside it.

Tomura moves to the kitchen, taking in the shattered glass of the window and the many planters that take up the majority of counter space, each plant dry and brittle or nothing but ash. A wind chime is still intact, and he reaches forward to brush the pads of his fingers across the metal tube, frowning when the beautiful melody fills the air. That kind of sound didn't belong in such destruction.

Onward Tomura goes, learning about his little sister as best he can through the ruins of her home. Your love for music and books could easily be seen, but how could he ever know what they were? What is your favorite song to listen to now, or what you liked to do on long lazy days. Were you all alone? The pen outside suggested his sister had found animals, but where were they?

Your bedroom was in a bit better shape from the rest of the house since the door had been shut before the fire had started. Tomura carefully sits on the ashen bed, green eyes looking at everything he can as quickly as he can see. He wanted to know everything about you. He had missed so much of your life, and the regret of leaving you behind was suffocating.

Would you have been safer in the military? Maybe, but Sengoku would have taken one look at you and your devil fruit and thrown you into training, just like they did with him. Tomura didn't want that for his baby sister. He had wanted you to live a good life, even if it would be a lonely one.

His thoughts are stalled when he catches sight of what hangs in your closet. His green eyes zero in on the long coat with a high collar decorated with intricate designs. Delemur knows that coat. He has seen it on the occasional times he had run into Mihawk.

The two of them had a mutual understanding to not speak about what had happened between them. Tomura didn't like that the older man had helped Big Mom, but being in the Navy gave him a different perspective. Not to mention his own skeletons hidden away in his closet, and in the end, Mihawk had been the reason that Tomura and his sister got out alive. They were even as far as he cared.

But seeing the Warlord’s coat made him pause. The tiny ship in the bay had already been suspicious, but the coat only added to his rising confusion. All the rumors had pointed at Shanks being the one to have found you, so then why in the fuck wasn't he seeing anything that might belong to the Emperor?

The sound of a bleating goat suddenly grabs his attention, and then he picks up the sound of his men shouting. Delemur bolts out of the house and finds Mihawk's pink charge, Perona glaring daggers at his men, specifically Private Nitchell, who points a shaking pistol at the young woman. Three chickens and an ornery looking goat stand behind her.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” He demands, and glares at the private, “Stand down, Nitchell. Does she look like a threat to you?”

The young man shakes his head, a blush high on his cheeks at getting reprimanded, “No, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

The Vice-Admiral watches Nitchell stow his weapon and back up from where the ghost girl looks ready to tear his head off. Tomura rounds on the pinkette, cockimg a brow at her.

“Perona right? The hell are you doing here?” He demands and crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed by the glare that she proceeds to aim at him.

“What's it to you?” She spits at him and floats up, crossing her own arms. He spots several ghosts behind her and prepares to turn himself into dust if one flies at him. He'd seen what those things could do. However, his annoyance skyrockets at her answer, and Tomura is hard pressed not to reach out and try to wring her neck.

“I asked you first,” he snarls right back, and feels like he is arguing with a little kid when Perona sticks her tongue out at him.

“I was coming to visit my friend, Navy Man. You should leave before my dad gets here.”

Tomura rolls his eyes and ignores the threat, “Your friend is my little sister. How did you find this place?”

Whatever argument that Perona was hyping herself up for deflated like a popped balloon when she registered what the marine said. She looks him over, dark eyes flickering from head to toe. The more she sees, the less Perona thinks that this man is lying. He looks like you. His cheekbones and brow are a familiar and comforting sight. But what should she tell him? Perona didn't think that Mihawk would be very happy with her if she happened to spill the beans on everything that he's been doing.

Perona licks her lips and floats back down, dismissing her ghosts and setting a hand on top of Neal's head. The goat grunts at her and butts his head into her hand, happy that the only other person he tolerated had found him and the three chickens hidden away in the intact part of the forest.

“Mihawk found this place a few years ago. After a while, he told me about your sister, and I wanted to be her friend. She seemed lonely, and I know what that's like,” Perona begins and shifts her weight with a sniff. She's been here for two days looking for anything that would help them find out where Big Mom’s crew may have taken you. The only luck she had was finding your goat and chickens. Hank and Sukuna were nowhere to be found.

Tomura's hands clenched into fists at the information. Mihawk had known about you for years, and Delemur was just now finding out about it. How were Shanks involved then? To his knowledge, the redhead and the hawk stayed away from one another. Until recently, that is.

Just what the hell had his baby sister gotten up to?

“She called me five days ago and said that some of Big Mom’s crew had found her island. I came as fast as I could, but I was too late. Shanks and Mihawk are on their way here now.”

Tomura doesn't like the thought of such powerful men working together and all for the sake of his little sister. What had you done to catch their attention? Did he even want to know the answer to that?

“How long until they get here?” Tomura asks after a moment. He would wait here until they arrived. At least he wouldn't have to go tracking the pirates down. He had a couple of choice words to give both of them now that he knows that Mihawk has been here as well. That bastard had looked him in the face not four months ago and had said nothing about knowing you.

Perona shrugs at him, her face morphing into a pout, “I don't know. Another week?”

Shanks and his crew were strong enough to go through the Calm Belt if they wanted to, and that would cut their travel time down by a lot. Gloom Island was a two week trip from here by normal means.

Tomura grumbles at having to wait that long, but he isn't that much of an asshole, and so stalks forward and offers Perona his hand.

“I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot with you. My name is Tomura. Thank you for being my sister's friend.”

The ghost girl blinks dumbly up at him before tentatively taking his hand and shaking it.

“Uh. You're welcome?” Perona has never been thanked for being someone's friend before. It was a little weird, but Tomura seemed genuine and kind like you. Just a bit more…violent it seemed.

Tomura blushes and takes his hand away, rubbing them together before pointing at Neal and the chickens, hoping to change the subject.

“Are those _’s?”

Perona nods and introduces Neal and the chickens. She couldn't remember if you had named the fowl, so she had taken it upon herself to name the rooster Henry and the two hens Harriet and Henrietta. The crew of his ship piddled around the island while Perona told Tomura stories about his little sister, and soon, the sun was beginning to set on the little island. He sighs heavily and invites Perona on his ship for dinner. They may as well get to know one another if they were to be stuck on an island together for the next couple of days.

Those days pass in the blink of an eye, and it is late in the evening on the fifth day when the lookout on his ship announces that the Red Force is entering the bay. Tension skyrockets, and Perona stands away from Tomura while they watch the pirate ship navigate to the shore. She can see two people standing at the bow of the ship, and tears of relief sprout in her eyes when she spots Mihawk's wide hat.

~~~~~~

The fear and anxiety that Shanks has felt during the entire trip explodes the moment they spot the navy vessel docked at his treasure's island. Of course, the rumors had reached your brother. Shanks should have known Tomura would be on his way here to see you. He curls his haki close to himself, refusing to let the older man feel just how manic he is right now. He needed to keep his head clear for this.

Next to him, Mihawk's haki lashes like an angry snake, golden eyes wide and full of fire when he sees the ship. He recognizes who it belongs to and cuts his eyes over at Shanks, who won't even look his way. Dracule had been silent about his concerns with just how Big Mom had found out, and he doesn't like the picture that has been painted for him. He doesn't want to accuse anyone of anything until he has all the knowledge he needs.

Mihawk and Shanks flash to the shore, and the warlord gets an armful of sad ghost girl the second his feet touch sand. Perona buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist and holding the warlord tightly. Tears sprout and run down her cheeks, and Mihawk can do nothing but sigh and hold the young woman close, one hand stroking the back of her pink hair.

Shanks steps up beside him, a kind smile that he forces on his lips as he pats Perona on the back, “It's alright, kid. We're here now.”

Mihawk shoots him a grateful look, and thankfully, Perona decides to pull away, reaching up to wipe her eyes free of smeared makeup.

“It took you two long enough to get here,” She grumbles and takes a step away, turning to look over at the Vice-Admiral, “Tomura has kept me company.”

Dracule looks up and catches the Navy man's eyes, the green dark and full of suppressed rage. He doesn't expect the younger man to bypass him almost immediately, instead, aiming that almost familiar glare at Shanks. The tension deepens, and sand is kicked up by the haki that coils between the three men. Tomura wasn't anywhere near the pirate's power level, but that wasn't about to stop him. The Emperor was the one responsible for his baby sister getting taken.

“Did he, now,” Mihawk murmurs and carefully maneuvers Perona to stand slightly behind him. He didn't want her to get caught in this, and the Warlord could tell that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to be very pretty.

Tomura isn't here to beat around the bush and cuts straight to the case, “Did you have any fucking plans to tell me that you knew my sister, Mihawk? How the hell did you even find her?”

Mihawk keeps his face free of any kind of expression that may give away his true feelings. Brother or not, Mihawk wasn't in the mood to deal with this right now. Not when you were obviously still missing. What he doesn't expect is Tomura rounding on Shanks, his tone dropping and turning dangerous.

“And you, you son a bitch. You're the fucking reason my gods damned baby sister was found.”

The silence that blankets the shore of the island is deafening. Tomura grins meanly when he sees that panic that pools in Shanks’ dark eyes and stands taller, pointing an accusing finger at the redhead. Mihawk follows the gesture, his heart seizing in his chest when he catches sight of the look of devastation that paints his lover's face. He takes two steps back, bringing Perona with him, away from the man who had promised Dracule that he could trust him.

“You promised me, Shanks,” Mihawk remarks and tries to keep the hurt out of his tone, but the younger man easily picks up on it, making him feel worse than scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The hurt quickly turns to anger, and the warlord reaches for Yuro, the blade swinging around to point at Shanks.

“You promised me that you would keep your mouth shut! You drunken, lying bastard. I never should have put my trust in you again.”

His ringed eyes blaze with a rage Mihawk hasn't felt in decades. Not since he was young and impressionable. His heart feels shattered, and out of everything, disappointment rings through his body like a live wire. He shouldn't have allowed the redhead to pass his walls.

Shanks’ eyes widen at the threat, and he takes a couple of steps back from the wicked blade. His own hand curls around Gryphon, and Shanks braces for the fight that would no doubt happen because of his mistakes. He didn't want to fight Mihawk, but he would defend himself if the older man made the first move. He quickly began to explain before Dracule could try and take his head from his shoulders.

“I know, and I'm so sorry, Mihawk. I was drunk that night, and I missed the two of you so much. I didn't know I was being so loud until Benn told me to shut it. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Shanks is pushed back when Mihawk's haki lashes out, his face flushed red from how angry he is at the lame excuse. How dare he.

“When are you not drunk off your ass, Shanks? There is no excuse that you can give me that will make any of this okay. _ is gone! Most likely slated to be married off to one of Charlotte’s sons because of your inability to keep your mouth shut!”

Perona grabbing him by the arm is the only thing that prevents Mihawk from following after Shanks. He glares at her, about to snap at the girl to let him go, when he sees the unshed tears and fear in her dark eyes.

“We need his help finding her, Mihawk,” Perona says, voice thick with emotion. She doesn't like seeing them fight, and it hurts seeing what she has begun to call family fall apart in front of her eyes.

Her words seem to bring everyone back to the situation at hand, and the wild haki from the three men is pulled back and settled. Tomura relaxes his shoulders, shifting his weight and glaring at the two pirates.

“She's right. Big Mom has a lot of territory. It'll take months for us to search each of her islands if we don't work together,” Delemur frowns even as he speaks, disliking the idea of working with the men who'd found his sister. What even were the three of them?

“What is she to you?” Tomura demands and regrets it the second both men look at him like he was an idiot.

“We,” Mihawk begins and then swiftly corrects himself. He didn't want anything to do with Shanks right now, “I love her. She had no idea who I was when I found her, and it was…refreshing to have someone like that. We should move quickly. _ is in a delicate state.”

Tomura doesn't even want to think about what that means and glances at Shanks for the redhead’s answer.

Shanks shifts his weight, his hand falling from his sword once Mihawk had sheathed his own, but he keeps his distance. He gives Tomura a helpless shrug.

“My crew and I drifted close to her island one day, and we got to know one another. I can admit I was jealous of what Mihawk had with her, so we made it work. The three of us.”

Tomura doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth glued shut. How the hell had his little sister pulled not one but two of some of the most powerful men on the Grand Line. He would ask once he found her.

“I'll use whatever resources the Navy can give me to find her,” Tomura says after a moment of rather awkward silence. He reaches into his pocket and takes out two mini transponder snails, and hands them to Shanks and Mihawk.

“I'll ring you if I find anything. I hope the two of you do the same.”

Mihawk dips his head in agreement, handing the snail to Perona and Shanks pockets his. They would work together to find you, even if none of them wanted to.

“I'm going to take a look around and see if we can't find something that'll lead us in the right direction,” Shanks says and whistles loudly to signal to his crew that it was fine to disembark from the ship now. He chances a glance at Mihawk, but the dark-haired man refuses to look his way. He frowns, guilt eating him up from the inside out before he lopes away without a word.

“Perona and I will head to the New World and begin our search,” Mihawk says and then he struts to the ship Perona had taken from his island, not bothering to look back at the Vice-Admiral. He can't bring himself to search the island. Dracule had seen the smoke curling into the sky, and seeing whatever remained of his home away from home would only make the hurt worse.

Tomura is left standing alone on the white sands, and he sighs heavily, looking out over the crashing waves. He smooths his white hair away from his forehead, and he murmurs to himself.

“Where the hell did they take you, Princess.”

~~~~~~

Thousands of miles away, you are escorted past hallways full of mirrors that make you feel dizzy if you look too closely. You cast your eyes back to the floor, one hand tangled in the fur of Hank's shaggy coat and the other holding Sukuna close to your chest. Your pets had chased after the men who had dragged you kicking and screaming from the tiny cave you'd forced yourself into.

Surprisingly, once they had seen that you were pregnant, the men had handled you with much more care and had even allowed you to take the cat and dog with you. Despite not wanting to leave, you had been much more willing once they assured you that you could have them. Hank and Sukuna were the only two things keeping you sane right now.

Sukuna wouldn't stop hissing, a constant low growl echoing in the hallway. His tail was poofed, and he glared at everyone with furious golden eyes. Hank fared no better, his hackles raised, and his ears pulled up. He stayed pressed against his human’s legs as they walked, unwilling to let you out of his sight.

It wasn't long before your group stopped at massive double doors that creaked open. You waltz inside, relieved at the lack of creepy mirrors, but that relief disappears the moment your eyes lay on who hovers in the middle of the room. She is the biggest human you've ever seen, sitting atop a cloud that glares down at you.

Beside her, another massive man stands. He has deep purplish hair, and the bottom half of his face is covered in a black and white scarf. He wears an open vest, and you can see a tattoo running down his exposed chest.

“It's about time you showed up,” Big Mom’s booming voice startles you, and you cut your eyes up to look at her. She grins down at you, her smile wicked as she looks you over.

“Such a pretty young thing. You'll make a nice wife for my son Katakuri. Don't you think so?”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom

[lesorus]

A thing I noticed growing up having a lot of physical altercations with my brother is how much defending yourself as a woman is looked down upon. If my older brother that started bodybuilding at 13 pushed or hit me, sure he would get a scold, being told he doesn't know his strength, but when i started digging my nails into his arms and scratching him somehow, i became responsible for defending myself. I wasn't just abusing power like he was, I was called a snake, vicious. To the point my mother made him hold me down while she cut my nails so short you could see my nail beds as punishment at 14 and i wasnt allowed to grow them out again. Scratching and biting was for animals she'd say, as if hitting wasn't. Well sure I had the option to hit him back, but the taller, stronger he grew the more laughable it was.

Then i started screaming in prevention, before he hit me, when he was threatening me, if i felt scared or overwhelmed. It was a good tactic because if anyone was home they would run there and intervene. He would say he didn't even hit me yet, that I was acting and a liar, and sure I was but I couldnt really defend myself against him otherwise could I? Nobody would care if I said he was threatening me but surely the blood curdling screams I would let out worked well enough. Until my parents realised I was lying, an actress they'd call me, a filthy liar. As if I was supposed to get hit and cry on the ground until i waited they do something.

If i broke something of his in retaliation or threatened to hurt his reputation, hurt him in one of the few ways i could, i was evil, a little demon. I was always punished, but he never got the same treatment for pushing me around, or using his physical strength to hurt me, because whatever I could do in emotional or material damage was sure worse than me crying in pain. Oh and sure, I was called the girl crying wolf whenever I was physically injured because I had faked being hurt before in order to have an adult intervene.

I was only worthy of help if i was completely helpless and a full victim, the second I tried to defend myself I became responsible, because somehow self defense was always worse than the act that prompted it. Because the scratches I gave were comparable to bruises, lies were worse than serious threats of violence, ripping a shirt was way worse than getting beaten to the ground. His violence was an excess of his masculinity to my parents, deserving of a scold but not of serious punishment, it was natural for him. Self defense and fear on my part was animalistic and wrong. A woman is supposed to be pure, a victim if she wants help.