#because will gave 0 hints

[gayofthefae]

Season 2 Mike: desperately protects and loves Will, sleeps at his house, sleeps at his doctor's office, and tells him he's the best thing to ever happen to him. Will:🧍

Season 3 Mike: focuses on someone else. Will: Wait where did you go I liked us what happened :'(

Season 4 Mike: ignores Will. Will: ignores Mike for ignoring him. Mike: Why are you ignoring me????? That's really mean you know :(((( You ruined my day :(((((((

These fuckers are perfect for each other are you kidding me. (We're excusing them on account of they're 14 and also improving anyways)

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 17

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, hints at jjpope, jealousy and possessive rafe, tension and angst, FLUFF

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ at bulk & bloom, rafe fought off suggestive thoughts while you two had some teasing back and forth. later at barry's pawn shop, he told you to stay in the car, but the silent treatment made him give in. inside, rafe got tense when he saw you and barry knew each other. it quickly became clear barry had the upper hand. while rafe was sent to the backroom, barry warned you not to trust him, which triggered a spiral: what if rafe only saw you as a dispensable toy? back in the car, rafe confronted you about barry threatening him, but your passive replies made things worse. frustrated, he eventually admitted he liked spending time with you and wasn’t trying to mess with your head but he still likes the idea of getting to bend you over. you explained how mixed signals make you anxious, and that you needed clarity to feel safe. after some back and forth, you both agreed this could be a friendship. when cara called, you asked rafe to drop you off. he hid his disappointment but offered to pick you up later, quietly worried that sarah might pull you away from him.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.6k+ (oopsie again)

✿ A / N ✿ whew. another super long-ass chapter. a lot is happening here, lots of jumping back and forth but i really wanted to squeeze it all in so i wouldn't need another "saturday" chapter. maybe this whole thing feels a little rushed (especially the very end, sorry for that) or floppy but i srsly wanted to finish it today so you guys wouldn't need to wait for another day but i guess it will have to do. anyway, I SCREAMED AND GIGGLED AT THE ENDING SO PLS LMK WHAT YOU GUYS THINK. enjoy <3

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W E E K O N E // S A T U R D A Y 2 : 3 0 P M

You had literally just a few seconds between the moment Rafe dropped you off and the moment Cara immediately descended on you with Diggory and dragged you to the beach, where a group of energetic Pogues greeted you.

But in those few seconds? Your brain had already gone absolutely haywire and it was all Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, Rafe.

Because holy fucking shit, today? Those not even three hours you'd spent with him? Jesus fucking Christ, that was—what—like, no seriously, what???

Just what. That summed it up pretty well.

Rafe, who'd shown up unannounced at your house to drop off your bag and had had lunch with your family. Rafe, who then willingly dragged you out to hang out (okay, under the pretense of sobering you up, but like, STILL). Rafe, who had almost gone for your throat in Barry’s pawn shop just for knowing Barry. Rafe, who'd actually tried to help pull you out of that goddamn spiral in your head. Rafe, who somehow had a shocking amount of patience for your absolutely deranged overthinking episode (seriously, you needed to tell Barry never to say shit like that again, even if he meant well).

FUCKING RAFE, who said he LIKED hanging out with you AND HOLY SHIT was down to sleep with you if you gave him the green light LIKE JESUS CHRIST I’M SORRY WHAT IS HAPPENING???

Just. Rafe.

Oh, and Rafe, who’d also offered to PICK YOU UP LATER LIKE GUYS WTF WHAT UNIVERSE ARE WE IN?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the one you knew.

Some real life Marvel Multiverse Quantumjump shit must’ve gone down, because this? This day? THIS RIGHT HERE? RAFE!?!?!?!

Nope.

Just no. How? What?!?

This dude had turned your entire brain inside out with a single conversation like CAN WE JUMP BACK TO RAFE GENUINELY WANTING TO FUCK YOU LIKE HELLOOO??????

Like for real now. The fact that you’d even managed to finish that conversation? And without having a full-blown panic attack after what he'd admitted? Remarkable.

Because your brain hadn’t just short-circuit after that, it was shattered. LIKE YOUR FUCKING CRUSH BEING SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO YOU I MEAN??

WHAT.

Nah, that hadn’t even been you in that conversation. No way. Your body must’ve switched to passive flight mode or autopilot or something because you, just a few days ago, would’ve freaked out so hard you'd have launched yourself into another dimension.

Oh. Hah. Funny. Apparently, you had.

Holy shit, seriously.

But again, you didn’t really get the chance to process any of that truly. No time to spiral, because one, your serotonin levels were sky-high just from how absurdly patient Rafe had been with you today—like, fuck, that alone had made you fall even harder for him.

And two, you’d barely managed to half-say goodbye to him when Cara was already there waiting with her terrier at the parking lot, pulling you into a hug with the biggest, smirkiest smile in the world.

And then she started absolutely blasting you with questions. First one being: “Did you make out?” followed by “What did you guys even do?”, “Why were you hanging out in the first place?”, and “How big is his dick?”

Uhm yeah, that didn’t exactly help your already overloaded brain.

You tried catching your breath after she let go of you with a, “Wait—did I just interrupt something between you two?”

You just shook your head with a smile. “Probably better that you called, otherwise I might’ve actually exploded.”

“Okay, now I seriously need to know what the fuck you two were up to,” she said, eyeing you like a dog begging for treats.

A tired chuckle escaped your lips. “I think we’ll need a separate meeting for that. Wouldn’t wanna keep your loverboy waiting.”

After a bit of back and forth with her saying “His ass can wait” and you insisting “Actually, I need the distraction,” she finally gave in and led you across the parking lot, over the dunes, to a shady little spot where probably the last people Rafe would want to see you with were waiting.

His sister and Pogues.

Well. Good thing you hadn’t been specific about who exactly you were meeting up with. And thank god he hadn’t asked. Otherwise, you probably would’ve had to listen to a whole speech about why you shouldn’t be hanging out with that kind of scum (let’s not forget, last week in Econ he'd said he’d rather shoot himself than hang out with a Pogue, so yeah, that said enough).

ANYWAY. Whew.

You had barely a millisecond to breathe before Cara threw you right into the next interaction.

“Tadaaa, everyone, meet Y/N,” Cara said with a dramatic hand flourish as you arrived at the shady spot.

With an awkward wave and a smiling “Hi,” you greeted the three girls lounging on towels under a sun umbrella, who all perked up with visible curiosity.

You recognized Kiara Carrera: She’d gone to Kildare Academy for a year, a grade below you, and also lived in the 8. Cleo Nash you vaguely remembered from bonfire parties. And of course, you knew Sarah, both from around and, well…from that little awkward encounter on Wednesday at Tannyhill.

All three of them eyed you curiously and with varying levels of friendliness. Sarah had that big warm smile she’d greeted you with the first time. Cleo looked like she could murder someone if she felt like it, but even her smile had something soft about it, like running your hand along the dull side of a blade.

Only Kiara seemed a little... you didn’t even know how to describe it. Not cold or distant, just... cautious.

“Hey,” Sarah said, patting the towel next to her. “Come sit down. Nice seeing you again.”

God, why did this feel so awkward? You were a year older than the three of them and yet, this was just... weirdly uncomfortable.

Still, you sat down cross-legged with an awkward, “Thanks, good to see you too,” as Cara plopped down beside you. And oh no, judging by the way all four of them were now staring at you…

You shot Cara a what-did-you-tell-them-about-me-and-Rafe look, and she just gave you an innocent little grin that said, Nothing, I swear.

In response, you shot her a telepathic I’m gonna kill you.

“I hope Rafe didn’t throw a fit when he dropped you off,” Sarah said with a smirk. “Actually, I’m kinda surprised he even let you come hang out with us.”

Kiara gave a wide-eyed Yep-nod.

Welp…

You chuckled awkwardly. “I kinda... didn’t tell him who'd be here.”

Sarah raised her brows, still smirking. “And he seriously didn’t kick you out?”

“No?” You blinked, an embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. “I mean... he even offered to pick me up later.”

Cara shrieked beside you (Kiara flinched with a “Shit”). “WHAT.”

Sarah chuckled. “Okay, now I’m even more surprised. He knows I hang out here all the time. Literally calls it the rat hole.”

Um…

“A lot of people hang out here,” Cleo said with a shrug.

Kiara scoffed. “It’s Rafe. Are we sure he’s not hiding behind some dune waiting to jump us?”

O-kay. What kind of picture did she have of him?

“More like he’s hiding to spy on the love of his life,” Cara said, and you immediately wanted to dig a hole in the sand and die inside it.

Cleo and Sarah chuckled. Only Kiara raised a brow, eyeing you in disbelief. “And you willingly hang out with him? Like, he’s not forcing you?”

“I... yeah, he’s...” you started, but honestly, what were you supposed to say? An idiot, an asshole, intense, a lot, a total dumbass. No, you said what you always said in situations like this. “Nice.”

Kiara blinked at you like you’d just announced World War Three. She curled her lips and furrowed her brows. “Are we talking about the same Rafe Cameron or...?”

“Kie,” Cleo muttered with an eye roll and a chuckle.

Kiara lifted her hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, ‘nice’ wouldn’t be my first choice of words to describe Rafe Cameron.” She raised her brows. “More like brazen or, I don’t know, ruthless. No offense, Sarah.”

“Nah, that sounds like my brother,” Sarah replied with a smile but then turned toward you again, eyes a little more curious now. “Okay, stupid question, but... have you two, y’know…?”

“God, Sarah,” Cleo groaned.

PLEASE.

Camerons clearly had a gene that made any situation instantly awkward.

With flushed cheeks, you shook your head and fidgeted with the strap of your bag in your lap. “Um... no.”

What did that even have to do with anything?

“Interesting,” was all Sarah said, a big grin on her face. “And you’re not, like, a witch or something?”

Literally what.

"Excuse me?" Cara raised her brows in mock offense and gestured at you with both hands. “Do you see that radiant aura? Of course he’s obsessed. No spell needed.”

“Okay, shouldn’t we be asking if he’s the one casting spells on her?” Kiara muttered, frowning. Then she turned to you directly. “I seriously can’t believe someone like you actually enjoys being around him.”

Somehow that was kind of offensive… but also weirdly sweet?

“Who’s hanging out with who?” A dripping, shirtless John B appeared by your little towel circle, surfboard tucked under his arm. A few steps behind him, JJ Maybank and Pope Heyward wandered up too, bumping shoulders and laughing about something.

Also: shirtless… and wet…

Jesus Christ.

“Y/N and Rafe,” Sarah said, glancing up at him with a sweet smile.

John B nodded with an Ahhhh expression like he already knew about it, like, ??? Then he looked at you with a smile and gave a casual wave. “Oh yeah, hey. And he’s not holding you at gunpoint for this?”

“Thank you,” Kiara said, pointing to John B.

“Wait, who’s holding who at gunpoint?” JJ dropped his surfboard in the sand next to you all and planted his hands on his hips. His gaze finally landed on you, eyebrows shooting up with a grin. “Wild day when two Kooks voluntarily show up in the Cut. What is this—the Purge?”

“Three, actually,” Cara said, giving him a cheeky look. “If you count Rafe.”

Now Pope was the one looking confused. “Rafe was here?”

“Not with us, dumbass,” Cleo said, then pointed at you. “With Y/N.”

Can someone just shoot me? Shotgun, sniper, I genuinely don’t care.

Pope turned to you, gave a slightly awkward smile and a little wave.

OMG A FELLOW SHY GUY.

You smiled back and gave him a small wave in return and wow, it didn’t even feel awkward. One fellow introvert was all it took to help you shake your own nervous energy.

“Yeah, we just haven’t figured out yet if Rafe put a spell on her or if it’s the other way around,” Kiara said. “My money’s on the first one.”

“Nah, I’m going with the second,” John B replied, with Cleo and Sarah nodding in agreement.

“How about he’s just smitten with her,” Cara said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

JJ squinted, tilting his head. “Mmm, not sure. Rafe’s nuts. Wouldn’t shock me if he’s doing some voodoo shit in his room.”

Okay, what was going on between Rafe and these people, like seriously?

Pope let out a scoff. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in witchcraft.”

“I believe in anything until I’m proven wrong,” JJ said with a shrug, gesturing to you. “And a nice girl willingly hanging out with Rafe?” He shook his head, lips curling. “That’s gotta be some supernatural stuff.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, amused. “Not sure about that.”

“Guys, it’s simple,” Cara said like she hadn’t just met these people three hours ago. “He’s just head over heels for her.”

OKAYYY, THAT’S ENOUGH.

You barely knew like 90% of the people here and this was not the first impression you wanted—hanging out with Rafe being your entire personality. You hadn’t even properly introduced yourself yet.

“Yeah, um… can we maybe just…” you said with a sheepish smile.

Kiara nodded. “Yes. Please.”

"I don’t know about you guys, but I could go for a snack," John B said, and everyone seemed to agree.

"Bob’s Iceshack?" JJ asked.

John B shut his eyes, lips escaping a delighted Mmmm. “You get me, bro.”

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"So, why exactly did you want me to come here again?" you asked Cara, washing your hands in the restroom of Bob’s Iceshack.

After placing your orders at the beachside café, the others had already snagged a spot out on the wooden balcony, but you’d shot Cara a more-or-less telepathic signal (aka a gentle kick to the foot) that you needed a quick minute with her.

On the phone, she'd said she needed backup because of JJ but hadn’t said exactly why. And yeah, to be fair, Rafe was kind of right—what did Cara ever need backup for in a situation like that? Especially from you, of all people???

Especially when the sexual tension between her and JJ was practically leaking off the walls. All those two needed was a room and the rest would just... happen. Shit, they probably didn't even need that.

Cara furrowed her brows. "I’ve been thinking..."

Uh-oh. That could mean anything, from I’m becoming a nun to I’m buying a crocodile and starting a family of five. Today.

“Mmh-hmm,” you hummed, in that high-pitched danger incoming tone, pressing your lips together and raising your brows as you dried your hands.

Cara sighed. "Okay, JJ's cool. He’s really hot, funny, and also kinda got this soft side. Oh, and did I mention, he’s really hot."

You nodded. "Uh-huh, loud and clear."

"And like, I know I could end up in his bed tonight if I wanted to," she said, drying her hands too. "God, the things he could do to me... I’d let him explore every direction on the compass with me, like full-on—"

"Okay, too much information."

Cara wrinkled her nose. "But the thing is... I don’t know. Now that the opportunity is right there, like literally one move away..." She gave you a look like she’d just tasted something weird and couldn’t decide if she liked it. "...I kinda don’t want it anymore?"

Oh!

That’s...

Not surprising at all.

You let out an amused chuckle, which earned you a stunned look from Cara.

"What?" she asked, genuinely flabbergasted. "I’m serious. My whole body is screaming for this guy, but my head’s just like, ugh, I don’t know, it’s pulling in another direction." She widened her eyes. "I think I’m getting sick."

"Orrrr," you said with a big grin, "That other direction is called Topper Thornton."

Cara blinked.

You chuckled again. "I mean... it’s kinda obvious he likes you. And you like him too, judging by how close you two were last night."

"Trust me, I KNOW he likes me. I could see the little hearts in his eyes every time he looked at me," she said dryly. "But like... it’s Topper."

You laughed. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you almost hook up with him a few weeks ago before he chickened out? And weren’t you the one always preaching how sweet and nice he is?"

Cara’s face twisted into a dramatic frown. "Yeah, I mean, he really is sweet. We texted forever last night, but—"

"Define forever?"

"7 a.m."

Jesus Christ.

"Girl. Connect the dots."

Cara made a tortured face. "Ughhh, I don’t wanna."

"Think of it this way," you said, chuckling. "Baddie and simp duo."

Cara burst into laughter, a soft pink tinting her cheeks. "Great. Now I just want him for the trope."

You both started laughing.

"So what now? Do I spend one night in JJ’s Wonderland and then circle back to Topper?" Cara asked, raising her brows, real frustration in her voice.

You shrugged. "I dunno. I support you either way. Just trust your gut."

"Girl, my gut’s telling me to ditch all men and marry you instead."

You scoffed. "Would be the easiest route."

"The smartest one," Cara corrected, then gave you a playful smile. "But I wouldn’t want to snatch Rafe’s future wife right from under his nose."

You made a tsk sound. "Pretty sure he doesn’t see it that way."

"Oh, I’m sure he does. I can already hear the wedding bells," Cara replied, clasping her hands together like she was already planning the ceremony.

Jesus. If she was already talking like this, she was going to absolutely lose her mind when you told her about today.

But honestly, you hadn’t even processed it yourself: Rafe Cameron being down to hook up with you? Like... let’s be real, you were probably never going to be ready to process that. So, for now, you just shoved it into a deep, deep mental box.

So instead, you just said, "Okay, we should really get back before everyone thinks we both have parallel diarrhea."

Cara raised a brow. "Girl, have you seen us together? They’re way more likely to think we’re making out in here."

"Oh, speaking of," you said, grabbing your bag and glancing at her. "Am I crazy or are JJ and Pope giving—"

"Yep."

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"Hey, why aren’t we tagged?" JJ asked, genuinely offended, holding up his phone screen.

Sarah chuckled. "Because the picture’s only of our drinks."

"Cold," Pope said, and John B nodded in agreement.

"Y’all need to chill your balls," Cara said while filling a little water bowl for Dig. "Everyone knows you’re just the accessories to these hot baddies. No need to tag you separately."

All the girls chuckled in amusement.

"Ouch," John B said with a suppressed smile, giving JJ a pat on the shoulder. "Come on, man, clearly we’re not wanted here."

Sarah laughed, and Kiara nodded along.

"Pope is," Cara noted. "He’s the only one of you who hasn’t made me lose brain cells with the stuff he says."

And fucking Pope smiled all flustered and awkward and honestly, it was like looking into a mirror. "Trying my best."

"Whoa, nope, thanks," JJ said, grabbing Pope by the shoulders and pretending to pull him away from your group, narrowing his eyes at Cara. "Careful, man. Those are Kook compliments. Blink once and she’s got her claws in you like some Fury."

"Sounds like your wildest fantasy," Cara shot back, sipping her Corona.

Yep. She had clearly chosen to enter JJ’s Wonderland tonight.

"Geez, get a room," Kiara said, eyeing them in fake disgust.

JJ scoffed with a crooked grin. "Meh, maybe later," he said, then guided Pope away from the table by his shoulders.

"Alright, you girls have fun," John B said with a smile, giving Sarah’s shoulder a soft squeeze and planting a quick kiss on her cheek before heading down the stairs toward the beach.

God, those two were actual relationship goals. Each of them alone was already Golden Retriever energy, but together? Just... pls adopt me.

Cara clearly felt the same way. "Can you two please get married already?"

Alright, second time within minutes that Cara had brought up marriage. Like, at this point it was painfully obvious that Topper had her thinking about some things.

Sarah chuckled. "You wanna be a bridesmaid?"

Okay, real talk—how long had they known each other now? Two, maybe four hours at most? How the fuck were we already at personal wedding invites?

Cara’s friendship game? Not to be underestimated.

"Fuck yeah," she said with a nod. "I’ll be the damn church bench if I have to."

You all laughed.

"Honestly," Cleo said with a smirk, sipping on her passionfruit lemonade, "every time I saw you and Y/N, I thought you were typical Kook princesses." She chuckled. "Cara’s got the whole shiny blonde hair, heels at a beach party vibe, and she looks like she’d throw hands with a bitch given the right reason."

"Hey, I don’t need a reason," Cara chimed in, smiling proudly.

Cleo nodded, grinning. "Yeah, thanks for proving my point." Then she looked over at you, her smile deepening. "And you? Shit, you’ve got that Death Star stare, like you know something about me I don’t, plus this whole don’t-talk-to-me energy."

You smiled awkwardly. "Yeah... more like my awkward stare and help-I-have-social-anxiety please-don’t-talk-to-me energy."

"Yeah, that’s more accurate," Cara said, raising her brows at Cleo. "So, what you’re saying is: We give off major baddie vibes."

Cleo shrugged, amused. "That and cool girl vibes."

"These Kook-Pogue stereotypes are bullshit anyway," Kiara chimed in, making a face. "Just like there are bitchy Kooks, there are bitchy Pogues. And just like there are hardworking Pogues, there are hardworking Kooks too."

You immediately thought of your parents and nodded. "Guess it’s always easier to judge than to meet somewhere in the middle."

"Whoa, okay, people," Cleo said, laughing. "I wasn’t trying to throw stereotypes around. I just meant, yeah, that judging people by looks or whatever is stupid when you don’t even know them."

Your phone buzzed in your bag. While still half-listening to the conversation, you took a quick glance at the notification.

And your heart dropped.

Is this guy actually crazy?

"...all the patriarchy’s fault and—wait, where are you going?" Cara stopped mid political rant, eyeing you as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

Feeling your cheeks heat up like you’d just been caught doing something you shouldn’t, you gave an awkward smile. "Oh, I, um... I’m just gonna grab a water. Be right back."

Judging by their expressions, they all knew what was really going on, but they just nodded, giggling and stifling their smiles.

"Tell Rafe I said hi!" Sarah called after you.

Fucking Camerons, man.

Heart thundering in your chest, you thanked Bob for the glass of water and let your phone plop back into your bag.

Okay, so… like, sure, you and Rafe had gotten to some kind of mutual understanding earlier—basically that you enjoyed each other’s company—but holy hell, the fact that he wanted to pick you up just an hour after dropping you off?

Right. Three possible reasons here:

He didn’t like that you were hanging out with Sarah and Pogues, considering his weird dynamic with his sister and the general class war in his head.

Rafe Cameron was actually clingy with people he liked. At least in private. You had skimmed some of his chat with Kelce, and they seemed really close. And honestly? Last night after your balcony talk, he’d stayed glued to your side until the very end. Like—shit—he probably would’ve followed you into the bathroom if you hadn’t giggled and told him to play bouncer instead.

Barry had been right and Rafe was possessive. Okay, no, not like in a throw-you-into-a-psychological-horror-movie way. Not like a dog with a chew toy either. More like... a kid who couldn’t stand seeing his mom give the baby sibling more attention. Ugh, okay, gross metaphor. You weren’t his mom. But your brain wasn’t coming up with anything better right now.

So yeah. Option one seemed the most realistic, but your gut told you there was probably some truth in the other two as well. Otherwise, your brain wouldn’t have gone there in the first place.

God, where was that positive thinking system you’d come up with on Thursday?

Okay, let’s try that:

Maybe he just really likes spending time with me and he’s excited about the idea of having a new friend, so he’s just a little too eager to hang out again.

Ha. Yeah. Sure.

YES, SURE. DUDE. HELLO??? He literally said he liked you, that he enjoyed being around you, and that he was open to some kind of friendship.

Seriously, how much clearer did your brain need it spelled out? (Also, why did you hear this in Rafe’s voice—help.)

ANYWAY. Time to head back.

“Damn, that must’ve been some really good water you got there, judging by that smile,” Cleo said with a smirk as you returned to the table.

Sarah giggled. “Also took you quite a while for just water.”

“Can’t blame her,” Cara added, grinning. “That water’s got some very visible attributes we clearly don’t.”

Kiara sighed, half exasperated, half amused. “We’re never gonna pass the Bechdel test.”

Your cheeks burned as you sat back down, cradling your glass. “Yeah, sooo... I’m heading out around seven-thirty.”

“You and the water got a date?” Cleo raised her brows with a smirk.

Cara went one further. “You and the water better use protection.”

Your brows knit in hot-faced disbelief as Cleo and Sarah burst out laughing.

Kiara just curled her lips. “Blink three times if you need help.”

Jesus Christ.

“I—no,” you said, laughing in embarrassment. “He’s just picking me up and then I don’t know, probably driving me home.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Sweetie, we all know damn well that’s not what’s gonna happen.”

“And if it is,” Cleo added, “he can turn his ass right back around. Taking you from us just to drop you at home? Disrespect.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Kiara said dryly.

The way she always talked about him made you think there was some history there. Just... what kind?

“No,” Sarah said with a chuckle. “If that was his goal, he’d already be here. My brother doesn’t have the patience to wait for stuff like that.”

If you only knew.

“Okay, I appreciate you guys cheering this on—or well, not cheering, in Kiara’s case,” you added with a side-smile. “But honestly, this whole topic is frying my brain a little, so if we could shift the gears? That’d be amazing.”

Sarah smiled gently. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to push. It’s just, my brother never puts in effort with any girl. I mean, Wheezie’s kind of the exception, but other than that?” She shrugged. “He takes whatever falls into his lap. Anything more would be too much work. But with you? I don’t know.” She tilted her head, almost fascinated. “It’s like he’s chasing you. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“Duh.” Cara gestured toward you. “Have you seen her?”

Sarah chuckled. “Of course, Y/N’s gorgeous.” You could feel the heat crawl up your neck. “But I don’t think you guys realize how unusual it is for Rafe to spend time with a girl and not try to hook up with her. He’s never been into relationships. But now—"

“Oh—um, no. No.” You cut her off, laughing awkwardly and shaking your head like your life depended on it. “That’s not—like, no. This is more of a friendship thingy.”

They all looked at you. Deadpan.

Kiara was the first to speak, brows raised in disbelief. “Yeah, no, trust me. Rafe doesn’t do female friends.”

Sarah also shook her head, but before she could say anything, you raised your hands like you were waving off the whole convo. That tiny little sentence from Barry earlier had already sent you spiraling enough for one day. You didn’t need a rerun.

Especially not after you'd just talked things through with Rafe and nearly driven him to the brink of insanity.

“Please. Seriously, I appreciate your concern and support and everything, but I’m actually really okay with how things are right now,” you said with another nervous laugh. “I mean, I...who even says I’m interested in him like that?”

Another round of flat stares.

Yikes.

You eyed Cara, but she just raised her hands. “All I said was that Rafe dropped you off and you'd come to hang out with us.”

“A girl willingly sticking around to hang out with my brother?” Sarah said, feigning innocence. “I just put one and two together.”

“And girl, them numbers are loud,” Cleo added, clearly entertained.

Alright. If everyone already clocked that you had a crush on Rafe...how the hell had he not picked up on it yet?

Oh. Oh no. Or what if he had?

Jesus fucking Christ WHAT IF HE—

“Okay, I can literally see the gears turning in your head,” Cara said. "And the drinks are empty, so let’s go stretch our legs and hit the beach.”

And that was exactly why this queen was your bestie.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Huh, you're leaving already?" JJ asked as you slung your bag over your shoulder. "Gotta hit the hay or what?"

You’d all regrouped with the guys back in the shady spot on the beach. And honestly? You’d just hung out, chatted, laughed, Cara, Cleo, and JJ had shared a joint, and it had actually been really fun.

They’d welcomed you right in, super chill and easygoing, and the dynamic between them all felt like a little mini family. It was kind of adorable.

But now it was almost 7:30 p.m. and well, you’d promised Rafe to dip at this time.

You smiled a bit awkwardly. “No, I just…” Am getting picked up by the guy you all seem to hate. “…I already had plans for tonight,” you decided to go with.

“It’s fine, you can say his name,” John B said, grinning as he took a sip of his beer. “He’s not, like, the Darth Vader.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow. “Wrong franchise, dude. You mean the Dark Lord.”

Everyone laughed in unison.

“Okay, okay,” Cara said. “We promised her we’d drop the subject.” She stood up and helped you to your feet. “Now chop chop, Cinderella’s got a carriage to catch.”

She gave you a tight squeeze goodbye, grinning wide, which of course triggered a whole wave of hugs.

First Sarah, who jumped up next and hugged you warmly with a “Have fun, see you soon,” then Cleo and Kie, who added a good-natured “Don’t let him get away with any crap,” and JJ, who patted your shoulder and told you, “Protection first, fun second,” and finally Pope and John B, who said, “Take care and we’ll probably see you tomorrow, yeah? You guys are coming, right?”

Oh right, the open-air movie night.

Cara nodded for both of you. “Absolutely.”

“Want us to pick you up?” John B offered.

“Uh-huh, we’ll sort that out tomorrow,” Cara said, already nudging you away from the group.

With one last smile and a wave, you turned and headed back over the dunes toward the parking lot where Rafe had dropped you off.

Whew. Another wild chapter of today officially crossed off the list.

Now that you actually had a moment to yourself—no one talking your ear off or asking about Rafe—you finally had time to think.

Except… you couldn’t.

No thoughts. Head empty.

No energy left whatsoever. And no, that wasn’t really the Pogues’ fault. God no, they were all basically drama-free, free-spirited serotonin boosters. But the day itself had just been a lot.

And your body? Still recovering from last night and probably processing the final fragments of your hangover.

And the worst and best part? No time to exhale, because Rafe was already there, waiting with his black Benz in the parking lot, the setting sun throwing golden glints off the sleek surface.

Only when you got to the passenger side did you catch your reflection and realize you were grinning like an absolute idiot.

Already hit my peak craziness today, can’t get any worse, you thought as you climbed into the car with a cheerful, “Hi.”

Fuck. Every single time, it hit you again. Those painfully blue eyes of his. Then the scent of his cologne, the now-familiar smell of his car, that slightly unbuttoned polo shirt, and—oh. He was wearing his hair in curtain bangs style again.

He’d had it like that this morning too, now that you thought about it. But you were only really noticing it now that your head was clear enough to focus.

“What’s with the smile?” he asked, raising an amused brow and turning down the volume on the Kendrick Lamar track playing through the speakers.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Nothing, it’s just…” You glanced at his hair. “Too lazy for the slick back today?”

Rafe scoffed and started the car. “Nah, just taking a girl’s advice.”

YOU. HE MEANT YOU. OMG.

No way. Had he actually taken your little compliment from last night to heart? When you'd said curtain bangs suited him more than his usual style?

For some reason, that made your heart race fast.

“You take advice?” you teased, trying to play it cool despite the adrenaline spike. “Wow. That’s a first.”

To your surprise, he didn’t laugh or clap back with something snarky. No, he actually furrowed his brow, let out a bitter scoff, and pulled out of the lot. “Looks like Sarah and her little loser friends are already rubbing off on you.”

You blinked. Was he serious right now?

“Yeah, well I was joking,” you replied flatly.

Rafe glanced at you for a second. There was something—hesitation, maybe—in his eyes. “Yeah, some really funny joke, hanging out with people like that.”

Okay. Seriously? Fuck. That.

You were not in the mood for this bullshit right now.

“Okay, wait no,” you said, turning your body to face him fully, “I don’t know what your problem is with them or your sister, as a matter of fact, but keep me out of it. And, just so we’re clear: I can hang out with whoever I want, regardless of how you feel about them. Plus, if you’re gearing up for some kind of confrontation or Pogues-are-scum lecture, let me out of the car right now. I’ll go back to said ‘losers.’” You made exaggerated air quotes.

“And also,” you raised your eyebrows, more amused than angry now, “did you seriously just call me a loser?”

Now it was Rafe who blinked, clearly thrown off, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he threw you a very dry side-eye.

And as good as it felt to have said all that, to shut him down before the confrontation even had a chance to erupt, part of you couldn’t help but hope he wouldn’t actually start a fight now.

Not now, not when things between you were going so well. When you were at the peak of your… getting-to-know-each-other-project-partner-acquaintanceship.

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don’t blow up now.

“Shit, do I look like someone who hangs out with losers?” he finally said, and although he sounded tense—like, tense enough to physically restrain himself from crashing the car—there was an amused undertone to his voice.

Translated from moody-Rafe-speak, that probably meant something like: You’re not a loser. I didn’t mean it like that.

You let out a breath, but your voice stayed firm. “Well, apparently I do. And clearly, that bothers you.”

“Shit, yeah, I mean, why are you hanging out with my sister?” he asked, shrugging in irritation. “That’s weird as fuck.”

You shook your head, already irritated. “And what exactly is so weird about that?”

That seemed to make him think for a second. Maybe you should piss him off more often, then he’d actually start using his brain.

“I don’t know, it just is, okay?” he snapped back, somehow sounding both soft and frustrated.

You just stared at him, completely deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Rafe scoffed. “Don’t ‘uh-huh’ me.”

“Okay, you wanna know what’s weird?” you said, raising your brows and gesturing toward yourself. “Telling me who I can and can’t hang out with. That’s weird. You’re not my dad, you’re not my mom. And I don’t even take that kinda shit from them.”

Rafe furrowed his brows like you were the crazy one. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not telling you what to do, I’m questioning your judgment.”

“What fucking judgment?” you snapped back. “They’re just normal people. And one of them happens to be your own sister. How can you talk about her like that?”

And now the craziest part: Rafe was clearly tense and worked up. It was obvious he didn’t like that you’d hung out with Pogues today, that you got along with Sarah. Like, he wanted so badly to keep picking at you, to criticize you, throw some kind of blame your way.

But all he did was exhale sharply, clench his jaw tight, and mutter, “Shit. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.”

Okay. Something was definitely off. Rafe Cameron… backing out of a confrontation? Nah. Universe must’ve glitched.

“No, I want to know why it bothers you,” you pushed, surprised by your own willingness to keep going, considering this was probably playing with fire. “I mean, I think your sister’s cool. Shouldn’t that… I don't know make you happy or something?”

Rafe scowled. “Fucking great, you two are besties now.”

Oh my God. This was starting to sound an awful lot like theory #3 from earlier: Rafe being lowkey possessive.

“Cara is my best friend,” you said calmly, though really, you were just trying to outsmart the spiral slowly forming in your head by faking some semblance of calm, “but yeah, Sarah’s probably a great friend, too.”

Rafe clenched his jaw so tight, you could see a vein popping in his neck. His chest rose and fell like he was trying hard—really hard—not to lose it.

But despite the tension, he looked a little lost, like he didn’t know what to say. Hesitant. Unsure. And somehow, that clawed at your chest. He’d been so patient with your spiral earlier, so maybe it was your turn to meet him halfway when he had his little moody episode.

“I’m just trying to understand why this is hitting a nerve,” you said softly. “I mean, Sarah seems really nice and kind to me. But maybe she’s different around you. Of course, that’s not really my place to—”

“She’s a greedy bitch, okay?” Rafe snapped, his tone almost hateful, eyes fixed on the road ahead with shocking intensity. Then he glanced at you—pure rage flickering in his eyes. “She sticks her curios nose into everything, always has to be faster, smarter, better than everyone else.” He shook his head, eyes darting forward again. “And everyone treats her like some fucking princess, like she’s royalty or some shit, just for batting her damn lashes. Even at home.”

His voice had taken on a dangerously sharp edge. Visibly agitated, he jabbed a finger at his own chest. “I’m the one driving Wheezie around. I’m the one who listens to Rose’s bullshit. I’m the one who’s always backing Dad. I’m the one who deserves the kind of shit Sarah gets handed for free. But no one fucking sees that. Everyone’s too blinded by her fake charm and smiles.”

His face, already twisted with emotion, looked almost pained with the bruise still visible on his cheek. “Every fucking person in my life she tries to turn against me or pull over to her side. Dad. Wheezie. Fucking Topper, once. And now you,” he said, gesturing to you in one swift, bitter motion. “And I’m so fucking sick of her always getting away with it.”

The frustration and bitterness that followed cracked in his voice. “Every time she’s about to fall, there’s always some fucker there to catch her.” His brows twitched, and then his eyes finally locked with yours—sharp, bitter, and frustrated. “And I’m just so fucking sick of being the only one who sees through her bullshit.”

You were stunned. Completely thrown off by the sheer weight of what had just spilled out of him. All the anger, the bitterness, the jealousy but underneath it all, what you really heard was desperation. Frustration. A fear of being left behind. And maybe a deep-rooted sense of not being good enough.

And if you had to guess… the root of it all wasn’t really Sarah.

It was Ward Cameron.

Because no matter how hard he tried to pin the blame on his sister, something about the way he spoke… it didn’t feel like she was the real issue.

You didn’t know what went on behind closed doors, of course, but your gut told you: His dad was the reason Rafe was like this.

The way he always talked about his dad, like Ward was some flawless, perfect man. The way Rafe instantly tensed whenever his father was even mentioned. The way he’d completely flipped into submissive mode when talking to a male authority figure—like your dad—calling him sir, being polite to the point it was almost… eerie.

And then, of course, the way he couldn’t hold a normal conversation without posturing, getting defensive, or misinterpreting every neutral word as an attack. Like he literally didn’t know how to express a single honest feeling.

Like that had to be the result of some kind of suppressed trauma.

And this? Rafe voicing his frustration out loud? To you?

That made your heart ache for this angry, wounded boy who maybe wasn’t so stupid after all. Just bitter. And broken.

And as much as you wanted to tell him that Sarah wasn’t the real problem, that he needed to take a long, hard look at his dad, open his damn eyes—it would’ve been pointless.

His hate, his bitterness toward Sarah ran deep. Too deep for you to reach right now.

So you tried a different approach.

Because what he really seemed to ache for was to feel seen. Maybe the only thing you could do right now was acknowledge that.

“If I’d rather hang out with Sarah, I wouldn’t be here right now,” you said softly, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned your own words.

Rafe's brows twitched like he was weighing the truth in your words, but then he shook his head bitterly, eyes fixed on the slowly darkening road. "You don't fucking get it. That invite to her stupid little hangout was just the start of her bullshit. She always gets what she wants, eventually." He scoffed. "You already jumped at the first chance she gave you."

Let's add Theory #4: Rafe being scared of abandonment.

You fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, taking a slow breath in. This wasn’t just playing with fire—this felt like walking across a paper-thin glass dome, already cracking beneath your feet, threatening to shatter and drag you down at any second.

"But Sarah wasn’t the one who called me or asked me to come," you reminded him softly. "Cara wanted me there. She needed advice about JJ. If she hadn’t needed my help, I wouldn’t have asked you to drop me off." A small, almost amused chuckle slipped from your lips. “Not after driving you this close to insanity.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension in his body.

With a stern look, he muttered, "She's chasing fucking Maybank? Of all the shitty-ass Pogue rats, she chooses him?"

You laughed at the dry amusement in his tone and how quickly his demeanor had shifted. "Yeah, but I doubt it'll turn into a long-term thingy. Topper kinda flipped all her principles upside down."

Rafe didn’t respond. He just kept staring ahead, a stormy mix of exhaustion, confusion, and frustration in his eyes.

It was strange seeing him shut down like this, considering he was always the one with the cocky remarks and sharp comebacks. But right now? He felt like a wolf shedding his skin to reveal the sheep underneath.

“If what’s got you scared is—” you started, but he cut you off immediately.

"I'm not fucking scared, alright?" he snapped. "I’m just not in the mood to waste my fucking time on someone who’s already dancing to Sarah’s tune."

In other words: he was scared.

You eyed his harsh profile, your gaze soft. “Okay, but I don’t get why you'd even think that. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“The fuck do I know,” Rafe muttered, voice tinged with visible frustration. “Why’d you stay over there then, huh? Or did Sarah send you to spy on me?”

Paranoid too. Fantastic.

An amused smile tugged at your lips. “Well, for starters, Cara was there, and I’d already promised her we’d hang out today anyway. So I figured I might as well knock that out." You toyed with the strap of your bag. “And, even if you don’t want to hear it—or won’t get it—I actually thought the people there were… nice. Welcoming even. To me, at least.”

Rafe looked about two seconds away from pulling over and kicking you out of the car, so you hurried on: “But as friendly as they were… they’re also a lot. Like, imagine a room full of Caras, Kelces, and Toppers all at once,” you said with a soft chuckle. “Sure, it’s fun in small doses. But for someone like me? That's exhausting.”

The car came to a stop at a red light, but Rafe didn’t meet your gaze—just kept staring straight ahead, uncertainty written all over his face. A heavy silence settled in the car.

"And this right here?" you continued, your voice suddenly quiet. "This is like a welcome escape."

Only the soft hum of the engine and the loud pounding of your heart filled the air as you waited for his reply.

The light turned green, casting a glow across the car’s hood but Rafe didn’t move the car. In the side mirror you only spotted an empty road behind you.

Rafe's eyes finally met yours, and for some reason, with that bruise on his face and the exhaustion in his gaze, he looked wrecked. Completely worn down, like he didn’t even have the energy to snap back.

“See, that’s the thing,” he said flatly, his usual fire missing. He gestured vaguely to his chest. “I don’t want the doll Sarah tosses away after she breaks it.”

That sounded a hell of a lot like I’m sick of being everyone’s second choice.

Jesus. This boy had issues so deeply tangled it made your chest ache. All you wanted in that moment was to hug him.

“Good thing I’m not a doll, then,” you said with a soft chuckle. “And maybe I worded that badly. I didn’t mean it like I’m just using this,”you motioned between the two of you,“as some kind of doormat.”

You tilted your head slightly, tapping your finger against your temple as the light turned red again. “That would be a shitty move, especially considering I recently just mentally added you to my friend book today.”

And just like that, the hard edge in Rafe’s face melted. His crooked smile crept back, and the heavy storm cloud hanging over you both finally drifted on. “Shit, you actually did that?”

Was that really all he needed? A little acknowledgment? Some reassurance? It was almost like you both carried the same core issues, just rooted differently.

You smiled wide and shrugged. “Your folder idea wasn’t bad not gonna lie, but that felt a bit too impersonal for me.”

Rafe scoffed, amused, and god, your heart flipped at that familiar sound. “Thinking about it, maybe Sarah can have you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Your crazy ass would fit right into her fucked-up group.”

A laugh burst from your lips. “You can still turn around.”

His brows twitched, a flicker of irritation in his eyes.

Oh god—no way he thought you actually meant that.

So you quickly added, “But I’d much rather stay here.”

Rafe held your gaze for a moment, his expression still harsh, but the green traffic light seemed to soften the sharp lines of his face at just the right angles.

Funny enough, he actually did remind you of a Doberman—sharp, alert, a little intimidating, but really just an anxious soul underneath.

A loud, grating honk made both of you jump.

“Holy shit,” you laughed, startled, pressing a hand to your chest.

Rafe glanced up at the rearview mirror, scowling. “Fucking Pogue in his shitty-ass truck.”

“Just drive, please,” you said, half-nervous, half-amused, glancing through the rear window. “That guy actually does not look friendly.”

Rafe let out an amused breath as he finally started moving the Benz. "Guess there’s still a little bit of reason left in that crazy head of yours."

And just like that, the energy between you two was back to normal. Or, well—as normal as it could be, considering neither of you was exactly normal. You had a full-blown overthinking-spiral problem, while Rafe... yeah, let’s not even try to unpack those issues.

Still, that one moment where he’d let out some of his frustration—even if it had been aimed at his poor sister—only made the pull you already felt toward him even stronger.

It was like, every day, he peeled back another layer of himself. Compared to the beginning of the week? Holy fuck, that was a completely different ball game.

Where you’d been anxious as hell just riding shotgun to Kelce’s place on Tuesday, now you felt this calm, this ease around him. Rafe had started out as nothing more than an intimidating crush but now? He was just a guy, carrying way too much unprocessed shit, trying to bottle it up in public.

And despite the absolute oceans of differences between the two of you, despite constantly arguing, snapping at each other, and testing each other’s patience daily—somehow, it worked.

He shut down your overthinking, and you drove him fucking insane. Nah, just kidding. (Actually… not really.) You helped him be real, humbled his cocky ass now and then.

And maybe that’s why this weird project-partner-acquaintance-kinda-friends-now-ship was working for both of you.

OKAY GIRL, that’s enough thinking for today, damn. Just chill out already.

And you did.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, letting the moon and stars take center stage. Rafe was just cruising around the Outer Banks without any real plan. Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole played in the background, and at some point he even tossed you his phone to pick songs yourself. You caught him tapping his finger to the beat of Tame Impala and Suki Waterhouse, even though he had the audacity to call it “depressed emo girl music.”

Other than that, the two of you just vibed. Rafe bitched about Kelce and Topper, you both talked shit about Chris Reid and Ruthie, and you rambled on about some design ideas for your school project and how to execute them in collage form, until Rafe had had enough of the school talk and, surprisingly, steered the convo back toward your little beach hangout earlier.

You could tell he was physically restraining himself from crashing out, but he still nodded, showed some (fake) genuine interest, and only threw in a couple minor passive-aggressive comments.

Another small win.

Around ten, you both got the munchies. After going back and forth way too long, you finally insisted on McDonalds.

Rafe nearly cried (no joke) as he squeezed his massive Benz into the way-too-narrow drive-thru lane. Then he almost had a full-blown breakdown when the cashier handed him your milkshake without a lid—because God forbid his precious seats got dirty. Luckily, the lady was kind enough to give him one before the panic attack fully set in.

And once you were in the car? He opened every window and door to eat—because, apparently, the fabric seats were at risk of absorbing “that garbage smell.”

Jesus Christ, this guy was a drama queen.

“You know,” you said, laughing as you daintily picked up a fry, still not over the fact that he actually paid for your order too, “we could’ve just eaten inside.”

Rafe just scoffed as he layered, like, seven hundred napkins across his lap. “It’s bad enough I even showed up here. No way in hell I’m letting anyone see me inside that cracked-out hellhole.”

You seriously doubted anyone gave a single fuck that Rafe Cameron was picking up 9-piece nuggets and a Big Mac meal on a Saturday night at McDonald’s, but sure—let’s not ruin his illusion.

He then frantically gathered every single piece of trash and had you throw it out so no one would catch him in the act.

Then the car just sat there, windows wide open, for ten whole minutes to “air out the cursed stench,” before he finally drove off again.

About an hour later, around 11, a heavy wave of sleepiness hit you. You’d barely slept the night before and had spent half the day with a lingering hangover. Tomorrow, you at least wanted to feel like a semi-functional human.

So yeah, you decided to call it a day.

Rafe looked mildly offended, but truth be told, he seemed ready to pass out too. That didn’t stop him from taking the longest, most unnecessary detour ever (clingy Rafe confirmed) before finally pulling into your parents’ driveway half an hour later.

“Thanks for the ride. And the food,” you said when the engine shut off and everything went quiet.

Rafe let out a breath, half amused. “Pretty sure you can’t even legally call that crap food.”

“You sure didn’t hesitate with those nuggets, though,” you teased, smiling.

“Protein,” was all he mumbled in response.

You laughed softly. “Sure.” Then unbuckled and slung your bag over your shoulder. “Okay, well... uh... I guess I’ll...” OH GOD WHAT WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO SAY.

Last night you’d been absolutely wasted so you hadn’t given a single shit, but now??? Awkward silence GO.

“Wait, I’ll get the door,” Rafe mumbled, unbuckling too. “Don’t want your dad kicking my ass because I didn’t open it for you.”

You looked at him in disbelief, amused. “He’s definitely already asleep.”

Rafe opened his door with a frown. “Not risking another fucking bruise.”

You felt this weird, fluttery feeling in your chest and stomach as he walked over to your side and actually opened the door for you. Clutching your bag strap, you got out with a quiet, “Thanks.”

With a soft thud, Rafe shut the car door behind you.

“So,” Rafe said flatly, “do I have a sniper’s red dot on my forehead yet?”

You chuckled. “He was a combat medic, not a sniper.”

“And now chief physician,” Rafe said deadpan. “Pretty sure he’s got some shady connections and could get my doctor to prescribe me something lethal.”

You laughed again. “Alright, I better head inside before you start spouting more half-asleep conspiracy theories.”

“I’m wide awake,” he chuckled. “You need me to walk you to the door or you got this?”

You glanced at the door and nodded, your brows furrowed. “Dunno, what if some Pogue’s lurking behind the bushes?”

Rafe let out a dry “Fucking hilarious,” and then PUT HIS HAND ON YOUR BACK TO GENTLY STEER YOU TOWARD THE DOOR.

ALARM ALARM ALARM ALARM.

Exactly six steps later, he dropped his hand. “I’m not tucking you in though,” he said, and of course added with a crooked grin, “Unless you’re scared of sleeping alone.”

UM. HELPPPPPPPPPP.

A half-embarrassed, half-anxious laugh escaped your throat, your chest and neck heating up, and you shook your head. “I think I’ll manage, thanks.”

“Aight,” he said. And then—something shifted in his usual cocky posture. It could almost be interpreted as hesitation. Or nerves.

Okay, guess you had to say something now.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” you said, amused.

“Nah, I just…” He scratched his chin, his face twisting into a grimace. “I went to the gas station earlier after I dropped you off. Had to fill up my car.”

You nodded. “Sounds like something you’d do at a gas station.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, followed by a “No shit, smartass,” the corner of his mouth twitching up in the faintest smile. “Okay, I just—when I was at the checkout, you know how they always have those shelves full of random dumb crap?”

“Gas station core,” you replied deadpan, trying to mask the way your nerves were absolutely going crazy, BECAUSE RAFE BEING NERVOUS ONLY MADE YOU TEN TIMES MORE NERVOUS.

Rafe looked at you with furrowed brows. “Yeah, and they had that dumb horse merch, that—what’s it called, that damn cartoon?”

“My Little Pony?”

He nodded impatiently. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever.” His hand slipped into his pocket. Then he pulled out a palm-sized yellow-pink plastic bag. “Anyway, figured your fucked-up brain might need this. All that stuff you said earlier about needing clarity and shit like that.”

He held it out to you, a smile on his face that didn’t quite match his usual cockiness. “Didn’t craft it myself though, but guess it’ll do.”

[system shutting down, please consider doing a backup]

…

DBJKHKSUEGFBVMLCDMCDJVGFSDWODJFDNCJKFLSÖ;XNAAGHDFSMDS;KMKSXKDWHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT

WHAT.

Your heart was pounding, nerves threatening to explode, adrenaline ready to hand you a goddamn stroke.

THIS. OH MY FUCKING GOD.

You probably looked like a complete idiot—lips slightly parted, eyes wide, just straight up staring at the thing in his hand.

You had no idea what to say or do. Despite the crooked smile on his face, Rafe looked way too serious for this to be a joke.

“Shit, take it already. I can see the minions in your head running around in panic,” he said and basically forced the bag into your hands.

You took it and stared, baffled. A smiley Fluttershy was printed on the front, surrounded by pastel pink hearts and yellow stars. And right under the big-ass MLP logo, in bold letters, it said: “Friendship Bracelet for the Fluttershy in your life.”

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP EXPLODING DYING REBOOTING.

MENTALLY JUMPING OFF A CLIFF.

Actually physically vibrating.

Okay. Okay. You needed to get a grip before you actually combusted or—holy shit—started crying for absolutely no reason.

Your eyes met his again, adrenaline surging through every damn corner of your body. “That’s... I don’t even... thank you, that’s really sweet.”

“Jesus, please don’t thank me for spending money on that shit,” he scoffed, stepping closer, his finger tapping the plastic. “And look, it says ‘friendship bracelet’. Not ‘I’m-trying-to-get-in-your-pants-or-use-you-for-a-hookup bracelet’.”

His intense blue eyes locked onto yours, and holy shit HE WAS CLOSE CLOSE. He tapped his own head. “That clear enough for your crazy brain? Or is there still some stupid little minion in there running his mouth? ‘Cause if so, I’ll knock the little shit out myself.”

Even though you were massively taken aback by this incredibly and unexpectedly sweet gesture, you somehow managed a laugh. “No, I think that should do it.”

Rafe let out a strained breath. “Jesus Christ. Fucking finally.”

You smiled, cheeks hot. “Where’s yours?”

“What?”

“Your bracelet,” you said, amused at his baffled expression. “Friendship bracelets only make sense if both people wear them.”

Rafe gave you a blank stare. “Shit. Wait, what? You actually wanna wear that?”

“Yeah, why not?” you chuckled. “You bought it for me, might as well put it to use.”

Rafe scoffed. “That crap didn’t even cost five dollars.”

“And?”

“And it was clearly just meant to make a point. Didn’t actually expect you wanting to wear that shit."

“Okay well, let me at least see what it looks like,” you said, tearing the little bag open.

And—holy shit.

You’d expected some hideous, oversaturated, cringey kid bracelet with plastic hearts and cursed Fluttershy charms but this was actually ridiculously cute. And definitely not sized for a child’s wrist.

A silver chain with pastel-colored hearts, flowers, and beads dangled between little silver charms: a butterfly, a key—OH MY GOD.

“It’s cute,” you said, grinning as you looked at him. “I like it.”

Rafe scowled dramatically, raising a brow. “Lemme guess, you want me to put it on for you.”

DKFJHSDHFBVJDLNSKADNVJSDFKLS YES PLEASE.

“That’d be nice,” you said quietly, handing him the bracelet.

You held out your arm, and Rafe stepped even closer, wrapping the bracelet around your wrist from underneath. His fingers brushed against your skin as he clumsily fumbled with the clasp, his expression focused like he was defusing a bomb.

You couldn’t even laugh at how badly he was struggling with a literal children’s bracelet because your heart was pounding so loud, your breathing had basically stopped because you could feel his warm breath on your wrist.

“Fucking hell, what is this shitty-ass clasp,” he muttered, brows pulled together in frustration. But finally he managed to close it, letting out a breath like he’d just survived a 24-hour brain surgery.

“Thanks,” you said as he stepped back, your eyes dropping to the bracelet and the tiny little charms dangling from it. You were smiling like an idiot. “It’s actually really pretty.”

Rafe looked at you like he was now absolutely convinced you belonged in the ‘mentally unstable’ section. “Shit, well, I guess as long as it spares me from another long-ass conversation.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe on that topic, but I can’t make any promises in general.”

“Aight,” he said, making a hush motion with his hand. “Better get inside before I regret buying that crap.”

“Okay,” you said, probably still grinning like a dumb idiot. And then—you took a step forward, courage powered by a serotonin overdose, and hoped to EVERYTHING ABOVE he would catch the signal and not turn this into the most awkward goodbye of your life.

AND HE GOT IT.

Rafe stepped forward too, immediately wrapping his arms around you. Your own found their way around his neck. The little bracelet jingled between you, and you actually giggled like a total idiot because of this. This was everything and more.

His warm body pressed against yours, the scent of his cologne, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back—SJDHAKJDHKDJWH.

When you both pulled away, you were smiling at each other like two hopelessly dumb idiots. And of course, this dumb idiot in particular had to ruin it with some stupid comment.

Rafe nodded toward your wrist. “Try not to think about me when you—”

“Mh-hm, good night.”

He laughed, boyish and smug. “Aight. Sweet dreams.”

With that, he turned around, and you let out the most tension-filled breath of your entire life. Because what. the actual. fuck. Like--

“Oh, and you’re coming tomorrow, right?”

You looked up while digging for your keys. “What?”

“That shitty-ass open air thing,” Rafe said. “Topper’s driving, so you can get wasted again if you want.”

Oh. Now it was fine that you were riding with Topper? This guy made zero sense.

“Um, yeah... can we discuss that tomorrow?” you asked with a sheepish smile. “I still have to check in with Cara.”

Rafe’s brows twitched, but he nodded.

You exchanged one last round of goodnights, and finally—finally—you made it into your house. Without overthinking, you went straight to your room, shut the door, and collapsed onto your bed with the biggest motherfucking grin on your face.

And without even letting yourself process what kind of batshit insane day this had been, you knew you had to text Cara. Or rather, send a voice memo. And then tomorrow morning you’d have to suffer through like a thousand delusional, chaotic messages in response.

But when you opened your messaging app, a final (hopefully final) surprise of the day was already waiting for you.

You sighed, now LITERALLY completely finished for today. But just as you were about to switch your phone to airplane mode and get ready for bed—this:

You immediately put your phone into airplane mode, shut that thing off and tossed it onto your nightstand. Then you quickly got into your pyjama set, brushed your teeth and hurried back into bed.

Tucking yourself comfortably into the blankets, you force-shut your eyes and tried to ignore your thundering heart.

Your head was FULL. Like it had reached maximum capacity and workload today. AND NOW RAFE WAS BACK AGAIN WITH HIS CHEEKY LITTLE MESSAGES AND THAT CRAZILY GOOD LOOKING MIRROR SELFIE, GOOD HEAVENS HELP ME.

And that after he'd claimed--

NOPE. NO SPIRALING NOW. No overthinking, no questioning, no coming up with theories.

Absolutely not.

Rafe’s a flirty guy. He literally said so himself. And he was right, flirting didn't have to lead to anything. Plus, he just gifted you a freaking friendship bracelet like twenty minutes ago. So you’re not going to ruin your happy little bubble again.

That’s it for today. Tomorrow you’ll have plenty of time for unnecessary mental gymnastics and whatnot.

Brain, shut up now. Good night.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

EXTRA SCENE rafe buying reader the bracelet at the gas station

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @lunaleah @akobx @cokewithcameron @b00klvrs @rafesdrew @mattyskies @yktayy9669 @beabafreakbee @c1gsafterwhat @drewstarkeyswife-7 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @wintercrows @miaaaoa @setmefreemyg @pogueprincesa @chimchimjiminie16 @drewstarkeysrightarm @wtfdudesblog @wolfstarsimpxx @emmiesummers @brycesfav @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @louvrgirl @chaoticromantic @drewstarkeysrealwife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @psychicnatural @mysticbby2009 @oreocheescake-12 @miniiminie @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewstarkeyywife @persiar9

[lnracer]

oscar meets a new girl at hotel, and the reason why she got his attention was because she didn't watch F1 so she didn't knew him, which made him feel interested since she definitely knows 0 about him (sorry for any typo😭 English isn't my first language and it's like 4am here but I hope you understood what I said)

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 1.555k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, tysm for your request! Also, don't worry, I was able to understand your vision (and loved it btw!) I hope you like it and that I was able to write what you imagined! ☺️🧡

Oscar stepped through the revolving glass doors of the grand hotel in Barcelona, the energy that only a Grand-Prix weekend could provide already in the air. Cameras flashed from a distance, teams hurried by, and somewhere nearby, the pulse of the city mixed with the hum of engines and anticipation.

As he adjusted his backpack, moving through the lobby, a sudden soft collision made him stumble slightly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” a sweet voice said, warm and apologetic.

Oscar looked down to see a girl, probably early twenties, with effortless elegance — polished but approachable. She smiled politely, cheeks faintly flushed.

“It’s alright.” Oscar said smoothly, steadying himself. He glanced at her again and noticed something strange — she didn’t have that spark of recognition in her eyes, no hint that she knew who he was.

Curious, but not wanting to seem rude, he said nothing about it. Instead, he offered a small smile and moved on, the question quietly lingering behind his gaze.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear with a sheepish smile. “It’s just— this weekend is insane. Formula One’s in the building, so everyone’s walking around like they’ve had three espressos and a panic attack.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, shifting his weight. “Yeah, I’ve heard it tends to have that effect.”

She smiled at him again, kind and genuine, then glanced around as if remembering she was supposed to be somewhere else. But something made her stay a beat longer.

“You don’t look like you’re here for it either,” Oscar said, tone casual as he slung the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder.

Her brows lifted slightly. “F1? No, I mean— I do know it’s the reason most people are here, but I wouldn’t recognize anyone if I tripped over them.” She gave a tiny laugh.

Oscar quirked an eyebrow, amused — Oh, the irony. “So what brings you here then? Just visiting?”

She blinked once, then tilted her head. “Oh. No, I actually live here.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He blinked. “In the hotel?”

“Top floor,” she said with a proud little grin. “My dad owns the place. So… yeah, I’m kind of the live-in plant whisperer-slash-chaos manager.”

Oscar let out a soft, surprised laugh. “Right. That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Most people think I’m lost,” she said, eyes twinkling as she rocked slightly on her heels. “But I’m usually just hiding from someone asking about towels or logistics.”

Oscar found himself lingering, even as staff passed by with walkie-talkies and guests bustled in behind him.

She didn’t recognize him. Not even a flicker of familiarity. And somehow, that made her stand out more than anyone else had all week.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The next morning, the buffet hall buzzed with quiet luxury — clinking cutlery, the soft hum of conversation, and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries. Oscar had managed to get up early enough to beat the rush, but not early enough to avoid it completely.

He was pouring himself orange juice when a familiar voice drifted in from behind.

“Hey, it's you! The guy I nearly tripped over yesterday.”

Oscar turned, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he found her standing beside him, this time in a soft cream cardigan and satin lounge pants that somehow still looked expensive. Her hair was loosely tied, and there was a barely-there sleepiness in her eyes that made her look even sweeter.

“Guilty,” he said. “You back at it again, terrorizing hotel guests?”

She let out a chuckle. “Only the ones who don’t watch where they’re going.”

They both reached for the same slice of chocolate cake, and she let him take it, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “Please, go ahead. Guests first.”

He arched a brow, amused. “That sounds oddly official.”

“Well,” she teased, “I do live here.”

Oscar laughed under his breath and offered his hand, finally. “I’m Oscar.”

“Y/N,” she said, slipping her hand into his. Warm. Light. “Nice to meet you, officially.”

They walked together toward the fruit section, plates in hand.

“So,” she said, glancing sideways, “have you had a chance to explore the city, or are you here for...?”

Oscar hesitated, eyes flicking down for a split second. “Kind of here for work.”

“Oh?” she asked, genuinely interested. “What do you do?”

He scratched the back of his neck, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh… drive. Professionally.”

Her brows furrowed for a second, then softened again. “Oh! Like a chauffeur?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

She tilted her head, eyes curious but still gentle. “Then what kind of driving?”

Oscar paused, then gave a shrug. “It’s complicated.”

Her laugh bubbled up again, not pressing him any further. “Alright, mystery man. Keep your secrets.”

He glanced at her, slightly stunned by her lack of insistence. No asking for selfies, no sudden realization. Just... her.

And for some reason, that made breakfast taste better.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Oscar had barely made it through the revolving door before he tugged at the collar of his McLaren team shirt, exhaustion clinging to his limbs like humidity. Free Practice had been long, the media duties even longer, and all he wanted was a shower and something that didn’t involve the word “sector.”

The hotel’s lobby was quieter now — low golden lighting, soft piano music in the background, staff moving at half-speed as the day began to wind down.

And yet, just as he rounded the corner toward the guest elevators—

Thud. A soft bump into a familiar shoulder.

Again.

She gasped softly, stumbling back a step. “Oh my god— you again?”

Oscar let out a tired chuckle. “At this point, I think the universe is doing it on purpose.”

Y/N stood there in a silky slip dress layered with a cardigan, barefoot in fluffy slippers. She looked like midnight comfort and candlelight — like warmth.

Her eyes fell to his shirt, and her gaze lingered.

McLaren.

The logo. The colors. The sponsors.

Something clicked.

Her lips curved into the most knowing, gentle smile. “So... you are part of the buzz this weekend.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, lips twitching upward. “Busted.”

“I knew that ‘I drive professionally’ line was suspiciously vague,” she teased, a soft giggle slipping out. “Let me guess… you’re not the guy who parks the Aston Martins out front?”

“Not unless I really mess up my race on Sunday,” he said dryly, and she laughed, full and free.

“Well, Mr. Mystery Driver,” she said, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, “I hope Barcelona’s treating you well.”

He tilted his head, something softer passing over his expression. “It is now.”

There was a beat of silence between them, light and open. Then she gave him a small, playful nudge with her elbow.

“Good. Just try not to run me over next time, yeah?”

He smiled, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened behind him. “No promises.”

As they closed, she gave a little wave with the tips of her fingers — and he found himself already wondering when they’d bump into each other again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The elevator doors had just started to close when Oscar’s hand darted out, stopping them with a soft ding. Y/N had already turned to head back towards the lobby when she heard it.

“Wait— Y/N.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

He looked suddenly less composed than usual — one hand on the edge of the door, hair slightly messy from the long day, voice just a little rougher from hours of talking. But his eyes? Still warm. Still soft.

“If you’re ever curious about the whole Formula One thing,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t mind showing you a bit of it. Y’know. Explaining the chaos. Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Y/N blinked, the offer catching her off-guard for half a second before a smile broke across her lips, wide and genuine. “I think I could be convinced.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, his own smile curling quietly at the corners.

She took a small step closer, tilting her head thoughtfully. “And I’m pretty sure I could sneak us a plate of leftover pastries from the kitchen. Just in case the lesson needs snacks.”

He laughed under his breath, something easy and unguarded. “Now that sounds like a good deal.”

“Then it’s a date,” she said breezily, but her eyes lingered with a softness that suggested something more than casual.

Oscar watched as she walked off through the hallway, her slippers making no sound on the polished marble. He stayed there for a second, the elevator forgotten behind him, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

Funny, he thought. He came to Barcelona for speed, engines, and lap times.

And yet, the best part of his weekend so far had just offered him stolen pastries and her time.

And he couldn’t wait for both.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Have you done headcanons about how the pines brothers(Stan and Ford) eat pussy before? :0

꒰ Stan & Ford making a meal outta you hcs ꒱

a/n: i regret nothing. i literally spent like 5 days writing this lmao + listen, if we have Stan & Ford bj headcanons, it's only fair we get Stan & Ford eating pussy hcs too, right?? anyways this is absolutely porn. i fought cringe and i won!! now i’m free to be as cringe as i want!!!

warning: nsfw!!

STANFORD

ᝰ.ᐟ he was SO awkward the first time. fidgety. fumbling. “am i doing it right? oh dear, i— tell me, please.” while your legs were literally shaking because he accidentally hit the right spot with his nerd mouth

ᝰ.ᐟ you have to guide him. gentle hand on his hair. soft praise. “right there, baby, just like that, don’t stop. yes, god, that’s perfect!” and he WHINES into your cunt like he’s found a portal to the fifth dimension idkk

ᝰ.ᐟ so eventually Ford learns and memorizes what each of your gasps mean. over time he builds a mental database of what little sighs = need more pressure, what whimpers = overstimulation, what shudders = keep going, keep going, don’t stop

ᝰ.ᐟ he is addicted. i mean Ford becomes obsessed with the idea of making you shake on his mouth

ᝰ.ᐟ i always hc that Ford is very sensual lover so he intertwines his fingers with yours during sex in general. and eating his sweetheart out is no exception. even when he's too busy to undress you properly or when he’s kneeling and can barely reach, Ford grasps your hand in his, squeezes it and holds you. he loves when you squeeze his hand when you cum

ᝰ.ᐟ he gets so overwhelmed by your taste, rutting his hips into the air like he’s suffering because he loves it too much

ᝰ.ᐟ also loves overstimulating you. like, gets you off once and then doesn't stop. pins your hips down with one arm and keeps eating you until you’re clawing at his hair, sobbing, begging for mercy

ᝰ.ᐟ kisses your clit after he's done with you<3 soft, delicate kisses like thank you thank you thank you, bc he’s grateful you let him worship you!!

ᝰ.ᐟ dont get me wrong, he’ll kiss your mouth after too. sloppy and gentle, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. he blushes about it afterward but loves it

ᝰ.ᐟ ABSOLUTELY eats you during research breaks. like he's been holed up in the basement for twelve hours, comes upstairs glassy-eyed and exhausted, yanks you onto a table and gorges himself on your pussy like it’s his only nourishment

ᝰ.ᐟ im sure he would love to eat you standing up, that's like. . . the first thought that comes to my mind. wants you standing, gripping onto a bookshelf, table or wall, and he's just kneeling below you, big hands on your hips keeping you still, burying his face in you shamelessly. bonus point if you interrupt him like that during one of his science projects. if you'll just show up at the door, wearing only his sweater and nothing underneath. he'll get the hint immediately

ᝰ.ᐟ Ford was so shy about his extra fingers at first. hesitating when you begged him to use them. “they’re— im sorry, they’re different, i might hurt you.” but you insisted. and he trusted you enough to try, so once he saw you crying and grabbing the sheets because he could reach places inside you that no one else ever could?? he became a menace. you actually gave him more confidence about his extra fingers

ᝰ.ᐟ so now he absolutely loves to scissor you open so perfectly you feel like you're breaking apart. he thrusts them deep slowly, curling them up until your stomach tightens and you cry his name

ᝰ.ᐟ PLUS loves dragging one extra finger across your clit while still eating you just to see you spasm harder

ᝰ.ᐟ he accidentally made you squirt once and then spent two hours taking notes on how he did it, yeah, Ford tell us ur secret

ᝰ.ᐟ prefers to do two things at once. licking you and fingering you deep and perfectly at the same time, curling his fingers up against your soft walls while he sucks the clit into his mouth hard. he learned this move studying you obsessively.

ᝰ.ᐟ hehehe loves when you trap his head there. he wants to get smothered.

ᝰ.ᐟ whines softly against your pussy when he’s close to cumming untouched from how sweet you taste!!! nerd.

ᝰ.ᐟ he gets dizzy when you call him good boy while he’s down there. at first he blushes and fumbles, but the first time you whimper “good boy, Ford, just like that, baby” he shudders so violently and groans in response

ᝰ.ᐟ since he's very sensual and tender lover, he also kisses down your whole body before getting there. slow and torturous. he starts with your neck, then your chest, pausing to mouth at your nipples, worshipping, then goes to your stomach, then kisses the inside of your hips before he even thinks about touching your clit. Ford talks between kisses, too. like murmuring little praises against your skin. “so beautiful. so soft”

ᝰ.ᐟ when he accidentally makes you squirt, Ford gets so obsessed with it he feels like a total pervert. the first time he’s using his fingers inside you and licking at the same time like a man possessed, and suddenly you’re gasping and flooding his mouth, and poor Ford just stares up at you stunned with his whole face dripping like “fascinating! i- was that?? made you-?” he looks SO proud. im sure he wants to print out a certificate and hang it on the wall

ᝰ.ᐟ he's lowkey addicted to the way your thighs tremble. you’ll feel his big hands gripping you harder whenever you start squirming, because he loves making you feel so weak you can't even stay upright

ᝰ.ᐟ sometimes he pulls your legs over his shoulders and just ruts his hips into the bed while eating you. he’s moaning into your cunt, getting himself off from the sheer act of tasting you. and. . . you don't even realize it at first, until you feel the mattress shaking under you and realize this man is grinding wildly into nothing like a desperate dog

ᝰ.ᐟ he uses his fucking smart tongue so good. . . mapping you out and teasing every inch. focusing carefully on your clit for long, overwhelming stretches until you’re shaking and he’s just murmuring, “you can take more, darling, just a little more for me, yes?”

ᝰ.ᐟ Ford loves to observe so he sometimes tugs your knees open wider without saying a word. especially when you’re shy. he loves gently but firmly spreading you, baring you completely, staring for some agonising seconds with those hungry eyes before ducking back in with a desperate groan

ᝰ.ᐟ Ford gets breathless when he eats you out. poor boy working so hard to please you that he’s short of air and it makes his mouth sloppier, wetter, hotter.

ᝰ.ᐟ he gets so into it he forgets time exists. you have to physically pull him off sometimes. lips puffy, eyes glazed, hair a mess. and he looks up, raising his eyebrows “did i do something wrong?”

ᝰ.ᐟ he leaves marks WITHOUT realising. for example, suction bruises on your inner thighs

ᝰ.ᐟ will write about it later in his personal journal. entry titled ‘reactions observed from beloved subject during intimate oral exploration’

ᝰ.ᐟ he loves when you guide his head, push it deeper. tell him he’s good. tell him he’s yours. call him your genius, your good boy. he eats it up, literally and figuratively

ᝰ.ᐟ he's pretty strong, so once he gets into his pussy drunk state, he pulls your thighs wide apart and pushes them to your chest. gets his shoulders under them so you can’t move. so he can eat you with his whole face

ᝰ.ᐟ Ford wants you above him. sitting on his face. so he can grip your thighs and keep you there. grind on his mouth and smother him. he’ll edge himself while he does it. sometimes doesn’t even let himself cum because you always just cum first

ᝰ.ᐟ he wants to make you cry from pleasure. not just cum. cry. shuddering, sobbing, overstimmed, shaking all over, with your legs twitching and your fingers buried in his silver hair. that’s his goal. every time.

ᝰ.ᐟ and when he’s done, he pants against your cunt and asks “did i do well? will you let me again? please?”

STANLEY

ᝰ.ᐟ ohh that man dives in like a fucking dog who found a steak in the trash

ᝰ.ᐟ Stan believes eating pussy is a man's duty and pride. he thinks it’s the hottest thing in the world. he doesn't even expect anything back half the time, he just wants to see you all needy and desperate for him

ᝰ.ᐟ in fact, is obsessed with it. he will eat you out on the COUCH. in the BACKSEAT. in the SHOWER. standing in the KITCHEN because “lemme get my mouth on that sweet thing, c’mon. been thinking about you all damn day.”

ᝰ.ᐟ he doesn’t care about being sloppy. i mean, he WANTS to be messy. soak his face, give him that mess. he’ll rub his nose against your clit and grin when you moan. he likes to talk with his mouth full

ᝰ.ᐟ he’s so good at it. like scary good. like make-you-cry good. because. . . Stan actually gives a shit. he listens, watches your face, keeps his tongue right where you twitch and he’ll tease you like “right there, huh? that’s the spot? i could do this all night, baby”

ᝰ.ᐟ “some folks just go for the clit. amateurs.” he knows how to tease, so when he's in the right mood, he starts slow. lips kissing up your thighs. tongue barely grazing you. he won’t even touch your pussy at first. he’ll hover there, warm breath on your folds, smirking. “you want it, huh? say it. beg me.”

ᝰ.ᐟ gets so fucking cocky when you squirm. you try to close your legs and he just pins them wide with his elbows and keeps licking, “nuh-uh, baby. don’t run from it now. lemme take care of you.”

ᝰ.ᐟ such a fucking tease tbh. he wants you spread out and begging. makes soft licks, hot breath, little kisses so close but not quite until you're whimpering “please Stan, please touch me.” then he grins so wide and dives in

ᝰ.ᐟ he talks while eating. "fuck baby, you’re so sweet—mmph— keep makin’ them sounds, huh? you like ridin’ my tongue, don’t ya? greedy little thing.” god, Stan never shuts up. just keeps mouthing at your clit between sentences

ᝰ.ᐟ “that’s it, baby. drip all over my fuckin' face. yeah, you miss me, huh? missed this mouth, didn’t ya?”

ᝰ.ᐟ slaps your thighs mid-act. that usually means “stay still, sweetheart, lemme do my job.” in his language

ᝰ.ᐟ he’ll pull you down onto his mouth, slap your cheeks, moan into your folds like he’s drowning and he loves it!!

ᝰ.ᐟ Stan grinds into the mattress sometimes while he’s doing it. gets so turned on that he humps the sheets like a teenage boy

ᝰ.ᐟ kisses your thighs after. “damn, you’re delicious. gimme five minutes, ill do it again.” he means it, you know it

ᝰ.ᐟ uh. . . imagine him dragging your panties down with his teeth, grinning at you the whole time

ᝰ.ᐟ and then shoving your thighs apart roughly before he eats you. loves to pick you up, set you down on the bed, and manhandle your legs open without giving you time to be shy. “lemme see that pretty little thing, doll, c’mon.”

ᝰ.ᐟ absolutely shoves your panties in his pocket after eating you out <3

ᝰ.ᐟ buries his face so deep you think you might suffocate him, but. . . he literally doesn’t care if he can’t breathe. he will drown in you happily!!

ᝰ.ᐟ loves eating you while you’re still wearing half your clothes. theres just smth hot about it, like he couldn’t wait long enough to get you fully naked. shirt bunched up, panties shoved to the side, pants around one ankle, etc

ᝰ.ᐟ oh boy, he sucks on your sensitive clit in little pulsing motions and that makes your toes curl and your hips buck. and he LAUGHS when you try to wiggle away, like “nah-uh, baby, stay right there”

ᝰ.ᐟ gets so drunk on your taste. . . genuinely slurring afterwards, dazed and happy, wiping his chin with the back of his hand “fuuuck baby, you taste better than anythin’ in this world”

ᝰ.ᐟ licks you slow and teasing when you’re being bratty. like if you mouth off at him he’ll go extra slow, keeping you on edge for hours just to punish you, refusing to let you cum until you’re sobbing and begging

ᝰ.ᐟ will literally fuck you with his mouth, Stanley makes a fucking mess every time and your whole lower half is drenched

ᝰ.ᐟ he grunts into your pussy when you pull his hair. gosh just imagine hearing that “mmfhh, goddamn, yeahh” sound. id cry

ᝰ.ᐟ sometimes cums untouched while eating you. especially if you praise him because man's got a heavy praise kink “good boy, such a good boy for me, Stan, just like that” he whimpers against you and next thing you know he’s cumming in his pants

ᝰ.ᐟ if he’s eating you bent over, he’s slapping your ass every other second. “c’mon, baby, stay still— slap— fuck, you taste so good—slap—don’t run from me now, sweetheart” while laughing under his breath when you squeal

ᝰ.ᐟ eats you even when he’s drunk. like, you’re trying to get him to come to bed and he’s got his face between your thighs, half-dozing off, still licking you lazily while mumbling against you, “mm. . . just a little taste, baby, lemme finish my dessert first”

ᝰ.ᐟ absolutely loves to do it during a movie night. just casually slides down his armchair, spreads your legs over his shoulders, eats you under the blanket while the TV flickers <33 romantic isnt it? Stan craves physical closeness so he wants your thighs around his ears, your heels digging into his back, your fingers twisted in his hair

ᝰ.ᐟ hear me out okay?. . . uh, mullet!Stan + tongue-piercing?? he definitely thinks about getting a tongue piercing at some point just to “drive you crazy, doll”

ᝰ.ᐟ anyways, honestly if you’re loud he will double down on how hard he sucks and licks just to keep it going

ᝰ.ᐟ and if you're into it: slaps your clit before starting. just a little teasing smack<3

ᝰ.ᐟ sometimes i look at this man and think. . . he loves to eat it from the back. Stan likes to pull your hips up, spread you wide, growl into your folds. he makes your thighs shake and your knees buckle as you’re gasping and trying not to collapse under him

ᝰ.ᐟ in most cases, he jerks himself off while he eats you out

ᝰ.ᐟ im sure he's a face sitting guy. i mean they both are, but Stan's not that shy to ask you to do it. literally begs you to ride his face. grabs your hips and drags you down onto him, smirking up at you, “c’mon, baby, sit on me, lemme taste you proper.” and dont even try to whine about your weight or that you're shy or whatever. Stan doesn't really care and he's pretty strong enough to hold you.

ᝰ.ᐟ it's not just “he lets you ride his face” NAH, STAN ENCOURAGES IT. and bounces his hips up while you grind down onto his mouth, groaning into you because you’re the best meal he’s ever had!!!

ᝰ.ᐟ and he keeps slapping your ass every time you try to pull away. because, “nope, you’re staying right here, princess”

ᝰ.ᐟ tell you what, he’ll literally order you to “fuck his face”. “c'mon sweetheart, ride it. don't be shy now.” while grinding you down onto his tongue until you can’t even think straight

ᝰ.ᐟ he’s tongue-fucking you stupid

ᝰ.ᐟ and i think he loves cleaning you up with his tongue after you squirt, if you did

ᝰ.ᐟ sucks your clit like he’s trying to drink you dry 😭 idkk, i don't make the rules. he's got no mercy and he's ruthless. he’ll tongue you hard and messy, then back off and spit right onto your clit to make it even wetter, then suck again

ᝰ.ᐟ prefers to stay between your legs after you cum. Stan doesn’t pull away immediately. he licks you through the aftershocks, chuckling when you twitch and whimper from overstimulation

ᝰ.ᐟ uhh. . . sometimes he eats you out just because he’s horny. i mean, not even to get sex out of it. just because he needs to taste you or hear you moan. he just wants to make you feel good

ᝰ.ᐟ listen listen!! Stan 100% leaves handprints on your ass. after eating you out bent over the desk, the mirror, the back of his car. whatever. you look later and there’s full red handprints where he gripped you to spread you open

ᝰ.ᐟ of course, he fingers you while eating but he's more rough (or better word, desperate and passionate) about it. shoving thick fingers deep, twisting them while he tongues your clit, making you arch and wail for him

ᝰ.ᐟ Stan will bite the inside of your thighs during it, that's what im 100% sure of. like soft little sharp nips to leave marks. then grins proudly at them later like “my pretty thing all marked up for me.”

ᝰ.ᐟ he’ll put one arm across your belly to hold you down. needs to feel you squirm under him. he loves when you say “Stan, too much—please” and he just goes “nah, baby, not done yet.”

ᝰ.ᐟ afterwards, he lights a cigarette, and says “you’re gonna marry me, right?”

[blueblossomrose]

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, marriage, children, household contents, afab!fem!MC, general hcs, reasonable age difference between Fellow and MC.

Notes: Skully in this is an entity and he's not exactly dead? It's more like he ascended and became a being that represents halloween just like Jack.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Resume HCs [8]

A full year at Noble Bell College later, He shocks a total of 0 people when he starts an administrative course.

He had mentioned to MC that he would like to specialize in the courts to become a jugde. MC gave him her full support.

MC said she thought he would do great as a minister, which Rollo thought about. But in the end he said he really liked the idea of being a judge, not just because of the "Righteous Judge" story but because he wanted the laws to be fairer for people like MC.

Had been dating for at least a few years before the proposal. Rollo wanted to make sure he was doing everything right.

Just an addendum, Rollo really didn't want the Night Raven College people at his wedding. But being a good future husband, he ended up giving in for his future wife wishes.

He and MC had a boy they named Julien.

Manager of Playful Land? No. No more crime life for you, honest young man.

MC practically made him completely overhaul his life. He refused at first, but before he knew it he was doing everything she told him to do.

He wasn't the one-woman type, but something about the magicless newly graduate of Night Raven College changed his mind. He accuses MC of lying about not having magic, after all, she must have bewitched him, right?

As his first real honest job, you introduced him to a gentle old man who owned a cuckoo clock shop. Fellow was initially reluctant to do so, but with his smooth talk, he became a very good salesman indeed. That's what you were counting on, anyway.

Your money combined with his gave you a house, and you even managed to enroll Gidel in a school.

Fellow is the only one whose MC ended up getting pregnant before marriage. The idea hadn't crossed his mind until the pregnancy test came and oops! He realized it was time to get married.

You and he have a boy: Nicholas. Or as he would be known a few years later, Nick Honest.

Is there a hint of halloween approaching? Yes, of course!

Skully was so happy to have his own halloween queen. Just like Jack had Sally, he had you!

But wait, you'd only really be a queen if you two got married, right? So he didn't waste any time.

MC soon realized that weddings and ceremonies in Halloween Town are very different from any she had ever experienced.

Skully doesn't exactly have a traditional family, but he does consider some of the people from his town to be his family, so how about him introduce them to you? He doesn't think you need to introduce the people from Night Raven College, since he already knows them.

The pregnancy was a surprise to everyone, but hey! It's Halloween! Your baby can only be a blessing, so let's celebrate!

You had a girl: Holly.

© blueblossomrose 2024, I do not allow copying/plagiarism of any of my fanfics.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally in a position to make your first, and hopefully final, move, but the guild isn't your only enemy that's actively working against you. you were foolish to think things would be so easy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday lil guys, i struggled with this chapter unfortunately and i'm not sure if i'm happy with the results </3 hopefully you guys will enjoy it more than i did hahah. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. suggestive language. reader is a bit of a cunt to fitzgerald & takes advantage of his love for zelda. she also takes advantage of zelda's fragile state to manipulate her. repin's ability (memory manipulation) is now going to be heavily in play for the rest of the series so keep that in mind. mentions of gore (blame klaus).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

The human mind is terribly fragile, but some are more so than others.

You don’t even need to use your ability on Zelda Fitzgerald to make her crack.

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

Three conversations to make her believe you’re a friend of her husband.

Five conversations to convince her that Fyodor Dostoevsky was the one who had her kidnapped from her home in Manhattan, and that you, as a favor to Fitzgerald, were the one who had her rescued. 

In the seventh conversation, you hinted at knowing something about her daughter before you left for a meeting with the other executives. You let her stew on it for a few hours before returning. By the time you came back, she’d worked herself up into a mess. 

In that eighth conversation, you acted apologetic, pretended that you’d misspoke, you backpedaled and bit your tongue. You made it seem like you were reluctant to speak, like you didn’t want to betray Fitzgerald’s trust. She begged you for hours to just tell her what you meant; you refused and left.

You came back three hours after that, and you put up a nice facade of guilt when you did. You told Zelda that you didn’t like lying to her, that her husband is a dear business partner of yours and you’ve come to think of his family like your own just from how much you hear about them through him. You told her that this wasn’t your secret to share, but she begged and pleaded, and you still made sure you came across as reluctant, but this time you gave in and told her.

In that ninth conversation, you told Zelda Fitzgerald that her daughter was still alive and her husband was keeping her away, because the last time Zelda spoke to her daughter, they’d gotten into an argument that drove Frances away. Her husband thought it would be easier for Zelda to think she was dead, because for all intents and purposes, Zelda was dead to Frances. You told her that you got your information through Nabokov, because Frances was living in Russia now under a new name with Dostoevsky’s help.

She believed you.

It took four days.

You like Dostoevsky. It's been a while since the two of you have been able to toy with one another, and you're eager to see how he reacts to you turning the Guild against him. Plus, his rats have been caught in Port Mafia territory too frequently the past few weeks, and since you're not sure if it's a warning or a threat, you may as well land the first blow.

And it's just more simple for you. Since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a message to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

Nabokov, on the other hand—he pissed you off you. You’ve never thought highly of the man, even when you visited him in Saint Petersburg, you thought he was quite despicable, and the more you heard from Klaus about the things that happened in the fighting rings, the more your distaste grew.

Now, he backed out of a critical transaction with the Port Mafia which fucked over one of Piano Man’s deals with the Family in Rome and one of Ace’s casinos, so he’s turned just about the whole round table of executives against him and you think this is a quick way of getting even with him. He would be quite unhappy once Francis Fitzgerald turned all of the resources of the Guild onto him in retaliation for spreading lies about his daughter. The man's one weakness has always been his family, he wouldn't think twice once given a name and reason.

All of this is the reason why you prefer to work from behind the scenes. There are many pros, of course, to being in an organization like the Guild where each executive member is an influential, internationally known public figure, but there’s one big con that you just can’t get over: the lack of privacy. 

The Fitzgerald family has been headline bait for all of the world’s most popular tabloids for years, and when his daughter passed away five years ago, you made sure to follow each and every story. You figured one day that the Port Mafia would end up in conflict with the Guild—Fitzgerald’s reach has always been endless, Yokohama was one of the few places out of it, and you knew one day he would move to gain a foothold here and you didn’t want to be scrambling for information about the man once it happened.

Chuuya always rolled his eyes at you when he found you surfing the tabloids, but look how handy it is now. There’d been several popular theories circulating when Frances Fitzgerald was killed in a car accident. Some people thought it was an assassination—the tabloids speculated that Fitzgerald was the intended target but his daughter got caught in the crossfires; the people that knew of the Guild’s ties with the underworld tended to think that his daughter was the intended target as a means to try to break Fitzgerald.

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

You’ve witnessed many assassinations—assassinations gone wrong, assassinations gone right; assassination attempts on you and assassination attempts on enemies. You are very well versed in the art of assassination. You’ve plotted many of them yourself with Albatross and Iceman, and the ones you didn’t, you still oversaw.

You don’t think Frances Fitzgerald was assassinated, by accident or otherwise. 

No one bought into your theory when you tried to place bets on it with the Flags—not until one of the American tabloids released an insider scoop from a relative of Zelda Fitzgerald who claimed that the mother and daughter had gotten into a blow out fight the night she died in the car accident. 

You think that was the last bit of information you needed to confirm your theory: Frances Fitzgerald was not assassinated, she was a stupid and reckless teenager who was upset after a fight with her mother and drove too fast down a road that was too windy and ended up driving herself right off a cliff. It was a gamble to bring it up now to Zelda, because you couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but it paid off. 

You’d been right—some type of argument had broken out between them the night of her daughter’s death, and Zelda has blamed herself for her death ever since. The woman, who’d been the face of American socialites for almost a decade, had all but retreated from the public’s eye after it happened. People whispered that her daughter’s death broke her mind, and you think that they were right—this woman is hardly a shell. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing to her.

Almost.

Unfortunately for Zelda, she’s a fair trade in Fitzgerald’s eyes, and until Dazai is back to you, she will be treated in the same way you assume Fitzgerald is treating his guest. He’s lucky that you have a high enough opinion of him to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to physical torture; he’s likely just trying to turn Dazai against you in the same way you have with Zelda, but Dazai will see through his manipulations.

He will.

He will.

He has to.

Your eyes slide shut as you fist one of Dazai’s sweaters—a cashmere one you’d bought for him to wear when you take him to nice restaurants, he prefers them to button ups. It still smells like him. He wore it when you took him to a hibachi restaurant in Nishi-ku a few days before the argument the two of you had that led to all of this and you haven’t had the chance to do laundry with everything going on.

You know that you don’t have time for this—there are more things you have to do to prepare Tolstoy’s subordinate, Ilya Repin, for what you’ll need him to do. You haven’t even met the man yet; Tolstoy is embarrassed over it, he keeps apologizing and saying that Repin is fickle when he’s in the middle of projects, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands when they’re doing you a favor. 

“Should you be laying around right now?” a familiar voice hums from the entrance to your bedroom. Your gaze flickers up to see Chuuya's concerned face staring down at you, head tilted to the side. “You look like shit, y’know?” 

Your lashes lower as you look away. “I didn’t even hear you come up,” you say quietly. “Shouldn’t you be going to the meeting with the Family envoys with Piano Man?”

You’re the one that usually handles negotiations with the Family, but Piano Man brushed you off when you said you would go. Told you to focus on getting things settled here with the Guild. Told you to get Dazai back. You almost wish he would’ve let you go so you could busy yourself with something other than torturing yourself with reminders of Dazai.

Chuuya exhales as he tosses his hat onto your dresser before sitting down on the bed next to you. You almost want to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you a little closer to him, and your eyes slide shut as you sink into him, hiding the way your vision blurs against his shoulder. Your breath shudders when you feel his hand running up and down your back, slow and soothing—Chuuya is always warm, but somehow, even with his arm wrapped around you and your body curled up against his, you still feel cold.

“Piano Man’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs. “He and Albatross are handling it. Wanted to come check on you.”

Ordinarily, you would make a snippy comment about him being sappy and he would get mad, smacking you over the head with a pillow. This time, you only let out a shaky breath and a noise of acknowledgement that’s far too weak, and evidently, concerning considering how Chuuya’s hand tenses on your back.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” you ask tiredly, voice a bit raspy, before he can say anything. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Never that mad at you,” he says quietly. “Not enough to leave you alone. Especially right now.”

The next breath you take in is wet and ragged, the tears that mist your eyes threaten to spill over. You’ve been on the edge of collapse for over a week now and every time you find yourself alone, you think it’s finally going to happen, but for better or for worse, someone shows up and you have to pull yourself together. But now… Chuuya’s arms are so familiar, too comforting—living in a world like you are, casual comfort is a rare delicacy, one that you can rarely allow yourself to indulge in.

“I’ve got you,” Chuuya whispers. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you more firmly onto his chest, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his waist, your fingers digging into his gray waistcoat. Oh, you realize, desperately trying to bite back a sob bubbling in the back of your throat, it’s happening. “We’ll get him back.”

“I’m tired, Chuuya,” you say, the words wobbly as you fight off tears. Your breath hitches when his hand slides against your shoulder blades gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how you did it.”

Your words don’t register until you feel Chuuya pause in the absent strokes of your back.You look up at him, about to speak again to change the subject because you hadn’t meant to bring up what happened two years ago, but he answers before you can.

“I didn’t,” he says with a wry smile. “I destroyed a ward and shut down. You handled it, remember?”

 And you failed, you finish, but Chuuya can certainly hear the thoughts running through your head from how his arm tightens around you. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and shifts you to sit upright in the bed. You sigh when he reaches out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What happened back then, it wasn’t your fault. That shit was out of your control, you know that. Don’t let it start getting in your head now,” Chuuya tells you firmly. “You didn’t fail back then, you’re not going to fail now. Yeah?” 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel Chuuya wiping the tears away. You avert your gaze and whisper, “I miss him, Chuuya. You were right. I never should have-”

You never should’ve let this happen. You knew from the beginning that you couldn’t let this go far, but you did. And even then, Chuuya warned you. He told you what would happen if you continued this, but you did.

Chuuya stares at you for a moment with an indecipherable expression before nodding to himself, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go force that fuckin’ Russian to talk to us. I’m done waiting around for him to finish his shitty project.”

—

It is not Twain, James or Fitzgerald who walks through the door to Dazai’s prison cell of a room days after your alleged release from prison. It’s a girl who seems to be a little younger than him—she wears a maid’s dress and has long crimson hair tied into two thick braids.  

A girl who probably should not be there considering she looks shifty-eyed and nervous. Plus, Fitzgerald has not hid that he’s been making an effort to ensure that nobody else knows about Dazai’s presence here—he’s kept him isolated, and Dazai never hears anything going on outside of his room, so he assumes he’s purposely being secluded from the rest of the Guild for whatever reason. Probably has to do with the reason behind Fitzgerald keeping his knowledge of your ability on the low—he doesn’t trust that people aren’t listening and doesn’t want this information to get out to anyone.

So this girl is likely not supposed to be here, but Dazai can’t even bring himself to be curious as to why she is here, because he’s tired.

He is so tired. 

His gaze is listless as he tracks the girl. She acts like she’s the cornered animal as if she wasn’t the one who willingly came into his room. She paces to the corner of the room furthest from him and presses herself into it, eyes narrowed on him, studying him like he’s some sort of specimen. 

She’s his first visitor in eight hours. Dazai assumes that means it’s around morning. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is—there’s no windows in the room he’s been staying in, so he has no way to gauge the time of day, and everything has just been blending together. He tried to keep track of when they would bring him food to have some sense of the day and time, but he realized quickly that they were bringing it at uneven intervals so he couldn’t figure it out. 

He thinks it must be some kind of torture tactic—making the days seem impossibly long so that it feels like he’s been here even longer than he has. It’s working to some extent because it is hard for him to tell how long he’s actually been here. Realistically, he knows it can’t be longer than two weeks, but it feels like it’s been three or four. 

“You don’t look special,” the girl finally says, her tone slightly accusatory. Dazai’s eye twitches, he’s been reminded quite frequently by Twain that he’s nothing special and it’s exactly why you aren’t coming for him, and he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. “Francis has never taken a foreign prisoner and not consulted the rest of the Board. They’re not happy.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dazai asks irritably, rolling his eyes. He should probably try to get information out of this girl, but he has no patience for it.

The girl gives him a scowl in return, but her expression quickly returns to a more contemplative one. “I’m just curious. What organization are you affiliated with? Why didn’t he tell us what’s going on?”

Dazai can’t help the snide comment that spills from his lips. “Us?” he mocks, looking pointedly at the maid’s dress she wore. “I don’t think you’re a member of the Guild’s Board… Seems more like house-keeping.”

Her face flushes as red as her hair, eyes wild and angry, but more than that ashamed. Clearly, Dazai hit a sore spot and he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the way the girl gets embarrassed over it. Her lashes flutter as she looks away, not speaking for a moment.

“I was,” she finally says, voice strained, cracking over the word ‘was’. “I was, and I would’ve been consulted with the rest of them at the time, but I wasn’t. I want to know why, who are you?”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a taunting smile. “None of your business,” he sings, leaning back against the wall and raising his eyebrows at the girl when she nearly snarls at him in response. “Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she spits. “There. I told you who I am, tell me who you are.”

“Nope,” Dazai says with a grin. “Why would I tell you that? I didn’t promise to tell you who I was if you told me.” 

“You-” Lucy raises her voice, furious, but then cuts herself off, looking nervously at the door. She gives him a sharp look and then continues just as angrily, but more quietly, “Tell me who you are. Why didn’t Francis tell us about you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He thinks Fitzgerald has the right idea. The less people who know about him, the better, because if it does get out who he is to you, it’ll just give more of your enemies ammunition against you. Dazai’s done enough damage by now, he may as well mitigate as much as he can.

“You’re with the Port Mafia, aren’t you?” Lucy suddenly demands, and Dazai looks at her quickly, wondering how she managed to figure that out. She looks entirely too smug as she lifts her chin. “It explains the sudden pressure they’ve been putting on us. They blew up the S.S. Zelda a couple days ago, intercepted some of the supplies that we were sending out to our people back home, and slaughtered a whole regiment of Margaret and Nathaniel’s men. From what I heard from Mark, they’ve been nonstop for almost two weeks.You must be the reason why. Am I right?” 

“None of your business,” Dazai replies again, but this time, his chest feels a bit lighter. 

He makes sure not to let the sudden relief cross over his face, but Twain, James and Fitzgerald have made sure to leave him with no information on what’s going on in the outside world. Especially any information regarding you. But now he knows. He knows that you’re out there still fighting for him, even if you haven’t been able to get him back yet, you’ve been fighting for him—you’ve been taking out the Guild’s bases, you’ve been isolating them from their allies, you’ve been backing them into a corner. 

Suddenly, the past two weeks had become entirely more bearable. The heaviness that had been weighing on him wasn’t as oppressive anymore and the nagging doubt that had been clouding his brain was all but gone.

He knew you hadn’t forgotten about him—in his heart, he knew it, but getting verbal confirmation of it was much needed. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snaps. “I just-just tell me something. Tell me something I can bring back to Francis, anything, I just-

Dazai’s gaze flickers up curiously, watching as Lucy straightens, inhaling sharply as she tries to hide the tears of frustration that suddenly clouded her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, she gnaws at her trembling bottom lip as she forces herself to settle down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

‘I was,’ he remembers her saying, and realizes instantly why she came down here.

“You want something to bring back to Fitzgerald so you can get yourself out of the doghouse,” he drawls, eyes flicking over her. Her face flushes red, lips parting to protest Dazai’s words but nothing escapes them. “You want to know my opinion?” 

“I want information,” Lucy says. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I think that’s pathetic,” he shrugs, ignoring her. Lucy’s lips part in disbelief, but Dazai continues before she can say anything. “It is. You’re sneaking down here to beg me for information that you can bring back up to your boss because he demoted you… for what, exactly? Didn’t bring him the right food?”

Lucy swallows thickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I lost a fight,” she whispers. “I lost a fight to one of your people, and I lost everything. I worked so hard to get where I was. So hard. Harder than you could ever understand and-”

“I don’t care,” Dazai says, turning away from her. “If you want my opinion, if you got demoted to being a housekeeper because you lost one fight, you have a shitty boss and should probably find somewhere else to work instead of begging for scraps just to be treated like shit.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything else after that, and makes a show of not looking at her to make sure she knows the conversation is over. Luckily, she gives him no grief over it—in an instant, he hears the door slamming as she storms out of his room and Dazai lets out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Tired, lonely, and missing you so badly that it almost makes him ache.

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

You’ve been waiting in one of the larger rooms in the Mafia headquarters for twenty minutes now—the smell of paint is giving you a headache and the sheer insult happening before your eyes is nearly enough to send you over the edge. Ilya Repin has the audacity to keep his back turned to both you and Chuuya even when Tolstoy introduces you to him. He sits on his stool and continues to paint his canvas, ignoring the two of you quite blissfully: he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t greet you, doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Tolstoy is becoming increasingly more embarrassed if his red ears and apologetic looks have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if any number of apologies will save him from Chuuya’s righteous wrath at this point, because if you are irritated then he is downright murderous. 

You watch your fellow executive from the corner of your eye as his eye twitches and his lip curls up. The thin thread of control he has snaps as his tongue kisses the back of his teeth and he starts to storm forward. You stop him quickly, grabbing his wrist and giving him a sharp look.

“He-” Chuuya begins to hiss at you, but you only raise your hand to quiet him down and move forward yourself.

You don’t know if you’re making a mistake by forcing Repin’s hand before he’s ready to help, but you do know that you’re tired and you need Dazai back desperately. It’s been over a week now and if Fitzgerald has been half as aggressive with him as you have been with Zelda, then you know that he’s been playing mind games with Dazai. And Dazai is smart, yes, but how long can someone hold out when given no hope or reason to?

It takes ten long strides for you to cross the room, placing yourself between Repin and the canvas he’s working on. The man pauses, paint brush inches from your cheek, and then looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in my way,” he notes astutely.

“And you are in mine,” you counter with a thin smile. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Ilya Repin is not what you expected. From how Tolstoy described him, you expected an old stubborn coot who had one foot in the grave and acted like each day was his last on earth. Instead, you’re met with a man who can’t be much older than you—with tousled brown hair and light blue eyes, you’d think he was pretty if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He looks down at you with a pinched expression, like he’s considering painting right over your face, but after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a dramatic sigh and glares at Tolstoy over his shoulder.

“I told you not to let anyone bother me until I was done,” he complains, rolling his eyes. You watch as Chuuya’s eyes bulge at the way Repin dismisses you, a familiar red glow flickering around his fists, but Tolstoy responds to Repin before the artist can find himself splattered on his own painting.

“Ilya.” Tolstoy spits out something in such rapid-fire Russian that even you can’t catch what he said. Whatever it is, it makes Repin roll his eyes again before turning to you with a smile that’s too sweet for comfort.

“Her Highness finally decides to grace me with her presence. Honestly, I thought you’d be down here days ago—you’re awfully patient for someone whose lover’s life is on the line… Unless, you don’t actually love him? But then why go through all of this trouble?” Repin hums, leaning forward so close that it has you taking a step back, forgetting that his painting is behind you. His hand darts out to curl around the back of your neck, stopping you from hitting the wet paint while at the same time forcing you even closer to him. He looks down at you through his lashes, nose nearly brushing yours as he says, “Don’t mess up my painting.”

You click your tongue and step away from him, careful not to let it show just how disconcerted you are by his casual disrespect. Chuuya looks like he’s on the verge of bringing the whole building down, Tolstoy has left a wide berth between the two of them as the gravity manipulator becomes more and more vexed by his subordinate. You give him a look to tell him that it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem to ease him in the slightest.

“You’re lucky that you’re Leo’s cousin,” you finally say, giving Repin an equally saccharine smile as you stand a few feet away from him. He finally spins in his stool to turn his back to his painting and his attention onto you, a curious expression on his face as he looks down at you. “I’ve had people’s tongues taken for less.”

“What a waste that would be, my tongue could be used for things much more pleasurable than glossectomy,” Repin replies easily, tone laced with innuendo as his lips curl up into an amused smirk. 

Unbothered, you amend your statement. “Your hands, then—a fitting punishment for a painter, I think.”

Unfortunately, Repin is equally unphased, holding his hands out as his smile widens. “But then of what use would I be to you? I thought you needed my ability,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain what exactly his ability is because Tolstoy thought it would be better coming from the ability user himself. The man sighs and hops off of his stool, speaking as he starts to put away his painting equipment.

“Essentially, I can take memories from people and store them in my paintings,” Repin explains, walking over to a covered painting and pulling the cloth off of it, revealing a scene of a midnight rendezvous between two lovers. “This is a favor I did for an acquaintance. He was cheating on his wife, his wife figured it out and was going to grill him, he asked me to remove his memories of his mistress so his wife didn’t realize he was lying. I don’t really like him, so I keep the painting on me and light the bottom on fire whenever he irritates me.”

“What does that do?” Chuuya asks, side-eyeing the painting before turning his attention to Repin distrustfully.

Repin gives him a once over before looking back at you pointedly. You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know that he must be livid, so you give Repin an equally pointed look and wait for him to answer Chuuya’s question.

Repin sighs. “Burning the painting returns the memories to whoever they’d been taken from, so whenever I light the bottom on fire. He starts to get that looming feeling that he’s forgotten something important. He’s tortured with that feeling of something being on the tip of your tongue but unable to fully remember it. He calls me all wound up about it whenever I do… I think I might be his only friend, which is kind of sad considering I can hardly stand the sight of him…”

He’s rambling more to himself now than to you, frowning as he taps the tip of one of his paint brushes to his chin. You press your lips together as you think—removal is good, you need to have Fitzgerald’s memories of Dazai gone, along with any other of his subordinates that might’ve seen or met him.

But you need more than removal.

“What about implanting memories?” you ask, interrupting his stream of babbles. He casts you a curious look. “You can remove, but can you implant new ones to take the place of old ones?”

He studied you now, an intrigued expression on his face as if he’s seeing you in a new light. “I’ve done it once,” he says after a few moments. “It’s a far more… demanding process.”

“How so?”

“I need to have a painting ready for it,” he says. “More than that, I need a scene. A story. Every painting has a story—that’s the theory my ability is built on. Memories are stories that can be captured in paintings. I need to have the same depth of detail that a memory would have to make a painting that can be implanted as one. It’s much harder than you’d think. One lack of detail, one inconsistency, it could throw everything off, and once someone becomes suspicious that an implanted memory is a false one, it unravels. I burn the paintings here to return stolen memories; they, figuratively, burn the implanted memories in their mind once they start getting suspicious.”

Not quite as reliable as you’d hope, but you can make it work. You have to make it work. You’re running out of time, each day that passes—each hour that passes… You need to make your move, and you need to do it as soon as possible.

“If I can give you a detailed story, how long would it take you to create a painting that can be implanted as a memory?” you question.

Repin smiles, tilting his head to the side. “With the right muse? A couple of hours,” he murmurs.

Finally, you think. The relief that hits you is almost debilitating; you let out a sigh as you nod, giving Chuuya a long look. For the first time since your arrest, you feel an inkling of hope; you see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, shattering the long night that’s been hanging over you.

The end is in sight. You’ll have Dazai back before nightfall. 

“Good,” you say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Have everything ready to start.”

You don’t bother to listen to the response, turning on your heel to leave the room. You have one last thing to take care of with Zelda, and then, you can sit down with Repin to finish up the final preparations. It’s almost vindicating when you pull out your phone to send a location and time to Fitzgerald.

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

“I was sleeping,” Dazai says irritably. He wasn’t sleeping, but they don’t need to know that. Twain and James are the ones unfortunately gracing him with their presence, which is odd considering they’ve never shown up at the same before. “What?”

“Up,” Twain says, clapping his hands together twice as he ushers Dazai out of bed. “C’mon, kid. Francis is waiting. Let’s go.”

Dazai scowls when Twain grabs his bicep to pull him off the bed, slapping away the other man’s hand. His skin crawls where his fingers had once been—Dazai has never enjoyed physical touch, not until he met you, but even then it’s limited to you and you alone.

He misses you.

A heavy air settles around him as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t know why he’s started to descend into such a depressive spiral since Lucy’s departure from the room, he thought he would be happy knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him, but he’s only become increasingly more despondent. 

His fingers feel numb and clunky as he pulls on a pair of shoes—you bought him them. You bought him everything he’s wearing right now, actually. Despite the fact that Fitzgerald has brought Dazai several new pairs of clothes to wear, he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he’d arrived in. He’s sure it smells terribly and he must look like a mess, but Dazai’s mind has always been cruel and now more than ever, it enjoys playing tricks on him.

He’s never slept well before. Usually he doesn’t sleep at all, but when he does, he’s plagued with nightmares. The past few days, weeks, however long he’s been here, it’s been no different. When he sleeps—which is frustratingly often because of the head injury he received the day they kidnapped him—he wakes from long, vivid nightmares of lives where he never met you. He wakes entirely convinced that the entire past few months with you was just an elaborate dream that his mind made up to torture him, that you don’t exist, that you’re just a figment of his imagination created to show him a life that he could’ve had if he were more normal.

It’s only the physical evidence of you that drags him out of a dangerous spiral—the clothes you bought him, the lingering scent of you on him, and the few marks that remain on his body from the night spent with you in the cabin. But your scent is fading and the marks are disappearing, so all he has is the clothes on his back to remind him that you’re real, you’re alive, you’ll come for him.

You’ll come for him. 

“Where are we going?” Dazai finally asks, finishing getting on his shoes, but he doesn’t budge as he stares at the two of them, waiting for a response. They don’t give him one. He wonders if the Guild is done with him, if they’re skipping over torture and going right to execution. “Hello? I asked a question.”

“I told ya,” Twain tells him, stepping out of the room and raising his eyebrows, urging him to move along. “To Francis.”

“But why?” Dazai presses. “Why didn’t he come here? Where are we going?”

Twain and James share a long look, like they don’t want to explain to Dazai where they’re going. And-

And Dazai doesn’t dare get his hopes up—he knows better—but it’s impossible to stop the way his body physically reacts to the realization he just came to. His throat swells and he works on over time trying to stop the way his heart suddenly starts racing. He can’t.

Twain would’ve eagerly told him if they were marching him off to be executed; he’s been gloating over the fact that you ‘left him to rot’ since you were released from prison. If this were the Guild getting rid of him, Twain would be just as vocal about that, but it’s not, so could it be…? 

He stares at the two members of the Guild. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he waits to see what they say.

It’s an eternity before Twain rolls his eyes and says, “Seems your girl didn’t forget about you. She called for a parley. We’re going out to meet her.”

Dazai lets out a wavering puff of air, one that he can’t bite back. The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipates, after what seems like weeks of darkness and despair, Dazai finally sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I told you,” he tells them, voice a bit more breathless than he meant for it to be. “I told you she’d come. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Twain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Get moving,” he snips, forcing Dazai out of the room and leading him down unfamiliar halls. Dazai is quick to map out the place, noting all of the twists and turns just in case he somehow ends back up here. He’ll get out on his own if he has to, he’s not spending another night in this place. “Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she’ll be able to come to an agreement with Francis.”

Dazai is a bit too smug as he says, “If she reaches out to meet you, then it’s already over. She wouldn’t have reached out to meet you if she wasn’t sure things would land in her favor, otherwise she would’ve reached out days ago.”

It’s the truth—Dazai knows it. His faith in you wasn’t misplaced, never has been and never will be. You just needed time to make sure everything was in place because you didn’t want to find yourself on unequal grounds during the negotiation. He almost feels giddy as he follows Twain and James out of the building, walking in the direction of a long black car.

Their base is in one of the southern wards, he recognizes immediately. Sakae or Totsuka… maybe Kanazawa. It’s in a residential district, and there's a road sign to Kamakura, so he must be in Sakae or the southern part of Totsuka. His gaze flickers back over to the two escorting him, wondering why they wouldn’t have blindfolded him before leading him out of the building.

Maybe they think it doesn’t matter—they don’t intend on coming back to this base for whatever reason after their meeting with you, or maybe… Dazai’s gaze lingers on the side of Twain’s face, noting the way his jaw is tight and his eyes keep flickering around aimlessly. He looks over to James, seeing the larger man in a similar state.

“You’re nervous,” Dazai voices, still entirely too smug. When Twain doesn’t respond, only giving him a sharp side-eye, he realizes that his assumption was right, and it makes him even more amused. As he gets into the black car, he gives the man a simpering smile before saying, “Good, you should be.”

Fitzgerald is already in the car waiting for them. He’s so hyper-focused on his phone that he doesn’t even realize the three of them entered the car until Twain says something. Dazai should probably be paying attention to what they’re saying, but he finds himself dizzy over the thought of seeing you again. 

When the car starts moving, his heart starts racing. He doesn’t know where they’re meeting you, but it can’t possibly be more than a thirty minute drive and that means he’s thirty minutes from seeing you again after days—weeks, maybe—of isolation. He finds himself nervous, almost, because he doesn’t really know what to expect from you—are you mad at him for what happened? Do you still want to be with him? Dazai is unsure because he thinks that even if you did want nothing to do with him anymore, you’d still make sure to protect him if he got caught up in this.

He chews the inside of his cheek, doubt whittling away at his excitement; he’s only drawn back to the present when Fitzgerald responds to something that Twain says.

“I haven’t heard from Zelda today,” he murmurs, looking a bit unsure. “She usually calls when she wakes up in the morning.”

Zelda, Dazai notes the name down, recalling that Lucy had mentioned it too and thinking back to the comment Fitzgerald had made during the second conversation he had with him. I’ve only met one other… you remind me much of her. His gaze flickers down to the man’s left hand, seeing the gold wedding band sitting on his ring finger.

Fitzgerald notices Dazai’s lingering gaze and sighs before looking away, staring out the windshield as the driver continues down the road in the direction of Nishi-ku. After a few moments, he says quietly, “Zelda is my wife… All of this, it’s for her.”

His tone is solemn, eyes heavy as he stares ahead. Dazai tilts his head to the side as he studies the older man, curious. “All of this?” he asks dryly. “You kidnapped me because of your wife?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curve up into a resigned smile. “Yes,” he says. Dazai’s brows furrow, mind racing as he tries to put together the few puzzle pieces he’s been given. What does his endeavor in Yokohama and with the Port Mafia have anything to do with his wife? He’s missing something. “I’ve done terrible things in the name of love, I’ve gone well past the point of no return. I have to see things through now.”

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu. I have done terrible things for you, and I would do them again and again and again.”

Dazai misses you. The reminder of your words from the beach house makes his body ache with longing. Yet, Fitzgerald’s words don’t settle well with Dazai. They make his skin crawl with nerves, itching uncomfortably beneath his bandages—he needs to replace them, he’s hadn’t had the chance to change them since the Guild kidnapped him. They’re all yellowed and grimy now, and they’re almost intolerable against his skin. He wants to go home. Wants to be with you. 

“What do you mean?” Dazai presses. “What does this have anything to do with your wife?”

Dazai figured that the Guild was just trying to expand into Japan and wanted their first foothold to be in Yokohama to unseat the Port Mafia as the reigning leaders of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld… but what would that have to do with his wife? It doesn’t make sense. There’s something he’s missing, something that runs deeper than just territorial conflicts. 

Before Fitzgerald can answer, Twain clears his throat, giving Dazai a suspicious look before speaking to his boss. “I’m sure Zelda is fine,” Twain says. “The nights have been getting longer and colder back home, she always gets more quiet when winter comes around.”

Any disposition Fitzgerald might’ve had to answer Dazai’s questions is gone as the man sighs and leans back in his chair. Dazai shoots Twain a dirty look, to which he receives an entirely too smug one. Bitter and irritated, he hopes that you humble the redhead severely in the meeting.

“You’re right,” Fitzgerald says more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll see if J.D. can stop by the high-rise after this meeting, he offered to check in on her since he decided not to come along.”

Fitzgerald doesn’t seem inclined to continue any conversation at all. He looks out the window of the passenger seat and a tense silence falls over the car—Dazai is wildly uncomfortable between Twain and James. He can feel both of their thighs bumping against his with each turn the car takes and the forced physical contact makes all of this even more unbearable. 

The seconds feel like hours, the minutes feel like days. When the car finally pulls to a stop, Dazai is itching to claw past Twain so he can have fresh air and personal space. The other man takes far too long to open the door—Dazai thinks it’s on purpose from the way he gives him an entertained look. Dazai scowls at Twain and shoulders right past him, frustrated and antsy, and then-

And then he sees you.

Dazai’s breath catches when he steps out of the car, nearly tripping over his foot when he realizes that you’re standing outside of the teahouse. There are two people on either side of you, but he’s tunnel-visioned on you and you alone. The world could be burning around him and all he would be able to see was you.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful now when he’s been deprived of the sight of you for so long. The sun is setting over the bay and Dazai thinks he could drown in the image of you, that he could die happy now that he’s seen you again. You’re dressed neatly in a suit and your expression is cold and closed off, but he can see the way your eyes soften as soon as he’s in sight and it makes his whole body warm with a comfort he’s been so awfully deprived of the past few weeks.

He loves you. He’s missed you. The apology that he’s been rehearsing every day since he was kidnapped threatens to burst from his lips along with everything he wished he said to you but thought he’d never have the chance to. He refrains, if only barely, because he knows now isn't the time for this, not in this setting, but he itches to be at your side, to feel your skin on his again. 

“Don’t try anything funny, yeah?” Twain says with an unkind smile as he nudges Dazai forward. He feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to his lower back, a silent threat for if he was thinking about running to your side.

Fitzgerald walks in front of the three of them, stopping at the bottom of the stairs you’re standing on—a power play, Dazai recognizes, you on a higher ground forcing them to crane their necks to look up at you. Now that Dazai is only partially dazzled by your appearance, he recognizes Nakahara Chuuya and Piano Man on either side of you. The three of you seem to be purposely blocking the entrance of the teahouse and don’t make any effort to move once Dazai and three members of the Guild start making their way to you.

“Do you intend for us to parley out in the open? I would’ve thought that the Port Mafia would appreciate discretion more than that,” Fitzgerald notes dryly.

“I’m afraid we will not be parleying under the current circumstances,” you sigh, and your voice. God, your voice is heavenly, he’s missed it desperately. “You send your… guest over to the car waiting right over there, and then we can talk.”

Hm? Dazai watches curiously, wondering what you’re playing at. There’s no way that the Guild will just hand over their leverage before going into a negotiation, even Dazai knows that much. He knows that you wouldn’t have called this meeting unless you got yourself on even footing with them, but even footing wouldn’t be enough to force Fitzgerald to hand his only advantage over to you. Unless… 

“Unfortunately, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Fitzgerald says with a thin smile. “Once we’ve come to an understanding, I’ll be happy to return your lover to you.”

Lover, Dazai thinks a bit dreamily as if he’s not currently a hostage.

You let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a kind one. Dazai snaps himself out of the borderline trance he was in because of how he was addressed when he hears it, gaze flickering back over to you. The smile on your face is small, but equally unkind, like you know something that Fitzgerald doesn’t. From the way Fitzgerald stiffens, he seems to realize that too.

“I fear that I’m the only one in any position to be making demands,” you say light-heartedly. Dazai watches as you slide something off of the ring finger of your left hand, brows furrowing as you hold up a ring between your thumb and pointer finger, showcasing it for Fitzgerald. “Beautiful ring, truly… You must really love her.”

You flick the ring toward them carelessly. Dazai watches as it bounces against the ground with a soft plink once, then twice, and then everything descends into chaos around him. 

His eyes widen as a gold glow emanates from around Fitzgerald—within a blink, he’s in front of you, Chuuya and Piano Man, fist raised as he threatens to land a devastating blow onto you. Dazai’s lips part in a cry that doesn’t even have the chance to escape his lips because Chuuya is instantly between the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow activated as he throws Fitzgerald back roughly into the road. 

The gun that had been pressed to Dazai’s back is now at his temple, and as Fitzgerald rises back to his feet, you raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Careful now,” you say, an amused lilt to your tone. “We don’t want things to get violent before negotiations even start. Zelda is a lovely woman, I’d hate for something to happen to her.”

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, voice strained, but he deactivates his ability, expression hard as he glares at you. “She has nothing to do with any of this. She-”

“Neither did he,” you interrupt, the easy tone replaced with a much colder one. “Let him go, and then you can come in and we can talk.”

The standstill that takes feels like an eternity. James and Twain stare at Fitzgerald, waiting for orders, and Fitzgerald stares at you, angry and frustrated. It’s almost odd seeing the suave and collected man that’s held him captive the past few days acting like a cornered animal. Dazai supposes he can’t blame him—if he’s done all of this for his wife only for you to now have her as a hostage… Dazai would pity him if he still wasn’t so bitter about the head wound and weeks of captivity. 

Finally, Fitzgerald nods. After a moment’s hesitation and with a conflicted expression, Twain drops the gun that’s pointed at his head. Fitzgerald is stiff as he makes his way forward, Twain and James a step behind him, leaving Dazai standing alone at the bottom of the steps of the teahouse.

You smile thinly as you step out of the way for them, letting them walk into the building. “Good choice,” you say quietly, mockingly because you know that he didn’t have another choice. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a quick look with you before following the Guild members into the building, leaving you alone outside with him. Dazai stares up at you, all of his practiced words failing him, he wants to walk up the stairs to you but his legs are rooted to the ground. He doesn’t need to move though, because as soon as the doors shut behind them, you’re rushing down from your high ground to him.

Dazai nearly collapses into you as soon as he feels your arms around him. One arm curls around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wraps around his waist to hold him steady when he leans his full body weight onto you. He has so much he wants to say to you, but he can’t even speak a single word—his breath is ragged and his nails bite into the back of your suit jacket, face pressed in the crook of your neck.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for running out on you, I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I’m-

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Your voice cracks over your words and Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows back a lump. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, voice muffled against your skin. His lashes flutter as his eyes slide shut, basking in the familiarity of your arms. For the first time in weeks, Dazai feels safe, he feels warm, he feels like he’s home. “I knew you would come.”

Your arms tighten around him and Dazai almost wants to ask you to skip the meeting with the Guild and come home with him. He doesn’t—mostly because he doesn’t think he has any grounds to ask you to do anything after everything that’s happened, but also because a part of him worries that you might agree to it and he knows this meeting is critical. 

When you pull away from him, Dazai barely bites back a protest but he can’t stop the way his face drops as soon as your arms drop from around him. You notice, a soft smile curling at your lips as you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Dazai leans into your touch, eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dazai whispers after a few moments. He’s always struggled with apologies, and even now, the words taste like ash in his mouth, but he forces them out. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, I-”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, not even letting him finish. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have let the argument escalate the way it did, I knew better. What happened isn’t your fault.”

Dazai begs to differ. Your words don’t ease his guilt, but he doesn’t want to argue with you about it, so he lets it drop. His eyes flutter shut again when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, fingers carding absently through the tips of his hair. He doesn’t want to leave you again, almost wants to ask if he could stay for the meeting, but again, he doesn’t.

“Atsushi and Kyouka are going to go back to the apartment with you,” you finally tell him what he’s been dreading, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you send him off. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, a bit more dramatic than he intended, and you give him a fond smile.

“I left some crab linguine in the microwave for you,” you add. Dazai lights up at the mention of his favorite food—he hasn't had crab since the night he was kidnapped by the Guild. “Go, the quicker I can get this over with, the quicker we can get home and curl up in bed together.”

Dazai makes a show of pouting and being unhappy, but he does step away from you in the direction of the car. He doesn’t get out of arm’s reach before he’s pausing and looking at you again, you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I love you,” he says very softly, almost like he’s hesitant. Not hesitant in his love for you, just hesitant voicing the words out loud when he knows how much the world likes to fuck with him. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he said it first.

You give him a small, adoring smile. “I love you too, Osamu.”

Dazai lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way over to the car. As his fingers curl around the handle of the door, he pauses and looks back at you, remembering something crucial that he’d been meaning to tell you, calling your name.

“Yeah?” you ask with a frown, looking a bit concerned.

“The Guild isn’t working alone,” he says. “Fitzgerald… he mentioned that he had allies, referred to them as rats that he didn’t trust not to be spying on conversations. He also knows what your ability is, one of your executives is feeding information to him and the Ivory Eagle.”

Your expression shifts into a more unreadable one, gaze shifting from him to look out at the horizon. “Rats, hm?” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Dazai isn’t sure what you mean by that, but he figures he’ll bother you for more information when he gets the chance later. He gets into the car with another quiet goodbye, hardly paying attention as Atsushi and Kyouka greet him. His eyes stay on you even as the car pulls away, and you don’t budge from your spot at the bottom of the steps until the car is out of sight.

Somehow, Dazai still has a looming feeling that he’s not out of the woods yet.

—

You enter the teahouse a few moments after the car disappears around the bend leading to the main street of Nishi-ku. The air is brisk and familiar, you’ve spent many days and nights at this teahouse dealing with business for the Mafia. It's your favorite place to bring adversaries for negotiations—the owners are always quick to accommodate you even for last minute meetings, and they’re pleasant enough company when you’re there early waiting for the other party. 

Despite having seen and held Dazai, you still somehow feel discouraged. There’s an unexplainable heaviness in your chest as you make your way into the private room in the back of the teahouse, closing the door quietly behind you.

Chuuya and Piano Man sit on either side of the empty chair left for you; Fitzgerald opposite you with his two lackeys on either side of him. An executive of the Family sits at the head of the negotiation table—originally, you wanted Tolstoy to oversee the negotiation, but you figured that Fitzgerald would be at ease with a more neutral party as the host, and two executives of the Family were already in Yokohama to meet with Piano Man. While the Family is definitely more aligned with the Port Mafia, they also have significant business endeavors in Guild territory, whereas the whole world knows that the Three Deaths and the Port Mafia are pretty much extensions of each other because of your relationship with Tolstoy.

The Family executive is a young woman—you recognize her vaguely, most of your meetings have been with Goldoni himself, but she usually follows along like a silent shadow. You think Goldoni has her set to take over as the next ‘Father’ after him. Regardless, as soon as you take your seat at the negotiation table, she looks at you, waiting for you to begin the discussions. 

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

“Where is she?” Fitzgerald interrupts, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “Where is my wife?” 

The executive of the Family turns an unimpressed look onto Fitzgerald. What a fumble, you think, amused. Negotiations aren’t just political devices to create a space for peaceful conferences between rival factions, they’re also used as avenues that can make or break alliances. Disrespect the mediator of the negotiation and you might just find yourself on the outs of the entire organization—the mediator chooses who gives the first dialogue of the negotiation, you don’t ignore that unless you want to piss people off.

You raise your eyebrows at Fitzgerald. “I didn’t say I would give her back to you if you let him go. I said we would talk.”

Fitzgerald slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. His two subordinates share a look with one another, and you feel Chuuya’s hand rest on your knee, ready to activate his ability at a moment’s notice if Fitzgerald tries to attack you.

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, jaw tight and voice rough, clearly trying to restrain himself. “I let him go, so give me her back.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and then you say, “No.”

Chuuya doesn’t sigh, he knows better than to not show a united front at the negotiation table, but you know that even though he knows this is necessary, he doesn’t like it. Still, you find yourself enjoying it—what Fitzgerald is feeling right now, you’ve felt for almost two weeks. You’ve never claimed to not be vindictive. 

Your smile widens a bit when Fitzgerald stares at you, expression entirely unreadable. You raise your hands up casually as you shrug, finding the whole situation entertaining. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask, amusement clear in your tone. “I never would’ve given Dazai up in your position. Much less without even getting a promise out of me to get your own hostage freed. That’s crazy.”

You almost expect Fitzgerald to launch himself right at you, no ability activated, just throwing hands, but after what feels like an eternity, he sits back down, back rigid and teeth grinding together. 

“What do you want then?” Fitzgerald asks, his voice is still strained but he’s calmer now.

“Why are you in Yokohama?” Instead of telling him what you want, you hit him with a question yourself, watching him carefully. Now that he’s calmer, your ability starts to go to work—not nearly enough to override how on edge he is because of the situation with his wife, but enough for you to work with. “We both know this isn’t about territory, Fitzgerald-san. Let’s start this off right; tell me what you’re really here for, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

Fitzgerald’s subordinates share a look with one another, and Fitzgerald himself does not seem keen on answering your question. Interesting, you think, what’s so important that it makes him hesitate even under these circumstances? This is something big, it has to be, especially if Dazai heard correctly and Dostoevsky is involved—that man only ever gets involved with conflicts that have high stakes that he knows he can win, and that doesn’t bode well for you. 

“It is about territory to some extent,” Fitzgerald finally says, resigned. When you narrow your eyes, he shakes his head and continues. “We’re looking for something here in Yokohama. So yes, we were trying to get a foothold in the city so we would have an easier time looking.”

What?

You can feel both Piano Man and Chuuya give you a sharp look, but you keep your gaze trained on Fitzgerald. Your mind races trying to figure out what he means by this, but you just don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together. You need to press for more. 

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

Fitzgerald stares at you, lips pressed together, expression cold and conflicted. You stare right back, unrelenting. After a few moments, he shakes his head and says, “A book.”

“A book?” you echo. 

“A book,” Fitzgerald confirms. “A reality altering book.”

“What?” Piano Man asks sharply, unable to help himself. You give him a look from the corner of your eye—only the two people sitting in the central seats are supposed to speak during negotiations, but you honestly can’t blame him, because you don’t fully understand what Fitzgerald just said to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly. “A reality altering book here in Yokohama? Where did you hear this from? How do you know it’s real?” 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky of the House of the Dead-” You almost roll your eyes. Of course, it’s him. You’re glad you decided to go with the route you did now. “-approached me about it. It’s something that I simply can’t let pass me by… my daughter…”

Fitzgerald’s face twists in pain; you almost feel bad for everything you’ve done with Zelda. Almost. His two subordinates—Twain and James—lower their gaze to the table, frowning. After a few moments of silence, and carefully constructing a question to figure out if this ‘reality altering book’ might be real’, you speak again.

“And how do you know this book is real? I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t start a full blown war over what could just be a wild goose hunt, what makes you think this thing actually exists?” 

“James was with me when I spoke to Dostoevsky, his ability allows him to decipher whether or not someone is lying. More than that, I’ve seen the Book at work,” Fitzgerald says. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise at his words, more so at the fact that he doesn’t seem to be lying. “Dostoevsky… he has one page of this Book. To prove its ability, and to secure an alliance with the Order of the Clocktower and the Guild, he used a section of it. The Book is real, I was promised a page of it to bring my daughter back if I helped Dostoevsky retrieve it.”

What the fuck. 

You stare at Fitzgerald, careful to keep any emotion off your face even though you’re full of turmoil on the inside. If there’s even a chance that Fitzgerald is telling the truth and there’s now a reality altering Book at play, and not only that, if Dostoevsky already has a page of it, that changes everything. There’s no telling what has or has not been altered, the entire truth of this reality is at question. How much damage could be done with a single page? How does it work? There’s too many variables. 

It might not even be real, you think, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Dostoevsky is notoriously manipulative, there’s always a chance that he manufactured the existence of this book to get Fitzgerald and Christie to do his dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled something like that—he could’ve used someone else’s ability to make it seem like the page of the Book altered reality to ‘prove it’ to the two other leaders… but somehow you have a feeling that might not be the case. 

“What does the Book have to do with the weretiger you put the bounty on?” you ask. 

You’re starting to feel a bit anxious—this is way more than you anticipated, and there’s so many bad implications that you almost feel overwhelmed, but now’s not the time to let it get to you. You need to focus, you can’t afford to shut down. You need to understand what’s happening before finishing up this negotiation, especially now that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie are seemingly involved. 

“We were told that the weretiger is essential in finding the Book,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “I wasn’t told more than that. I intended on getting my hands on him to figure out why.”

Atsushi doesn’t know anything about this Book. The first thing you did when you got ahold of him was interrogate him for any reason the Guild might’ve put so high of a bounty on his head. Your mind drifts back to Dazai’s theory—that maybe the tiger is a separate consciousness, maybe the tiger knows something about the Book, but you’re not going to voice your theories now. You’ll talk about it with Chuuya and Piano Man later.

“I see,” you say with a thin smile. “How enlightening.”

“Where’s my wife?” Fitzgerald asks again. “I told you everything you want, I-”

“I didn’t promise to give you your wife back if you answered my questions,” you tell him dryly, tone a bit mocking. “That’s twice now. You’d think you would learn.”

You almost commend Fitzgerald for not instantly snapping at you. He stares at you, expression tight and voice strained as he speaks, “Tell me what you want for my wife. Enough of this.”

You watch him listlessly for a few moments, trying to decide if there’s any more pressing information that you should get for him. You’ll have a chance later, but you need to figure out if there’s anything more that might affect the plan you’ve concocted with Tolstoy and Repin. You don’t think there is, and you have to be careful with what you say anyway considering the human lie detector is sitting right next to Fitzgerald, so after a hesitation that lasts too long for Fitzgerald’s comfort, you finally give him your answer.

“How many of your subordinates are aware of Dazai’s existence?”

“Just the three of us,” Fitzgerald replies. Your eyes narrow, so he continues, “I didn’t want it to get out to Dostoevsky. I was worried he would capitalize on the situation before I could. These two were only made aware because they were the ones I had bring him in.”

“Is that so?” you ask coolly. “And which one was the one that left the massive bruise on the side of his face?” 

You don’t get a response, you don’t expect to, but you do catch the way that both glance at the man sitting on the left—Henry James. Your gaze slides from the man over to the far right corner where Akutagawa is standing; Klaus is in the far left one, but Akutagawa will be more brutal if you let him off his leash for this, and you want him to suffer. The boy catches your gaze and gives an imperceptible nod, acknowledging your silent request.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say even though you’ve gotten your answer. “I’ll release Zelda to you, but there’s one non-negotiable condition to it.”

“Tell me it,” Fitzgerald demands. “I’ll do it.”

You lean back in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you study him for a moment, and then you tell him, “You’ll meet with a friend of mine. He has an ability that allows him to alter memories. All memories of Dazai will be removed.”

The room goes silent at once. The redhead, Twain, stiffens in his seat and casts a justifiably wary look toward Fitzgerald who looks caught off guard by the request. You imagine that he probably assumed you would demand he stops working with Dostoevsky and leaves Yokohama. You don’t need to demand that, because that will come as soon as Repin does his job… but Fitzgerald doesn’t know that, of course. 

“How do I know you won’t mess with other things in my head? That you’ll only remove those memories?” Fitzgerald asks tightly.

Originally, you planned on lying and telling him that Repin’s ability didn’t have the power to do anything more than memory removal, but you can’t do that with Henry James sitting next to Fitzgerald, so you're forced to pivot.

You shrug and say, “You’ll have to trust me not to.”

Fitzgerald stares at you, and it feels like hours even though it’s only been a few passing seconds, but when he speaks, you feel as though you’ve won. 

“Fine,” Fitzgerald agrees, expression pinched and conflicted, swallowing thickly. “Fine.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile when you realize he’s decided to trust you—not that there was much of a choice for him if he ever wanted to see his wife again. 

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

“So… uh,” a white-haired boy says awkwardly as soon as Dazai settles in the car next to him. A girl with black hair dressed in a red kimono sits on the other side of him, back stiff and expression eerily blank as she watches Dazai—she doesn’t blink, hardly breathes, Dazai is almost unnerved. “Don’t mind Kyouka. She takes our missions… really seriously, and you’re our mission right now, so…”

“I’m your mission?” Dazai asks dryly, sighing as he rests his head against the head rest, careful to not touch either of the teens sitting next to him. God, he’s tired of being around people, he just wants to curl up in bed. Preferably with you. 

“Mhm.” He nods his head a bit too enthusiastically. “Boss told us to make sure you get to her apartment. We’re gonna stay with you until she gets there.”

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

Evidently, it shows on his face because the boy cringes in on himself and says, “We’ll leave you be, I’m sure you’ve had an, uh, exhausting past two weeks. You won’t even know we’re there. Promise.”

Dazai side eyes him, noticing the way the boy stares ahead embarrassed as if contemplating all of the words he just spoke. He looks… normal for the most part—not like the girl sitting on Dazai’s other side, definitely not like that emo Akutagawa that trails after you like a lost dog, and certainly not like that unhinged brat Klaus who follows you around.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asks for a few moments, sparing the kid from his own thoughts. The kid looks at him startled as if he didn’t expect Dazai to willingly speak to him. “Well?”

“Ah-” he splutters out and then smiles a bit. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Just Atsushi is fine though. It’s nice to finally meet you, y’know, without the others around.” 

He lets out an awkward laugh and Dazai recalls the last time he saw the boy—he was with the other two outside of your building when Dazai first got the blackmail on you. Of the three of them, he seemed the most nervous. He’s met both Klaus and Akutagawa since then, unfortunately, but never him.

“That’s Kyouka-chan, by the way. She’s not much for conversation, but she’s great. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly the best situation, and boss has me training all the time to try to learn better control over my ability, and Kyouka’s always on missions for Kouyou-san so you probably haven’t met her yet.”

Dazai nods, although he’s not fully paying attention. “What’s your ability?” he asks absently, wishing he was sitting at the window so he could at least distract himself with the passing buildings. 

“I can, uh, turn into a tiger. I can’t control when though,” Atsushi explains, tossing Dazai a sheepish smile. “That’s why I’m always training. I need to be able to control it without relying on boss or, uh, the collar.”

“You’re the weretiger,” Dazai realizes, glancing at Atsushi and then down to the collar around his neck. He can’t tell from first glance what exactly it does, but before he can figure it out, the boy is speaking again.

“She’s mentioned me?” Atsushi leans forward, eyes wide. “What did she say? Did she say anything about how my training is going? She’s been so busy, I haven’t really been able to get any feedback from her, but I’ve made some progress with controlling my transformations… Kind of.”

“Uh,” Dazai says smartly. Weak-hearted, too soft, not fit for the Mafia. Atsushi's smile starts to drop, so Dazai quickly adds, “Yeah, she has. She’s noticed all of the work you’ve been doing. She’s impressed.”

Atsushi frowns and side eyes Dazai. “She’s never impressed with anything. You don’t need to lie.”

Dazai grimaces and decides not to argue. Instead, he asks, “How did you end up with the Port Mafia?”

“Oh, ah… it’s a long story,” Atsushi says, laughing awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I lived at an orphanage, but I got kicked out because there wasn’t enough food. Or well, actually it was probably because I was attacking people when I turned into a tiger at night. But it was for the best anyway! And, well, I ended up here in Yokohama, and I guess at night when I transformed, I started attacking Port Mafia warehouses. So boss sent Klaus and Akutagawa to, uh, kill me, I guess. Or capture me, maybe, for the bounty. I’m not sure now that I think about it; it felt like they wanted to kill me, but they’re both also always trying to kill everything, it’s just their natural state. But I wasn’t tiger-me when they got there, I was me-me, so they brought me back to her… um, and then I talked to her for a bit and she told me about the bounty, and then she fought the other executives to not hand me over to the Guild, and now I’m here.”

Dazai stares at Atsushi. “Wow,” he replies blandly. “Quite the story.” 

Atsushi flushes. “You asked,” he accuses, scowling at Dazai and looking away.

“Yes, very narrative, ten out of ten story-telling skills,” Dazai says with a simpering smile. He notices the stone-faced Kyouka’s lips curl up as she looks out the window, as if trying to hide it, so he considers it a win, even if Atsushi gives him an outraged look. “What?”

“We can’t all be literature majors, some of us spent our entire lives in an orphanage only to be kidnapped by the Mafia as soon as we got out,” Atsushi hisses, face still pink as he pointedly looks away from Dazai. 

“Actually, I’m a creative writing and classics double major if we’re being specific,” Dazai corrects with a sweet smile. “... How did you even know that?” 

Atsushi clicks his tongue and side-eyes Dazai. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Dazai squints at Atsushi, a bit insulted. “Where do you think I heard it from?”

You, Dazai realizes, lips curling up a little instinctively. He wonders how much you talk about him—Atsushi isn’t the first to throw in his face that he’s supposed to be smart. Klaus did when he first met Dazai outside your building, Chuuya has too. He imagines you must brag about him, and it makes Dazai’s chest feel warm and bubbly because he’s never had someone brag about him before. Never.

“You make her happy, y’know,” Atsushi says quietly. He’s not looking at Dazai, opting to stare out the window instead. “She’s… not as… Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You can’t just say that,” Dazai complains, interested in knowing what Atsushi was about to say about you, but the boy seals his lips shut and stares out the window. Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Hime is not as cruel as she pretends to be,” Dazai startles at the voice of a young girl, almost forgetting that Kyouka is on his opposite side. “She looks out for everyone, but doesn’t let anyone look out for her. Acts like she doesn’t care so no one cares about her, but she does. A lot. Ane-san worries about her, I can tell.”

Atsushi nods. “When she found out everything that… happened at the orphanage, she had the whole staff removed and replaced them. Made sure what happened to me didn’t happen to anyone else,” he says quietly, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Dazai isn’t sure what happened at the orphanage, but he doubts it was anything good. 

“Hime and Ane-san helped me figure out the truth of what happened to my parents,” Kyouka agrees softly. “Ane-san couldn’t have gotten the files without her help.”

“And she’s done stuff for Klaus and Akutagawa too,” Atsushi adds, “but she won’t let anyone else help her with anything. Not me, not Klaus or Akutagawa. Hardly even Executive Nakahara. She relies on you though, I think a lot more than she realizes… she’s not been good the past few weeks.”

Dazai’s expression drops, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor of the car. He’s wondered while he’s been captured how you might be doing. When he got really in his head, he imagined that you were doing perfectly fine without him, didn’t even care that he was gone. He thinks maybe he would’ve preferred that than to know that you haven’t been doing well, he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that you were hurting because of him and his stupid decisions.

He’ll just have to make it up to you, he decides. He’ll make it up to you once everything has calmed down. But how? He can’t buy you nice things like you do for him because he’s broke. If he tries to take you out somewhere to eat (not that he can even afford it), you wouldn’t let him pay the bill. Maybe… maybe he could show you what he’s been working on for his poetry workshop.

His face flames up at the thought, pushing it away immediately.

No, he’ll think of something else.

“Why is your face all red?” Kyouka suddenly asks, eyes sharp as she stares at him. “Are you ill? Did they poison you before releasing you? Look at me, I can call Doc-”

“I’m fine,” Dazai bristles, flustered. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Kyouka looks unconvinced, reaching forward to try to press her hand to Dazai’s forehead. Dazai leans back, almost into Atsushi, who yelps and worms away from him.

“Stop that,” he hisses, grateful when the car rolls to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your building. Dazai is climbing over a protesting Atsushi and pushing open the door before the car has even fully stopped. “Thank god.”

He almost trips and falls, foot catching on Atsushi’s leg as he stumbles out of the car. He ignores Atsushi and Kyouka rushing to scramble after him as he rushes into the building. He’s too eager to be back in your apartment, he has every intention of getting up there and locking himself in your bedroom until you get back. 

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

It’s almost too surreal for him to believe. He’d just about come to terms with the fact that he was never going to see you again, that his fate was in that cold and ugly room the Guild had him trapped in, but now he’s moments away from being back in the familiarity of your apartment. 

Moments away from being home. 

In a few hours, when you’re back, he’ll be able to curl up in your arm, he’ll be able to hear your voice, he’ll be able to be with you. He just wants to be with you. And he will be. Soon, he-

Dazai freezes when he takes a few steps into the lobby of your building and feels the muzzle of a gun press to his lower back. His eyes widen and he hears Atsushi and Kyouka skid to a stop a few steps behind him. He swallows thickly, realizing while he’d been lost in thought, he’d also lost track of his surroundings. 

There’s a group of unfamiliar people in the lobby of your building, all armed and all wearing strange collars around their necks. Not like the one Atsushi wears, these ones are large metal ones with a gem implanted in the middle. Your doorman, an older man named Hinata who Dazai has become acquainted with over the past two months, lays dead on top of his desk, hand still reaching out for his phone. 

“Who-”

“Shhh,” an equally unfamiliar voice says dismissively. It’s nasally and grating to the ears, Dazai already knows this man is going to be a piece of work. “Don’t speak, I want to get this done and over with.”

“Ace,” Atsushi shouts angrily. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him.”

“No can do, weretiger,” the same man, Ace, drawls. “On orders from the Boss. I suggest you step out of the way, I was told he needed to be alive… but anyone that tried… well, you see what happened to old man Hinata over here. Never liked him, thought because he answered directly to our precious hime that he was something special. He wasn’t. Neither are the two of you, so get out of the way so I can complete my mission, yeah? Yeah. Good.”

Atsushi and Kyouka don’t verbally respond, but they don’t need to. Kyouka seemingly responds well enough from the sound of her katana being drawn, Dazai wants to turn around to look, but the gun against his lower back stops him. He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to cry, of course things couldn’t be this easy. He should’ve known better.

Ace clicks his tongue and Dazai still can’t see him, but he can tell just from the mocking tone he uses that the man must have a really punchable face. “Careful, Kyouka-chan, you won’t be the only one getting in trouble for going against the boss’s direct orders. Little hime and Kouyou-san will face the consequences for your disobedience too. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Kyouka-chan, it’s okay,” Dazai says, voice deceptively even. “It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but if they’re not going to kill Dazai on the spot, then he can safely assume that they want something from him. That means he’ll have time to stall. Enough time for you to finish up the negotiations and get here. 

“But-”

“You heard it from the man himself,” Ace sings, forcing Dazai to turn around to walk right back the way he came. “Swords down and claws away, kids, and step over to the side so my men can make sure you don’t go and let our shining star know what’s happening too early, alright? Let’s give her time to handle things with the Guild so we don’t have to worry about those irritating Americans anymore.”

Dazai was right. Ace’s face is extremely punchable, and his hands twitch at his side when the man has the nerve to give Dazai a very smug smirk. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to knock that girl off her high horse for a long time. Longer than you can imagine,” he says wistfully. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to do it. Get moving.”

“She’s gonna kill you,” Dazai says quietly.

“And disobey a direct order from the Boss?” Ace mocks. “You must not know her as well as you thought you did. She’s like a loyal hound to that man. A real bitch if I do say so myself.”

Dazai’s body moves before he actually processes the words, arm shooting out and fist cracking against the man’s jaw hard. Dazai is almost proud of himself as he watches Ace crumple to the ground, groaning, realizing that even after all of this time, he can at least somewhat remember the self-defense lessons that Odasaku forced Dazai to take part in. Though he doesn’t have much time to bask in his pride, because for the second time in less than a month, his head is bashed in by a baton and he crumples to the ground hard.

Shit, he thinks, pain coursing through him as his vision starts to go black. This is bad. This is-

—

“Is it done?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Repin says, holding up his hand as he swiftly walks past you. “I have paintings to create. Too many memories are flooding my head right now, if I have to see that moron you call a boyfriend for longer than I have to, I will gouge my eyes out.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Don’t forget our deal,” Repin shouts as he leaves the room. “I’ll be cashing in on it. Those additions you asked for were not easy work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. “Go do what you need to do.”

Chuuya looks concerned. “Deal?” he demands. “What deal?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh, shaking your head and turning your gaze back to the one-way glass showing the room that Twain and Fitzgerald are sitting in.

The two are chatting with one another, oblivious to what just happened to them. Repin told you to give it a few minutes before going in, let their brain adjust to the new memories he implanted, but you’re impatient. You want to finish things up here so you can get to Dazai. You miss him desperately already—the few seconds you were able to hold him in your arms were simply not enough. Each passing minute without him now is agonizing.

Before you can spiral deeper into your thoughts, the doors to the room behind you open. Akutagawa and Klaus step into the room—an impassive look on the former’s face, as if his coat isn’t dripping blood onto the ground beneath him, and the latter has a wild smile on his face and an even wilder look in his eyes. Akutagawa evidently allowed the other boy to partake in the bloodshed considering Klaus’s face is smeared with an equally disturbing amount of blood.

“It has been done,” Akutagawa announces, raising his chin. “Henry James was killed.”

“Really fucking brutally too,” Klaus interjects with a laugh that almost disconcerts you. “Wanna come see?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Call the clean up crews.”

Klaus visibly pouts at your words, but Akutagawa nods and pulls out his phone, taking a step away. You turn your attention back to the room, lips pressed together. It’s… odd almost—Fitzgerald and Twain talk casually, not knowing that the negotiation that took place between the two of you even happened, not knowing that 

Not odd—scary. 

You’ve encountered all types of abilities before. Chuuya and Akutagawa have two of the most lethal abilities you’ve ever come across. Klaus’s ability has always disconcerted you with the way it takes and takes and takes from the boy, knowing that someday it would consume him entirely. There was a child you once met with an ability kind of like yours—a type of mental manipulation triggered by physical harm to the user that ravaged the human psyche with hallucinations; they couldn’t control their ability, couldn’t even stop it at their own will, so you had to have them killed. Ayatsuji Yukito, the notorious Homicide Detective that the Special Division has recently leashed, concerns you because the man could kill just about everyone you care about with minimal effort if he’s ever brought into Yokohama to investigate the Port Mafia.

But this is different. Repin’s ability alters the mind so fundamentally that you don’t even know your mind has been altered. That scares you. It scares you almost as much as the prospect of that reality altering book Fitzgerald mentioned. The idea that one person could completely manufacture your perceived reality and you’d have no idea…

It scares you.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asks quietly as Akutagawa and Klaus leave the room to direct the cleaning crew to wherever they butchered Henry James. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Just want to be back at my apartment.”

“Soon,” Chuuya tells you, nudging your shoulder. “You wanna go in and talk to them now?”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Go for it. I’m gonna head up to the conference room. Mori wants to see us after you’re done here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to see Osamu first,” you mutter. “I need to make sure he’s okay before…”

Before getting back into all of this bullshit. You just need to spend ten minutes with him before doing anything else. Ten minutes. Even though he’s back, and you know he’s safe, you watched him get into the car with Kyouka and Atsushi… you’re still on edge. You don’t know why, but you’re still on edge.

Chuuya nods. “I’ll cover for you,” he promises. “Now go finish things here.”

You don’t say anything else, sighing as you make your way over to the door. You wrap your fingers around the door handle, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts. You already know what you’re going to say—you’ve scripted it out, rehearsed it a hundred times. You’ve gone over information with Repin dozens of times to make sure everything is ironed out. 

You know what you’re going to say, you just have to say it, and then you can go see Dazai.

With that thought in mind, you push open the door to the room where the two Guild members are waiting for, making sure the smile on your face is warm and inviting while amping up your ability just enough for it to have a physical effect on them. The tenseness in their shoulders eases, and Fitzgerald rises to his feet with a small smile. 

“Ah, Miss Mori-” God, being called that makes your skin crawl. You can’t remember the last time someone actually referred to you that way—you even prefer hime to it. You have to make an effort to not let the irritation show on your face as Fitzgerald continues speaking, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Fitzgerald-san,” you greet lightly, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it firmly and you add, “I wish it didn’t have to be under the circumstances.”

Fitzgerald grimaces as he nods and takes a step back. “Yes,” he agrees, voice low. “My wife. You have her?” 

“I do,” you tell him, taking a seat next to him. “She’s… not doing well.” 

This is a more casual setting, a sitting room in one of the central building’s higher levels—a few couches set up in the center of the room around a coffee table, a window overlooking the city and a bar on the opposite side of the room. Twain lounges back in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room by the window while Fitzgerald sits closer to you. You chose this setting on purpose: it’s more intimate, less official than a negotiation room. 

More like a meeting between friends than enemies, which is exactly what this has become with Repin’s meddling. 

Fitzgerald sighs and looks away, lashes fluttering. “I feared that would be the case,” he murmurs. “How bad is it?”

You give him a small, sympathetic smile as an answer and Fitzgerald inhales sharply, rubbing his hand across his lower face, forehead creased in worry. 

“I should’ve known better than to deal with Dostoevsky,” he sighs, despondence lacing his tone. “I was warned, but…”

“Many have made the mistake of falling for his charms,” you say quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Good, you start to become a bit more comfortable. Repin pulled through. If all went according to plan, Fitzgerald should believe that Dostoevsky was the one to have Zelda kidnapped, and the Port Mafia was able to intercept. You’ve spent the past few hours tying up all the loose ends—Tolstoy handled the security cameras in New York, you the ones here in Yokohama, there’s no physical evidence left of Tolstoy’s involvement in Zelda’s kidnapping and you’ve ensured rumors have already started spreading about Fitzgerald reneging on his alliance with Dostoevsky and Christie by withholding information. You don’t need to whisper anything else, the entire world knows that Fyodor Dostoevsky does not take treachery lightly, the assumptions will be made on their own. 

“I can when my wife is on the line because of it,” Fitzgerald snaps, and then lets out another heavy breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him easily. “I understand.”

“Can I see her?” Fitzgerald finally asks hesitantly. “Or is she…”

You make sure the expression on your face is contemplative, a bit concerned and then say, “You can, but I don’t know if it will go well… Dostoevsky… he did a lot of damage to her psyche with the stories he was telling her. I’ve hardly been able to make any progress with her, I’ve only been able to convince her that I’m a friend.”

Fitzgerald grimaces and looks away. While he decides what to say, you contemplate your next move. You have Lippmann ready to bring Zelda into the room; you know that she won’t take the sight of Francis kindly, you’ve ensured that much. Zelda Fitzgerald’s mind has been all but shattered even without the use of your ability. But if Fitzgerald insists on taking her with him, which there’s a good chance he will, you’ll lose some very critical leverage over the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever manages to unravel the memories Repin has woven into his mind, it’ll leave the Port Mafia vulnerable to a full blown war with the Guild without a hostage in hand. 

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

“I want to see her,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “Please.”

You nod and glance down at your phone to shoot a text to Lippmann. You’ll only have a few seconds before he walks through the door with Zelda, but you’ll have to figure out your exact approach once you see how visceral her reaction is to Fitzgerald. Though you know it'll be bad, if it’s not bad enough, you won’t be able to convince Fitzgerald that she needs your help. 

The door to the room cracks open and Fitzgerald is on his feet in a second, holding his breath as Lippmann steps in, holding the door open for the fragile woman. His blue eyes are glittering with amusement as he catches your gaze, and you find yourself relaxing, realizing he must’ve been able to get her worked up before leading her in here.

You lean back in your seat, folding your hands in your lap, settling in to watch the show about to unfold. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for it to begin.

Zelda freezes in the door frame as soon as her eyes fall on Fitzgerald. You watch the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen and the way her pupils dilate. She mouths the word ‘no’ before speaking it, shaking her head slowly.

“Honey,” Fitzgerald whispers, taking a step forward, but Zelda takes a step back as soon as he does. “Honey.”

“Stay away from me.” Zelda’s voice breaks over the words, lips visibly trembling as she presses her back against the door frame. She looks like she’s on the verge of fleeing, but Albatross’s sudden presence in the door stops her. “Stay away. You lied to me. You lied. Frances… our daughter, my daughter, you…”

“What?” Fitzgerald breathes out, brows furrowing in confusion. “Zelda, honey, what are you talking about? I don’t-”

“You lied,” Zelda cries, voice rising. “You lied to me. You took my daughter from me, get him away from me, get him away! I don’t want to see him, I don’t-”

Zelda is hyperventilating, hardly breathing properly, eyes wide, wet and watery. You nod at Lippmann, and the man leads her out of the room. It’s quiet once she’s gone—your gaze sweeps across the room, Twain looks sick from where he’s sitting stiffly in the chair he’d been lounging in and Fitzgerald, the powerful leader of the Guild, looks crushed, ashen as he takes a shaky step backward to sit back down.

To his credit, he still tries to keep himself put together. You can tell from the way his breaths are robotically even and his fingers are trembling in his lap. You watch him for a few seconds before reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to help her,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I’ve been told you know what my ability is, is that true?”

You know that it is, you were careful to make sure that Repin didn’t disturb any of those memories. You figured it could help you in convincing him to let you keep Zelda if he thought you could undo the damage ‘Dostoevsky’ had done. 

“I don’t want you messing with my wife’s head,” Fitzgerald spits out. “That Russian bastard has done enough damage.”

“Of course not,” you agree amiably. “That’s not what I mean. I can use my ability to keep people at ease. Every other hour she’s going into violent fits of hysteria… tries hurting herself, I-”

Fitzgerald lets out a sharp breath, looking away. “What did he tell her?” he asks, voice wavering. “She mentioned Frances. I-”

“From what I was able to gather, she seems to think your daughter is alive and you helped her… escape to a foreign country to live out her life away from Zelda,” you say, watching Fitzgerald’s face twist in distress and frustration as he buries his face in his hands. “I can release her to you, if that’s what you want, but-”

“You can help her?” Fitzgerald demands, looking at you. His eyes are red and glassy but his face is tight. He seems to be doing his best to not fall apart until you’re gone, but his self control is wavering the more he hears about Zelda. 

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

Here’s your chance. You can’t mess it up.

“When Zelda is having those… hysterical fits, she’s impossible to reason with and can’t settle down on her own. I’ve only been using my ability to calm her down so I can speak with her. It’s taking a lot of time, but since I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a friend, I think I’ll be able to make progress in convincing her that Dostoevsky's lies were just that—lies. It’ll be… tenuous, definitely won’t be a smooth path, but I think, with time, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Will there be any side effects to you using your ability to calm her down?” he questions, watching you carefully.

“Nothing major,” you say honestly. “In the future, she’ll probably feel instinctually more relaxed around me—her brain will just associate me with being at ease, so even if I’m not actively using my ability, it’ll still reflect that way, but no lasting effects.”

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

“Help her. Please,” he says, voice raspy. “When Dostoevsky comes to Yokohama, you’ll have the Guild’s support in dealing with him. I swear it. Just help my wife.”

Wow, you think, almost unnerved by how well this worked out. You have Dazai back, you managed to keep Zelda, and you turned the Guild against Dostoevsky. You can’t help but feel like there’s going to be some sort of catch, or that it’s going to backfire. It would track considering how poor your luck has recently been. But for now, you roll with it and hope for the best. You'll start preparing for the worst after you’ve been able to spend a few days with Dazai. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” you say, rising to your feet and giving Fitzgerald a small smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll have one of my men wait outside to escort you back to the lobby when you’re ready.”

Fitzgerald thanks you, and you finally turn to leave, ready to see Dazai. You just need fifteen minutes with him before you go off to your meeting with the other executives. You need to see him, hold him, talk to him. Need to make sure this isn’t all some cruel, elaborate trick your mind has played on you before heading into another exhausting meeting. 

Klaus, Akutagawa and Albatross are waiting outside for you. Albatross parts his lips to speak but you shake your head, not wanting to risk saying anything until you’re well out of ear shot of this room, just in case. They follow you to the elevator, and it’s only once the doors close that Albatross bursts into laughter.

“You’re one evil bitch,” Albatross snickers. “Fucking that woman’s head up just to play the hero? That’s messed up even for you, doll. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you toss a wink at Albatross. “I’ll sleep just fine tonight with Dazai in my bed.”

“Gross,” Albatross complains, rolling his eyes. “No, but really. This was one big play—less than two hours and we’ve managed to totally turn the tables. Crazy. What exactly did you have Repin do besides remove their memories of your boy?” 

“Before Dazai went back to my apartment, he told me that the Guild was working with Dostoevsky,” you explain as the elevator gets to the lobby. Albatross walks at your side, Klaus and Akutagawa trailing behind the two of you as you make your way out of the building to walk across the property to your building. “I already intended on using Dostoevsky and Nabokov as scapegoats, but this made it a lot easier. Fitzgerald was withholding information from him-”

“Everyone knows that bastard doesn’t let disloyalty slide,” Albatross grins sharply. “Of course he’d retaliate.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “I had Repin twist the situation. Made them believe that Dostoevsky was the one that had Zelda kidnapped, but we were able to intercept. Only Tolstoy’s executives, our executives, and my direct subordinates know the truth. Tolstoy handled CCTV in the States, we handled the ones here. If Dostoevsky tries to convince Fitzgerald that it’s not true, there’s no proof—only he said, she said—and even if he does…”

“We still have Zelda,” Albatross finishes with a sharp grin. “Evil. I can’t believe we managed to come out of that with your boy back, the Guild on our side, and the hostage still in our custody. God, I love you. You can be fucking terrifying sometimes, y’know that?” 

Your lips part to make a quip back at him as you push open the doors to your building, but the words die on your tongue as your gaze lands on what’s awaiting for you in the lobby. The first thing you see is your doorman slumped over the desk, blood dripping over the side and pooling on the ground in front of it. The next thing you see is Kyouka and Atsushi, both unconscious, needles discarded carelessly on the ground next to them.

You don’t see Dazai.

“What the fuck,” Albatross breathes out, pulling out his gun and shifting to stand in front of you. “Klaus, go check on Atsushi and Kyouka.”

Klaus and Akutagawa rush from behind you—Klaus to Kyouka and Atsushi, trying to wake the two of them up, and Akutagawa in front of you and Albatross, Rashumon at the ready. You can feel Albatross’s hand tight around your forearm, you can hear him talking but you can’t make out any word that he’s saying.

“This isn’t real,” you say flatly as you stare ahead. “This cannot be real.”

Something bubbles in your chest—you don’t know if it’s rage, distress or sheer hysteria, you think a combination of all three because although your blood is simmering, you feel your eyes misting over and a laugh about to burst from your lips because what the fuck? 

You press your hand to your mouth, hardly even registering what’s going on around you. Klaus is trying to shake Atsushi and Kyouka awake, Akutagawa is scouting out the rest of the lobby to make sure no assailants are still lingering, and Albatross is trying to get your attention but you don’t take notice of him, shaking your head, and trying to hide the way your lips are curling up into a disbelieving smile.

What a joke, you think, breath catching as you pace over to Klaus, Atsushi and Kyouka. Shit.

As soon as Atsushi’s eyes flutter open, you’re grabbing his chin and craning his neck to force him to look you in the eye. “Where is he?” you ask, voice surprisingly steady. “Where is he? What happened? Answer me, Atsushi.”

Albatross says your name and grabs your wrist to try to get you to back off, but you toss his hand right off of you. Atsushi is still out of it, not understanding what you’re asking him, but before your frustration can bubble over, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

Your hand drops from Atsushi’s face to reach into your pocket. Your fingers are stiff and clunky as you pull your phone out, and as soon as you see the name on your screen, you know. 

You don’t say anything as you answer the call and lift the phone to your ear, waiting for the person on the other line to speak first. 

“Hello, little hime,” Mori says, you can hear the smile on his lips. “Have you finished with the Guild?”

“Where is he?” you ask in response. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now,” Mori hums, sounding entirely too amused. “I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him. I can see why you like him as much as you do.”

“Everything I do for you,” you hiss, the nails of your free hand digging into your palm. “Everything I do, and this is how you repay me. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything you want, and you can’t even spare me a shred of fucking loyalty. You-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Mori sighs and your blood pressure skyrockets. “I’m doing this to protect you, as has everything I’ve ever done. You truly have no faith in me.”

“To protect me?” you shout, your throat burns and it’s a struggle to force yourself to breathe properly. You feel dizzy, a panic attack coming on, but now is not the time, you need to calm down. “You did this to protect me?”

“I did,” Mori agrees. “This boy had been lying to you for months. I had a feeling, but I wanted to confirm it before bringing anything up to you. I know you care for him. I didn’t want to unnecessarily break your heart.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you, little hime. I have to many people, but never you. He’s been lying to you about who he is… I suggest you get up here quickly.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your voice wavers this time, you can’t stop it. You can feel several sets of concerned eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet any of them. “Stop being cryptic, just spit it out.”

“The boy’s name is not Dazai Osamu, dear. It’s Tsushima Shuji.”

Your ears ring as his words slowly process through your head. Your silence is enough of an answer for Mori.

“I’ll be waiting in the conference room for you. Do get here soon.”

[frvitypunch]

Hearty Romance

player!Sung Jinwoo x player!Reader

summary: where Jinwoo meets reader by their system quests in which they have to bond due to the quest.

my ideas all disappeared when i was about to write

part one(here) part 2 part 3

enjoy!

the same blue box you've had since you were an E-rank had popped up again with another quest, though it was odd of a side quest.

[Side quest: go into a gate at XXX street. EXP amount will be doubled by twofold once you have cleared the gate..]

[Yes / No]

You were confused by how the system gave you that side quest, but you didn't mind it though since your EXP will double once you cleared it.

You arrived at the location, there was an open gate, it seemed like a normal B rank gate, though another presence had arrived, the person's aura radiating around them had already been noticed by your sharp senses throughout the experience of battles.

"Excuse me, but are you also gonna go inside the gate?" You asked the person politely, recognizing it as the infamous S-rank hunter, Sung Jinwoo.

"Yeah, why are you also here if I may ask?" Jinwoo questioned you as well after you asked him, you were a new S-rank hunter after all.

"I'm here to clear the gate, so I'll be going inside now, no need to enter—" You got cut off by his determined voice.

"No, I plan on going inside." He spoke with a nonchalant face as he walked past you and went inside the gate.

You sighed and went inside the gate, you and Jinwoo found yourselves standing in front of a more natural environment than a dungeon, it's clear that you both ended up in a red gate as the breeze rushed past you and Jinwoo, both of your hair flowing with the breeze as it was completely raining in the environment.

"Great, what a hassle." You muttered quietly in annoyance as you already began walking forward, sensing if there was anything that lurked a threat.

Shadow tendrils emerged from Jinwoo's form as shadows began appearing one by one as he spoke with confidence and caution.

"Need me to carry you?" He spoke lightly, his eyes looking at your narrowed, annoyed eyes.

"I am completely fine, thank you." You said, one of your eyes probably twitched with irritation as you turned around and continued walking ahead, finding a group of monsters that were inside the gate you and Jinwoo were in as you were suddenly about to attack it, only to find it dead by a knight who slashed through it with its sword.

"It seems you aren't fine though, from examining your eye." He said, glancing at your twitching eye with nonchalance and a hint of smirk tugging on his lips as he approached you closer, standing next to you as his shadow, Igris, Beru and the other shadows continued slaying the monsters that surged towards the shadows.

"Seriously?" You said, the enemies killed by his shadows when you were about to attack.

"Yes seriously." He said, not bothering to stop what his shadows were doing so you could get just one kill from the enemies instead of his shadows.

"Well, I'll catch you later, I guess." You said, dashing away from the person, you just wanted to kill the boss as you spotted the boss a few moments later and took the chance to kill it as you slashed it easily, with your powers much stronger than the boss due to the system that had helped you when you were at your lowest.

The same blue box appeared along with another quest, bonding? but it'd give you a lot of EXP too along with clearing the gate the System requested you.

[Quest: Hearty romance!]

[Status duration: Unknown]

[Quest rewards: Powerful love beam!]

[Status: Level 0 - strangers]

[Status rewards: Level 1 - Friends, Level 3 - Best friends]

[having these levels will grant you buffs time to time, making EXP increase as you increase bonding with Sung Jinwoo.]

"Damn, I didn't reach it in time, did I?" He walked towards you, the blue box disappearing before you got to even finish reading due to him. His shadows now gone because they finished clearing the enemies.

"You snooze, you lose." You left the gate after you spoke, leaving him inside as he followed after you, asking a question.

"Do you perhaps... Know a thing about romance? Just for a que—" He cut himself off, realizing he was probably saying something stupid to someone like you.

"Nevermind, uh do you wanna get a drink?" He said nonchalantly, walking alongside you as he put his hands into his pockets.

"Can I ask if you're a player?" You asked.

"Wait, you're also one?" He asked, not even answering your question.

"You're paying for my drink." You said, not even bothering to answer his question just like how he didn't answer your question.

"Fair enough." He simply spoke, continuing to walk by your side to a café.

"So, your number? Just to get to know you first." He asked as you were sipping on your drink he bought for you as you continued sipping your drink while he was eating one of the foods that was mentioned in the café menu.

"That's more like you're asking someone out than making a friend." You replied, exchanging numbers with him as you continued to sip on your drink.

"What if it is then?" He spoke, looking at you with his usual nonchalance.

"Then you're the one paying since you have more money." You stated clearly, maybe you just wanted to be spoiled or not, not that you'd be surprised if he didn't.

"Deal." He said.

"Wait what?"

"We're going anywhere you like." He declared, this guy really was trying to get to know you better.. Or maybe more.

And he really stuck to his words.

this is my only post for today since like whenever I was planning to write smth based off a random idea, it just disappeared and it annoys me so much 😭

anyways byebye ^_-

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian reacting to mc learing gaelic for him. we know that he probably speaks it due to his parents and being Scottish i just imagine him reacting like that guy when his girlfriend

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAZlsjsy2mG/?igsh=MWp5NXo5OGJ6Z255cg==

Mo Chridhe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Ancestry says I'm 0% Scottish but I did my best BAHAH

Words: ~1,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Established Relationship, Fluff, Very Fluffy

The soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees buzzing around the early blooms filled the courtyard, mingling with the distant chatter of students enjoying the newfound spring weather. You sat cross-legged on the cool stone bench, your Charms textbook open in your lap and a half-finished essay balancing precariously on your knee. The warm sunlight felt good against your skin, a welcome change after the long, dreary winter.

Sebastian, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention to his homework.

He lounged beside you, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, one arm draped lazily over the back of the bench as if the very idea of studying offended him. His open Transfiguration book sat abandoned on the ground, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. Instead of working, he was leaning in close, prodding at your quill with his finger like a bored cat trying to get a reaction.

“Come on,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, teasing lilt. “How many hours are you planning to spend on that essay? You’ve written enough to fill three scrolls already.”

“Two scrolls,” you corrected without looking up, deftly shifting your quill out of his reach. “And unlike you, I actually plan to finish my assignments before midnight.”

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh and tilted his head back to squint at the sun, the soft curls of his hair catching the light. “The best ideas come to me under pressure.” He grinned, his gaze shifting to you. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “The only thing I’ve noticed is that you’re terrible at staying on task.”

“I’m excellent at staying on task,” he shot back, straightening up slightly. “And my current task is making sure you don’t spend the whole afternoon scribbling away when you could be enjoying this beautiful weather.”

You glanced up at him then, raising a skeptical brow. "Enjoying the beautiful weather, or entertaining you?"

“Both, obviously,” he said, flashing you that signature smirk—the one he knew was impossible to ignore.

You groaned and went back to your essay, refusing to let him distract you any further. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder with absolutely no regard for personal space, his woodsy scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

“What’s this one about, then?” he asked, his breath warm against your ear. “Another thrilling analysis of wand movements?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “It’s on advanced offensive charms,” you said. “And if you don’t let me focus, I will hex you with one.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your shoulder. “Advanced offensive charms? Why bother writing essays about them when I could just give you a live demonstration.” He lifted his wand and gave it a dramatic twirl, the tip sparking faintly.

You reached out, swiftly catching his wrist before he could attempt anything. "I've had enough detention his month because of your antics, thank you very much."

Sebastian made a show of pouting, his wand still poised in his hand. "Detention builds character, love. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our last one—scrubbing those cauldrons gave us plenty of quality time together.”

You raised a brow at him, your lips quirking into a sly smile. "Oh, yes, nothing screams 'quality time' like scrubbing years of potion residue out of the bottom of old cauldrons. Truly romantic."

Sebastian grinned, his chin still resting comfortably on your shoulder. "You’re saying that now, but I distinctly remember you cornering me in the—"

"Alright, alright!" You cut him off, heat rising to your cheeks as you waved your quill at him in warning. "No need to revisit that memory in public, thank you!"

Sebastian’s grin only widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter? Embarrassed?” he teased, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who—”

“Sebastian,” you interrupted again, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointedly avoided his gaze.

Sebastian's grin turned wolfish as he tugged on your tie, pulling your face closer to his. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always made your stomach flip. "You know, you’re adorable when you’re flustered," he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest. Usually, when he got like this—bold, unrelenting, and utterly incorrigible—you'd be left scrambling for a retort, something, anything, to wipe that smirk off his face. But not today.

Today, you were prepared.

Ever since you'd overheard Sebastian mention, offhandedly, how his parents used to speak Gaelic when he was young, you’d been secretly learning the language. He’d spoken of it with an odd mix of nostalgia and melancholy, lamenting how rare it was to hear it anymore. That wistfulness had stayed with you, and you’d spent countless late nights practicing phrases in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise him.

And now, with him leaning so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, you seized your opportunity.

You smiled sweetly, letting your fingers curl around the hand still gripping your tie. Then, in a voice as calm and steady as you could manage, you said, “Sguir dheth.”

Sebastian froze, his grip on your tie going slack as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he just blinked at you, completely thrown off. It was rare to see him so utterly speechless, and you relished every second of it.

“What did you just say?” he finally asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t recognize your own roots?”

He gawked at you, his expression cycling rapidly between shock, amazement, and something that looked like pride. “You—you’re speaking Gaelic?” he sputtered, his voice rising. Then, before you could respond, he sprang up from the bench, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re speaking Gaelic! You learned Gaelic!”

You leaned back, raising a brow at his sudden burst of energy. “A little bit.”

“For me?” he demanded, his grin splitting so wide it could’ve rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking equal parts stunned and giddy. “I don’t believe it. You—you actually learned Gaelic. Do you have any idea how bloody amazing that is?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sheer enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal, Sebastian—”

“Not that big of a deal?” he interrupted, throwing his hands in the air as if you’d just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Are you mad? No one speaks it anymore! I don’t even speak it anymore! And you—Merlin, you—you just casually drop it on me like it’s nothing?!”

He sat back down beside you with a thud, his excitement undiminished. He leaned in close, his hands gripping your shoulders now as if to steady himself. “Say something else,” he demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. “Come on, anything!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, his boyish excitement infectious. “Tha thu nad amadán mòr,” you said, your tone teasing.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and then he burst into a loud, delighted laugh, throwing his head back as he practically doubled over. “You just called me an idiot!” he said, between wheezing laughs. “Unbelievable. You go through all the trouble of learning my ancestral language, and the first thing you do is insult me.”

“Seemed appropriate,” you said with a shrug, biting back a grin. “You make it so easy.”

Sebastian shook his head, still laughing as he pulled you into his chest. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” he said, still grinning.

“Just be flattered,” you said, your voice softer now. “You seemed so nostalgic when you mentioned it, and I thought… I don’t know. Maybe it would make you happy.”

He pulled back then, his teasing demeanor softening as his gaze searched yours. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You—you didn’t have to do this. Gaelic, Merlin. I’m never going to shut up about this.”

You searched his face, your breath hitching as your eyes caught the faint shimmer of unshed tears pooling in his. It was barely there—so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been looking—but it struck you like a bolt. Sebastian’s usually self-assured confidence had softened, leaving behind something raw, unguarded, and achingly sincere.

Gently, you reached up, letting your fingers graze his cheek in a tender, grounding touch. “Of course I’d do this for you,” you murmured. “I’d do anything for you, mo chridhe.”

At that, a tear slipped free, trailing down Sebastian's cheek, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Merlin's beard,” he murmured, his voice muffled but filled with warmth. “How am I ever supposed to top this?”

You laughed softly, your arms winding around him in return as you rested your chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his grin returning through the lingering emotion. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his tone lighter now but no less genuine. “But first, I’m going to spend the rest of the day telling everyone who’ll listen that you learned Gaelic for me. Everyone.”

“Sebastian, no—”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” he said, his grin turning wicked. “And you’ll just have to live with it, mo chridhe.”

You groaned, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to bail you out when Ominis gets annoyed.”

“Worth it,” he said, pulling you close again and pressing his forehead against yours. “Completely worth it.”

[lelengerine]

woonhak(bnd)+ your eyes only(enha)

͙͘͡★ dear, my muse

song prompt. “you’re in charge of the photography exhibit, and i thought i was just another random student in the crowd—until i saw that i’m in more than half the photos.”

pairing. bff!woonhak x photography student!reader

tags. best friends to (sort of implied) lovers, hints of mutual pining and slow burn mixed with fluff, photography as a love language bc <3, gender neutral reader, think that’s it!

wc. 1.0k words

notes. aaaaa i’m really proud of this one >0< unagi is like a little baby to me so writing this was sm fun 🥺🩷 thank u sm for requesting anonie and i hope u like it mwah <3 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

the gallery lights were dimmed just right—soft but intentional, casting golden glows against white walls where every photo sat neatly framed. you stood near the far end, fussing over a crooked label, when you heard it.

“hey… is that my good side or what?”

you froze in place because no one else would say something so unserious in the middle of an art exhibit, and definitely not in front of a photo they weren’t supposed to recognize.

you turned, and sure enough, kim woonhak, was standing in front of your favorite shot—head tilted, one hand on his chin like he was trying to interpret the meaning of some abstract piece of art when, in reality, the photo was a portrait of his face.

you still remember the day you took it. it was a candid you took during a club bonding trip to the beach. he was laughing in it, eyes half-closed, hands mid-gesture, teasing jaehyun over the way he stumbled into the waves that crashed along the shoreline. you had barely realized you’d taken it until weeks later, going through the gallery of your camera and finding him right in the center of everything—sun-kissed, loud, alive.

“woonhak,” you hissed with slight embarrassment in your tone, walking over quickly, clipboard tucked against your side. “what are you doing here?”

he turned to you with a smile that was too wide for comfort. “enjoying the art, obviously,” which was followed by a fake gasp, “wait—you’re the curator?”

you narrowed your eyes. “you knew that.”

“did i?” he gave a dramatic shrug. “i just followed the posters. they said there’d be free food and artistic enlightenment.”

“so, you just wanted the free macarons.”

“okay, but i stayed for the unauthorized woonhak retrospective,” he said, gesturing behind him. “seriously—this one? that one? that one, too? oh, and what do you know—me again?”

he moved down the line of prints, pausing at each photo you’d taken over the semester. some at school events. others in quieter moments—him walking ahead during the club outing, him sleeping on a bus with his cheek smushed into the window, him in the background of a class picture, his figure blurry from movement but he was unmistakably grinning.

you didn’t follow. 

you simply watched in place as he looked and observed each picture of himself. he eventually turned to you slowly, an eyebrow raised. “why didn’t you invite me personally? i thought we were best friends?”

you clutched your clipboard like it was your last line of defense. “you’re not supposed to be here. i- i wasn’t really expecting you.”

“kind of hard not to when i’m in, like, half the gallery,” he said, clearly amused. “is this some kind of soft-launch for your not-so-secret crush on me?”

you nearly choked on thin air. “what?”

“because i’m honored,” he continued, completely ignoring your mortification. “but also a bit concerned ‘cause that’s, like, a lot of me.”

“you just show up in everything!” you said, flustered as you try coming up with a lame excuse. “you’re always around so...”

he shrugged, like that was obvious. “yeah, because we hang out all the time.”

“exactly,” you added, trying to sound normal. “of course you’d be in the background.”

he grinned. “or the spotlight, apparently.” you groaned, turning to walk away, but he caught up easily—hands behind his back like he wasn’t casually dismantling your sense of composure.

“you know,” he said, glancing sideways at you, “you could’ve told me. i would’ve posed more. y’know, given you my whole emotional range.”

you scoffed. “i didn’t need all that. you’re dramatic enough without trying.”

he laughed, bumping your shoulder with his. “so you're saying your work is… capturing the truth of me? sounds like someone’s a little obsessed—”

you stopped and gave him a look. “do you want me to crop you out of all of them?”

he held up both hands in surrender. “okay, okay. i’ll behave. kinda flattering, though. having a whole wall that says someone sees you like that.”

you looked at him—really looked at him. teasing as always, but it's softer now. there was something about the way his voice dipped when he said that, like he truly meant it, like he saw you too.

there was a beat of silence as you reached the end of the gallery wall. someone across the room pointed at one of the group photos and smiled. woonhak’s eyes followed.

“you really like this, huh?”

you glanced at him, giving a questioning look that urged him to continue.

“this,” he repeated, nodding toward the gallery. “catching people when they don’t know they’re being seen.”

your grip on the clipboard eased a little. “yeah. it’s like… everyone forgets the small moments, but cameras don’t.”

he nodded, eyes drifting to another photo of himself—laughing, mid-motion, alive in a way that didn’t always show up when he was trying too hard.

“i forget i looked like that,” he murmured. “that happy.”

you nudged his arm. “you still look like that.”

he turned to you. “yeah, but only when you’re around.”

you blinked, mouth parting—caught between a smile and confusion.

“…are you serious?”

his grin came back—softer this time, but still him. “i mean… you’re kind of my favorite person. that’s a thing best friends can say, right?”

you looked away before your brain could spiral. “only if they say it less dramatically.”

he leaned in. “i’ll work on it. but for now…” he tapped the camera still hanging around your neck. “can i request an updated portrait? you know. to commemorate this historic moment of accidental fame.”

you rolled your eyes but lifted the camera anyway. “fine. one photo.”

“make it iconic,” he said, throwing a peace sign and angling his face like a mock model. “i need something to autograph later.”

you snorted. “you’re the worst.”

“and yet,” he said, eyes twinkling, “you still point that thing at me every time.”

click.

the shutter snapped, and for once, he was actually looking at the lens.

just like he always looked at you—loud, alive, and like you were the only thing in focus because maybe you weren’t the only one with a muse.

[weaselandfriends]

youve probably already mused about this in the past but do you think cascade could work as the actual ending of homestuck? like is there a way in which homestuck could be read as a complete narrative with a somewhat satisfying ending if we were to consider cascade or its whereabouts the place where it ends? how much retooling would it need to work that way? is it even possible?

Oh now we're getting the REAL asks.

From a technical standpoint, I actually think it's totally doable to do a cut of Homestuck where Cascade is more-or-less the ending. Homestuck doesn't have nearly as many load-bearing elements as it seems to have at first glance. For instance, I think even the trolls can be cut from Homestuck altogether with minimal structural harm, as long as Vriska's game-breaking role is shifted to Rose. Hussie claimed his original vision for the story was for Cascade to be the climax, and Act 6 to be a relatively short denouement that would mostly involve cleaning up loose ends. That actually tracks with where he left the comic when Cascade ended. The unresolved stuff at the end of Cascade is:

The Scratch has created a new universe, which the players are all heading to. This fresh universe is where they will be able to complete the game.

Lord English!

Lingering mysteries about the kids in the new universe, who have been hinted at a few times throughout Act 5 (most notably regarding Liv Tyler the bunny, which shows up with a note from Jake, IIRC).

Bec Noir is still around, even if neutralized by PM.

I'm pretty sure this is it, not counting one-off lines like Rose playing the rain that are pretty structurally nonessential and could be excised easily or brushed off with some lampshading ("Wow isn't it funny we never played the rain!" -- I think Hussie actually does specific one anyway). There are also a few hints that HIC might have a role in the new universe, but I would likewise describe these as nonessential.

Looking at this list, it's easy to see both why Hussie thought he could end the story quickly and why he failed to do it. With the powers at the disposal of the main cast, going into the new universe and completing the game should be trivial. Hussie probably thought he'd quickly introduce Jake, Jane etc. in a nostalgic callback to the beginning of the story, then round up everyone for a final fight against Lord English/Bec Noir/HIC to put some fireworks on the ending. Cascade really had trimmed down the expansiveness and complexity of the story significantly, which made these few lingering plot elements seem so surmountable.

In actuality, though, Hussie quickly became mired in introducing the new characters. I think his problem was that he was struggling to reengineer the emotional stakes of the story. There's a desperate reek in the early parts of Act 6 where he is pleading for readers to care about the new kids. With the original kids, he took his time introducing them and let their personalities emerge organically over infrequent chatlogs while most of the action centered on John-as-reader-insert doing dumbassery. With the trolls, Hussie treated them like jokes and gave them over-the-top personalities with ridiculous, murderous drama, which fit the speedrunny way he introduced them. But the new kids are in this limbo where he wants to get them working (like Jar Jar) quickly, yet is giving them personalities that are at worst nondescript and at best Dave 2: Davier. (Roxy is the exception here.) They wind up having a lot of very cute, very cloying chatlogs that read super forced and I wonder if their failure to immediately get off the ground is why Hussie felt the need to spend more time with them, linger on them, until Jake winds up with one of the highest line counts of any character in the story despite saying exactly 0 things of value total.

Worse, though, is the villain situation, because it's directly tied to the story's stakes. Hussie has to make Lord English a more significant threat than Bec Noir, despite working at base with only a few references to him from Spades Slick and Doc Scratch. It's from this we get the laborious cherub stuff, the expansive dream bubble stuff (Lord English being able to double-kill ghosts is his major establishing moment of threat), and the general need to make this whole section of Homestuck feel as weighty and monumental as the first half.

The problem with Cascade is that, even though it doesn't resolve the plot, is resolves pretty much all of the emotional stakes and tension in the story. The idea of going quickly from Cascade to a final fight makes sense on paper but it doesn't make sense emotionally. That final fight would wind up as flaccid-feeling as Collide eventually did feel. Hussie's kudzu-plant expanding Act 6 reads to me as an attempt to rebuild to the level of tension that existed before Cascade, one that eventually failed because he got tired with the project and phoned in the climax anyway.

So, getting back to the original question, I think if we're to end Homestuck at Cascade then it really needs to END at Cascade, narratively as well as emotionally. Cascade does an admirable job cutting down Homestuck's plot threads from 100 to 4, but it really needs to cut them down from 100 to 0. This is a lot trickier than it seems because Cascade is, in the context of the narrative, not a moment of victory but a moment of... quitting. It's hitting the in-universe reset button. It's triumphantly hitting that button, but it cannot actually achieve total plot resolution without fundamentally changing what it actually is.

You can slim things down. Lord English can, believe it or not, be cut entirely. Prior to Act 6 he exists only in a handful of lines. Doc Scratch can be reframed as the ultimate evil himself, rather than simply its servant. He already is a pretty good villain in his own right.

Bec Noir is trickier because there's not really a good opportunity for the heroes to fight him. I wonder how necessary that is, though. It's not like Homestuck was ever a story where things got resolved by flashy cinematic fights. PM getting the ring is a satisfying, climactic moment in its own right; does she have to get locked into eternal stalemate with Bec Noir? Can she maybe just defeat him the moment she gets the ring? It's an unconventional ending, but one that makes sense in the concept of Homestuck. Given Collide, that's probably a superior way for the climax to go anyway.

That leaves the new universe kids. They can also probably be cut pretty easily. I'm fairly certain Liv Tyler is the only direct contribution they make to the pre-Cascade story. It'd take some changes to account for that, but not many. Alternatively, since we already can't get past the fact that Cascade is just a reset button press and not a resolution in and of itself, we could leave them in as characters who show up, briefly, in an epilogue of sorts, framed solely through the POV of the original kids. (i.e., forgo all the "Your name is JANE CROCKER etc.) Maybe don't even give them lines. Leave it to the fandom to come up with their personalities.

The way I'm envisioning this is that we end the story as quickly as possible after Cascade, and by that I mean literally 15-20 pages where we show everyone speedrun the new universe with their incredible god powers, maybe with a few cathartic final conversations between the surviving members of the cast. The longer you go on post-Cascade, the longer you're going to be tempted to go on, to make its new elements breathe in their own right, and when you do that it's only a matter of time before you get sucked into the Act 6 Vortex of bringing back meaningful stakes, which you have to do from Ground Zero.

I'm actually a big fan of Act 6, which is where I feel like Hussie gets a lot meaner, a lot more combative with the readership, with some fascinating results. Most of Act 6's failures stem from the failure of its ending, which is a separate issue caused by Hussie losing interest in the project after the Hiveswap debacle. But if you're doing Act 6, you gotta really DO Act 6. You can't just do it halfway. All or nothing.

[romerona]

All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Masterlist - Next.

Trigger warning: canon violence. Word count: 7.4K

A/N: The only thing I will be describing about Y/N is her hair colour. Everything else you can imagine her as you wish.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

Syrup Village, Gecko Islands.

It's been a few days since Buggy's mishap. The days dragged on tediously, with Y/N's head throbbing every time Nami and Zoro argued or Luffy experimented with potential names for their non-existent crew. Therefore, when it was revealed that Nami's boat was gradually sinking, Y/N felt a surge of relief because it meant they needed to navigate towards the nearest island, which they did.

Currently, they found themselves at Syrup Village on Gecko Islands…

The village exuded a quaint charm, with its small, closely-knit community and rustic architecture. Cobbled streets wound through clusters of thatched-roof cottages, each adorned with colourful window boxes brimming with vibrant flowers. The air was filled with the scent of salt from the nearby sea, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the village bakery.

Children laughed and played along the streets, their cheerful voices carrying on the gentle breeze. Merchants peddled their goods from wooden stalls, offering everything from fresh produce to handmade trinkets. The villagers moved with a relaxed, unhurried pace, greeting one another warmly as they went about their daily routines.

Y/N flashed a charming smile at the baker as she accepted the paper bag of biscuits. "Much appreciated, kind sir."

The baker, a portly man with flour-dusted hands and a warm, ruddy face, beamed back at her. "You're most welcome, young lady. Freshly baked this morning. I hope you enjoy them!"

Y/N's eyes twinkled with mischief. "With a scent this heavenly, I'm sure they'll taste like a slice of paradise. You have a true gift for making hearts flutter."

The baker's cheeks turned a deep magenta, and he chuckled sheepishly.

"You are too kind," he stammered, clearly flustered by Y/N's charm.

Y/N leaned in slightly, her tone conspiratorial. "Oh, but you deserve the recognition, especially when delectable treats are involved."

The baker's eyes widened with surprise, and a shy grin played on his lips. "Well, in that case, I'll have to make sure to bake extra special goodies for you next time."

Y/N gave him a playful wink. “I’ll hold you to that promise. Thank you again, and may your ovens always stay warm and your dough always rise perfectly.”

With a final charming smile, Y/N bid the chuckling baker farewell and sauntered off.

As Y/N walked through the cobbled streets, savoring the sweet treat, the corner of her eye caught a flash of orange. She turned her head slightly and saw Nami approaching, her hair unmistakable in the bright sunlight. Without missing a beat, Nami fell into step beside Y/N, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced precision.

“Found something useful about this town?” Y/N asked, offering the open paper bag of biscuits.

Nami reached into the bag, taking a biscuit as she continued to survey the street. “We’re in luck. This is a ship-building town,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze softening as a group of children darted past them, their laughter echoing through the air. An older woman, likely their grandmother, scolded them gently from a nearby doorstep. Y/N smiled at the scene, thinking that if she weren’t caught up in the whirlwind of adventures with Luffy and the crew, she might have enjoyed staying in a place like this for a while.

“How about you? Found something?” Nami asked, her tone casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Y/N smirked, holding up the half-eaten biscuit. “Apart from these divine biscuits, not much yet. But the villagers are friendly.”

Nami scoffed lightly as she took a bite of her biscuit. “More like naive,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But that works in our favor since we need to take one of their ships.”

Y/N nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Let’s just hope they don’t notice it missing too soon. This place seems peaceful—I’d rather not bring trouble here.”

Nami glanced at her, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t go soft on me, Y/N.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not going soft. Just enjoying the calm before the storm.”

The two continued down the street, their conversation drifting to lighter topics as they made their way through the village until they reached the straw hat Luffy and three swords Zoro.

“Hey! You got us a ship?” Luffy called out as soon as he spotted them, his eyes lighting up with excitement. Then, his gaze zeroed in on the bag of biscuits in Y/N’s hands, practically sparkling with anticipation.

“Working on it. Did you push the sloop out to sea like I told you?” Nami asked, her tone brisk as she kept her focus on their mission.

“Yeah.” Luffy nodded, already diving into the bag and pulling out the last three biscuits. “No Marines are gonna be following us here.”

Y/N’s scowl was immediate, and with a swift hand, she snatched one of the biscuits back from him. “Leave me one.”

“Well, we’re not gonna be here very long. Turns out Syrup Village is known for their shipbuilding. Lots of options,” Nami explained, glancing between them.

“What are we waiting for then?” Luffy asked, already chomping down on his biscuit as he began striding off in the direction both girls had just come from.

Nami sighed, her expression a mix of confusion, frustration and acceptance as she followed after him.

Y/N chuckled softly at their captain’s predictability, but just as she was about to move, the sound of paper tearing made her pause. She turned to see Zoro ripping Buggy’s wanted poster, crumpling it in his hand with a scowl.

“Stupid clown,” Zoro muttered, his tone laced with annoyance.

"Stupid clown indeed," Y/N’s lips twitched into a grin as she gave him a playful pat on the back. “But we did get to wipe that smirk off his painted face. Worth it, don’t you think?”

Zoro’s expression darkened further. “Should’ve cut his dick off,” he grumbled, tossing the crumpled paper to the ground.

Y/N laughed, a light, melodic sound that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. “Ah, but then what would he have left to make a fool of himself with? Besides, something tells me your swords will have plenty of other targets soon enough, so don't dwell on it, hot shot.”

"For now, how about a little sugar to sweeten that sour mood?” She held up the last biscuit with a teasing wink. “Consider it a token of my endless admiration for your swordsmanship.”

Zoro eyed the biscuit, then Y/N, who continued to grin up at him with that infectious charm. After a moment of regarding her, he sighed and took the treat. “Let’s go then, stupid.”

Y/N gasped in mock offence, placing a hand over her heart. “You wound me, Zoro. But I’ll forgive you since you’re sharing this last biscuit with me.” She snapped off a piece of the treat and popped it into her mouth before Zoro could protest. Shaking her head with a smirk, she quickly caught up with the rest.

The four of them walked through the bustling shipyard, their eyes scanning the area for a suitable vessel. The shipyard was a hive of activity, each corner alive with the sounds and sights of shipbuilding.

Y/N’s gaze roamed over the scene with a mixture of fascination and appreciation. Workers moved with practiced efficiency, their hands expertly crafting the vessels from the ground up. Carpenters were hard at work, sanding wooden planks with smooth, rhythmic strokes, each swipe transforming rough wood into sleek, polished surfaces. Nearby, blacksmiths wielded hammers with precision, shaping red-hot iron into nails and screws. The clanging of metal against metal rang out in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the otherwise serene surroundings.

“Look at ’em all,” Luffy said, his eyes wide with fascination as he took in the busy scene.

“How much do these cost?” Zoro wondered aloud, his gaze drifting over the impressive array of vessels.

Y/N let out a scoff, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Oh, a pittance. Just your firstborn, an eye, half a leg, and if we're feeling generous a pint of your finest blood— bargain prices, really.”

Luffy’s excitement seemed to shift into high gear. “Okay, so we need one with a very, very impressive figurehead. At least two… no, three masts! And a really high crow’s nest!”

Nami shot him a look, “We’re not gonna be able to sail a ship anywhere near that size. There’s only four of us.”

Luffy’s enthusiasm remained undeterred. “Four of us right now.”

Y/N chimed in, a playful smirk on her face. "Unless you manage to recruit another weird, desperate soul to help us, that is."

Zoro grunted. “Speak for yourself.”

Both Nami and Y/N rolled their eyes in unison.

Listen, we’re going to need something a little less flashy if we want to sneak out of here,” Nami said firmly, catching Luffy off guard.

The straw hat boy came to a sudden halt, causing the others to stop with him. He turned to Nami, his frown deepening with confusion. “You want to steal a ship?”

“How else did you expect us to get one?” Nami asked her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“I don’t know. But we can’t steal one,” Luffy said with determined finality.

Y/N shrugged her tone a blend of resignation and sympathy. She didn't enjoy the idea of stealing the hard, arduous work of someone but she also understands what it takes to survive. “It’s less about ‘wrong’ and more about ‘what works' because either we get practical or get used to swimming. It’s your call, stud.”

“A ship isn’t just a ship,” Luffy said, determination in his eyes. “It’s part of our crew. We need the perfect one. And we’re going to get it the right way.”

Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy. It was as if he hadn’t quite grasped the harsh realities of the world—or maybe he simply refused to. His optimism was endearing, even if it was a little misguided

“Okay, pitch that to the salesman. I’m sure that’ll win him over,” Nami said, her sarcasm barely masked.

Luffy’s smile widened. “Exactly.” He then started walking off in a random direction, leaving the others to watch him go.

The remaining trio sighed in unison.

“Right over his head, as usual.” Y/N huffs, shaking her head with a wry smile.

“So what are we actually going to do?” Zoro asks

“I’m guessing plan A, right?” Y/N said with a shrug.

With a resigned sigh, Nami nodded. “Find a ship and see how lax the security is around here.”

“Got it,” Zoro replied, his tone reflecting a mix of determination and acceptance.

The three of them set off in the direction Luffy had wandered. After a bit of searching, they finally found him admiring a ship with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“There you are,” Nami said, catching up with the eager boy.

“Guys!” Luffy called out, “I found it. I found our ship!”

Y/N looked up at the vessel he was so enthusiastic about. The first thing that caught her eye was the large figurehead—a jovial ram’s head perched proudly at the prow, its carved eyes gleaming with a friendly, mischievous glint. The ship, though modest in size, radiated a warm, inviting aura. The polished wooden hull, adorned with intricate patterns, was both elegant and whimsical. Y/N couldn’t help but smile; the ship was certainly unique, if a bit quirky. Just like Luffy.

“And this guy will sell it to us,” Luffy said, pointing at a boy with a bandana and a cleaning cloth in his hands.

The trio turned to the so-called salesman. The boy’s expression oscillated between confusion and alarm.

“Uh, wait. What? Uh…” the boy stammered.

“Yeah! The ship, we’ll take it,” Luffy declared with confidence.

“Technically, she’s not for sale,” the boy said slowly, earning a confused “huh?” from Luffy. “And technically, I’m not a salesman.”

“Then what are you doing around here?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

The boy’s face lit up as he noticed Y/N. He puffed out his chest. “Well, you see, I’m the Chief Technician in charge of encrustation removal and aviary waste eradication.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, I see. A very prestigious title.”

“Encru what?” Luffy asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“He scrubs barnacles and cleans bird shit,” Zoro explained flatly.

Nami sighed, looking to Luffy. “He can’t help us.”

As they turned to leave, the boy’s voice rang out.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! I can help you,” he called, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. “The owner of this ship is my closest friend in the world.”

“Your friend owns this ship?” Nami asked, clearly skeptical.

“Not just this one. She owns the whole shipyard,” the boy said, his grin widening with a touch of arrogance. “She’s rich, rich.”

“Oh!” Luffy exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.

“I’m sure you could strike a deal with her,” the boy said confidently.

Luffy turned to the group with a hopeful grin. “See?”

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Nami said with an unusually sly smile. “It couldn’t hurt to say hello.”

Y/N glanced at Nami for a second, at her grin, definitely planning something. With a resigned sigh, Y/N nodded with a tight smile. “Alright, let’s go meet this friend of yours and see if we can charm her into giving us a ship.”

The boy beamed, clearly delighted by their willingness to meet his friend. “Great! Follow me. You’re going to love her.”

Usopp, as they had come to learn the boy’s name was, led them to the edge of the village. There, towering above the town, stood a massive mansion that seemed almost out of place amidst the quaint charm of Syrup Village. The elegant structure loomed with an air of grandeur, its pristine walls and manicured gardens hinting at the wealth of its owner.

"I’ve never seen a house this big before," Luffy said gazing at the mansion.

"Impressive, right?" Usopp grins, and he walks backwards to talk to them a skip on his step as he continues, "Kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime I want."

"All of this just for one person?" Luffy asked, puzzled.

Usopp leans against the well, "Well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff."

Y/N whistled as she peered down the dry well, a playful smirk on her lips. "When I’m famous, I’ll need a place like this—no, scratch that. Bigger, with a well so deep you could drop your problems in it and never hear them hit the bottom."

Y/N started to head toward the front door but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her away. "Errr—not that way," Usopp said, releasing her as he led them toward a lush garden and… a pond?

Luffy, ever curious and clueless, asked, "So if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?"

"I never use the front entrance." Y/N frowns as she watched the boy leap across the large, floating plants. "This is more of a VIP entrance reserved for special guests."

In the short time of knowing Usopp, Y/N knew he had a knack for stretching the truth, but she hoped that at least this time, there was some truth to it. If he knew another way into the manor, he must've been here before. Plus, the way he talked about Kaya, the girl who lived there, made it seem like he knew her personally.

Against her better judgment, Y/N hopped onto one of the large plants. It was surprisingly fun.

Just as she landed on another plant, Usopp suddenly halted. "Oops. You know, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way."

Y/N looked up just in time to see a burly butler throw something with pinpoint precision, landing between Usopp’s feet, causing him to gasp.

"What the hell are you doing here, Usopp?" the butler growled, advancing toward them. Behind him was a blue-haired woman—another maid, Y/N assumed—expertly swinging a broom like a weapon.

Y/N couldn’t help but think, That’s... odd. These butlers seem way too familiar with weapons.

"Buchi, buddy, uh, Kaya’s expecting me," Usopp said, voice urgent.

The butler, Buchi, hissed, echoing Y/N’s thoughts. "Another one of your lies."

The butler grabbed hold of Usopp's shirt, pulling him closer as he hissed, "You ain't welcome here, and you know it."

Usopp, despite being in a tight spot, kept his carefree demeanour. "I know nothing of the sort," he said, unfazed, if a little nervous. "I’m here to give Kaya an extra-special gift."

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement at Usopp’s audacity, even in such a tense situation.

Suddenly, like a beam of light cutting through the tension, a girl's voice rang out. "Usopp!"

From deeper in the garden, a young girl—no older than the group—emerged, leaning on another butler for support. Y/N could tell he was likely the head butler, judging by how the other two straightened up immediately. Luffy, Y/N, Nami, and Zoro exchanged glances filled with curiosity and confusion, particularly at the realization that Kaya, the girl of the house, actually knew Usopp.

With ash-blonde hair and wearing a soft pink dress, Kaya beamed at Usopp with pure happiness. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"Hmm!" Usopp grinned victoriously, brushing off Buchi's hands as he confidently walked toward her. "Kaya!"

"Happy birthday," he said once he was close enough.

Kaya’s smile was shy but full of admiration. "You remembered."

"Of course I did."

The head butler, wearing glasses and white gloves, cleared his throat sharply. "Usopp, we've discussed this. You musn't show up unannounced."

"Nonsense, Klahadore," Kaya quickly interjected, giving Usopp an encouraging smile. "Have you come to tell me another story? I do love hearing about your adventures."

"I'll do you one better," Usopp replied, turning toward Y/N, Luffy, Nami, and Zoro, and dramatically gesturing toward them. "I brought some of my crew."

Y/N’s eyebrow twitched in confusion.

Luffy glanced at Zoro, Nami, and Y/N, all wearing the same bewildered expression. "Is he talking about us?"

Kaya, however, does not seem to notice it and smiles at the four. "It’s so nice to meet you. You all must stay for dinner."

Klahadore’s eyes darted to Kaya, his tone instantly concerned, if a little anoyed. "Miss Kaya, it is a bit last minute. I’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests."

From beides her, Luffy deflated.

"Please, Klahadore," Kaya pleaded, her voice sweet as she gave him a pout. "It’s my birthday. Can’t be too much trouble, can it?"

"Of course, Miss Kaya," Seems that the girl's pout did its work the butler didn't even hesitate this time around. "Anything for you."

Luffy perked right back up. "All right! So, when do we eat?"

Without missing a beat, Klahadore replied, "You don’t. Not dressed like that."

Y/N’s expression soured slightly as she glanced down at her outfit. It wasn’t the fanciest, sure, but she certainly didn’t think she looked bad. She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Rude."

"Sham, please show Usopp and his… friends to the guest suites," Klahadore instructed. The blue-haired woman stepped forward at his command. "You will all bathe and change before dinner," he added, looking back at the group.

Sham gave a curt nod and led the way inside the mansion, the others following.

"A bath does sound nice," Nami said, smiling as she followed Luffy, who skipped along behind Sham.

Usopp followed next, but Zoro and Y/N lingered—each for different reasons. Zoro’s gaze lingered on Klahadore with a hint of suspicion, while Y/N hesitated for a different motive. She wanted to charm the birthday girl. After all, as Usopp had demonstrated, having powerful friends never hurt.

With a dazzling smile, Y/N sauntered over to Kaya and the ever-watchful Klahadore, their gazes snapping to her in unison. Undeterred, she tilted her head slightly, letting a playful glint appear in her eyes as she spoke.

"Well, I figured after such a warm welcome," Y/N said with a subtle wink, glancing at the butlers before focusing on Kaya, "it’d be rude of me not to introduce myself properly." She extended her hand gracefully. "Y/N, at your service. And a very happy birthday to you! If I’d known, I’d have brought a gift—or at least a balloon or two."

Kaya blinked, caught off guard for a moment before a giggle escaped her. "Oh, thank you! That’s very kind of you."

Y/N flashed a grin. "Kindness comes naturally when I’m around people as lovely as you." Her eyes darted toward Klahadore, her voice dropping playfully.

"Though, if I’d known we were in for such a grand entrance, I might’ve brought a sword too. Seems like that’s part of the dress code around here." She smirked at the butler’s stiff posture, her words teasing but never crossing the line into disrespect.

Kaya blushed slightly, clearly charmed. "I’m so glad you could all join. Please, don’t worry about a gift—your company is enough."

Y/N placed a hand on her chest, feigning relief. "Thank the stars. I’m a terrible shopper, anyway. Though, if we ever need to sneak into a party again, Usopp and I will make a fabulous team."

Even Klahadore seemed momentarily at a loss for words, while Kaya laughed brightly. It was a small victory, but one Y/N could savor as she followed the rest of the group, already making mental notes on how to further charm the household.

But suddenly, Kaya began to cough, causing Y/N's grin to fade into a look of concern. It was then that she noticed just how pale and sickly the girl appeared—gnarly, in fact. Kaya’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes looked a bit too bright, as if she were fighting something beneath the surface.

"Miss Kaya, we should head inside so I can get you some tea," Klahadore said, still holding into the girl.

Y/N stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Is there anything I can do to help? I’m no healer, but I’ve seen a thing or two when it comes to health."

Kaya shook her head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, but it fell flat. "I’ll be fine. Just... need some tea."

"That you do,” Klahadore remarked, his voice neutral but laced with a hint of reluctant acknowledgment as he gently guided Kaya back toward the mansion. “Let us take our leave then.”

As they moved, Klahadore glanced back at Y/N, his voice cold professionalism. “Please, Miss Y/N, follow your friends to the guest suites and make yourself presentable for dinner.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at his words but kept her composure, offering a charming smile. “Of course, wouldn’t want to miss the chance to freshen up. After all, first impressions are everything.”

She gave a playful wink before turning on her heel, but not before throwing a quick glance at Kaya, silently promising to check on her later.

After a thorough, very refreshing, and much-needed wash, Y/N made her way to the closet, expecting a modest room with a few spare garments and maybe some accessories to choose from. But as soon as she opened the door, her jaw nearly hit the floor.

The ‘closet’ was an entire room—no, a boutique—bursting at the seams with every kind of clothing imaginable. Silks, satins, velvets, lace, and fabrics she couldn’t even name filled the racks. Gowns, tunics, trousers, and dresses in every color she could dream of. There were shelves dedicated to shoes, from the dainty to the daring, and accessories sparkling like stars under soft light. It was basically the heaven of clothing, and Y/N was living for it.

Her eyes gleamed as she stepped inside, fingers grazing the fabrics, a giddy smile creeping onto her face.

“Oh, I could get used to this…” she muttered, practically vibrating with excitement. She didn’t know where to begin—was it the shoes, the gowns, or that ridiculously luxurious-looking coat hanging in the corner?

However, as the rest of her group entered the ‘closet,’ it became clear that Y/N was the only one genuinely enjoying the experience.

“Why would anyone even need this many clothes?” Luffy asked, his voice echoing off the lavishly adorned walls as Y/N held up yet another dress to inspect.

Nami, behind a divider, was quick to respond. “It’s not about need with these people; it’s about want.”

“What are we even supposed to wear?” Luffy asked, looking utterly baffled as he peered at the colorful array of garments.

Y/N grinned, feeling a spark of mischief. “Literally anything you want, stud. And I say we should take advantage of it because I hardly think you’ll wear wear things this nice in the future.”

She held up a black vest, similar to the ones he usually wears, playfully placing it over his chest and winked. “This one might bring out those dreamy eyes of yours.”

Luffy blinked, momentarily processing, before breaking into a wide, goofy grin. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely!“ Y/N chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. “You could be the life of the party.”

Nami stepped out from behind the divider, her figure adorned in a classic dark blue dress. She struck a pose, looking expectantly at Luffy and Y/N. “Well? What do you think?”

“You look like Nami,” Luffy shrugged, offering a response that did little to boost her confidence.

Nami’s lips pursed in irritation, and she turned to Y/N for a second opinion. Y/N shook her head. “Not your style, pumpkin. We need something that really pops!”

“Hey, Zoro!” Luffy called out, causing Y/N to glance toward the entrance.

Zoro entered, his usual indifference etched on his face. Clad in a bathrobe and holding his three swords, he scanned the room with a nonchalant air.

“What are you gonna wear?” Luffy asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

“Something black,” Zoro replied flatly as he moved deeper into the room.

“How edgy,” Nami muttered sarcastically from behind the divider.

“I don’t know, I reckon I quite like black on him,” Y/N said, slipping into a pretty yellow dress that shimmered in the light.

“Hey, does that butler seem familiar to you guys?” Zoro asked, his gaze drifting toward the door.

Nami shot back, “Yeah, I think he was at the last dinner party I attended.”

“I swear I’ve seen him somewhere,” Zoro continued, taking a seat and placing his swords on the ground beside him.

Nami emerged again, now in another lackluster dress. “How’s this?”

Luffy shrugged, “Still Nami.”

“I said I’m wearing black,” Zoro reiterated, his expression unchanged.

“I hate you guys,” Nami deadpanned.

“Y’know, Zoro, now that you mention it, he does seem oddly familiar,” Y/N chimed in, stepping out from another divider in her eye-catching yellow dress. She looked at Nami and shook her head. “No, baby. That just won’t do. We need something that’ll make a statement —not blend into the wallpaper!”

“You’re all annoying,” Nami huffs as she started to look through the racks of clothes.

With newfound energy, Y/N began rifling through the dresses again, determined to find the perfect outfit for Nami. “Let’s find you something that’ll turn heads!”

"Sadly, Y/N, we're not all you," Nami muttered, half-joking as she skimmed through the rows of clothes.

Y/N gave a playful smirk, flicking through the garments with ease. "Well, darling, not everyone can have my impeccable taste."

As they continued to browse, Luffy wandered aimlessly around the room, his eyes darting from the towering shelves to the endless racks of extravagant outfits. “I kind of feel bad for Kaya,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “All this stuff. All this space. It’s gotta make a person feel… lonely.”

Y/N paused, her hand hovering over a dress. Luffy's innocent observation hung in the air, tugging at a thread of empathy that she hadn’t quite expected to feel in that moment.

"He's got a point," she said softly, glancing around at the grandeur that suddenly felt a bit... empty. "Having all these nice things doesn’t mean much if you don’t have anyone to share it with."

Nami crossed her arms, her tone dry. "Rich people don’t have the same emotions we do. This stuff doesn’t make her feel lonely. It makes her feel important."

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully, still not quite buying Nami’s take. Kaya hadn’t struck her as the type to relish in wealth or power, but then again, she’d only just met the girl. “Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally, pulling a sleek red dress off the rack. "Maybe… but she didn’t seem like the ‘money equals importance’ type."

"Well, Usopp likes her," Luffy chimed in, ever the optimist. "And she invited us to dinner!" His eyes sparkled at the mention of food, an unmistakable grin spreading across his face. "I’m sure we can work out a way to get that ship."

Nami didn’t even glance up, still rifling through the endless garments. "No way. Rich people don’t stay rich by giving things away."

Y/N shrugged, holding the dress up to regard it. "She might."

Nami mumbled under her breath, “Hardly.”

But Luffy’s grin only widened as he turned to Nami with a glint in his eyes. "You want to bet?"

That caught Nami’s attention. She stopped mid-search and eyed him with interest. "What are the terms?"

Luffy stepped forward, confident as ever. "I bet I can convince Kaya to give us that ship."

Nami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And when you can’t?"

Luffy paused for just a second before answering, "We go with your plan. Steal one and move on."

Nami grinned, extending her hand. "You’re on."

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, draping the red dress over her arm. "Oh, goodie. A gentleman’s wager. How refined." She glanced between them with a playful smirk. "I’d start polishing my silver tongue if I were you, Stud."

Nami pulled out another shirt, giving it a brief glance before casually tossing it at Zoro. He caught it effortlessly and looked it over with his usual deadpan expression.

"Nice," Zoro muttered, as if mildly impressed, but not overly excited.

Nami barely had time to react before Y/N swept in like a whirlwind, red dress in hand and that signature mischievous grin plastered across her face. With a teasing flourish, Y/N wiggled the dress toward her like it was the Holy Grail.

"Found something for ya, pumpkin," she teased, voice dripping with playful charm.

Nami raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dress skeptically. "Red? Really?"

"Trust me," Y/N winked, grabbing Nami’s hand and practically dragging her behind the room divider. She positioned her in front of the mirror, standing behind her and holding the dress up to Nami’s frame. The contrast of the vibrant red against Nami’s skin made Y/N’s grin widen.

"See?" Y/N purred, her voice dipping into a whisper as she met Nami's gaze in the reflection. "This dress is the perfect blend of sultry and sophisticated—just like you, Nami. It’ll hug your curves in all the right places and make you look utterly irresistible." She flashed a knowing smile, adding, "Trust me, It’ll make you look like a million Berri."

Nami’s lips twitched, trying and failing to hide a smile. "You're dangerous."

Y/N grinned wider, giving Nami a playful nudge. "Dangerously right, you mean."

Nami, after a moment of staring at Y/N in the reflection, looked away, her gaze darting as if she’d just been caught in a secret. An uncharacteristic hint of pink dusted her cheeks as she took the dress from Y/N. "Fine, whatever. I’ll wear it,"

“Great!” Y/N exclaimed, her grin blooming into a triumphant beam, practically radiating delight. With Nami set, she turned back to the closet, her eyes dancing over the racks like a kid in a candy store. ‘Now, it’s time for me to find something…’

At long last, the four were dressed to the nines, gathered in the grand foyer, waiting for Kaya. Usopp and Luffy were thoroughly enjoying the appetizers, both looking like kids in a candy store as they devoured the tiny, fancy bites with gusto.

Nami, ever the strategist, was busy chatting up Merry, the man who handled Kaya’s finances. He had a peculiar appearance—his hair resembling a lamb’s fleece with two small horns poking through, making him look as though he’d just wandered off a pastoral scene. Despite the odd look,

Zoro, in true Zoro fashion, had found the comfiest spot in the room—a plush sofa—and settled in with a glass of fruity cocktail, his face unreadable as always. He gave off the impression of someone who had no interest in the opulence around him.

Y/N, with her cocktail in hand, decided to join the swordsman, her emerald dress flowing elegantly as she took a seat beside him.

"So, you look... almost civilized," she teased with a playful smirk, swirling her drink as she settled in. "I think that fruity cocktail’s working wonders for your edge."

Zoro scoffed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Don’t get used to it."

Y/N chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "Wouldn’t dream of it, hotshot. Though I gotta say, you look unsurprisingly handsome. You might even be mistaken for a gentleman if you stay quiet long enough."

Zoro raised an eyebrow, leaning back into the sofa with an amused grunt. "I’ll take that as an insult." He watched her out of the corner of his eye before adding, "You’re not so bad yourself. That dress looks... expensive."

"Why, thank you, Zoro." Y/N winked at him. "It’s called ‘style'. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but you wear black with enough attitude that I suppose it evens out."

He gave a small chuckle, which was about the closest to a compliment she'd expect from him. The two sat there in a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the others.

"Think this dinner’s going to be as fancy as all this?" Y/N asked, glancing around the opulent surroundings.

Zoro shrugged, taking another sip. "Doesn’t matter to me as long as the food’s good. Fancy or not, it all goes down the same way."

Y/N laughed, raising her glass in agreement. "I’ll drink to that."

A moment later, the soft clearing of a throat at the top of the stairs made the room fall silent. Klahadore, ever the picture of formality, stood tall as he announced, "May I present... Miss Kaya."

All eyes turned upward as Kaya appeared, gracefully descending the stairs with Klahadore’s arm for support. She was dressed in a delicate yellow gown adorned with subtle dots, her face glowing with a wide, genuine smile—one that made Y/N smile as well, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the warmth of the moment or the way Kaya's joy seemed to radiate outwards.

At the bottom of the stairs, Merry stepped forward to meet her. Offering his arm with a soft smile, he said, "Kaya, you look absolutely radiant."

Kaya's smile brightened as she took his arm with familiarity. "Merry, I’m so glad you could make it."

"This is a milestone I wouldn’t miss for the world," Merry replied warmly as they made their way down the last few steps. "Your parents would be so proud."

Kaya’s gaze softened at the mention of her parents, but her expression didn’t falter. She turned toward Nami, who stood somewhat awkwardly nearby. "Nami, I love that dress on you."

"Thanks," Nami responded, though her tone was a bit stiffer than usual.

Kaya gently touched the fabric of the dress, her voice soft with nostalgia."It belonged to my mother. It was one of her favourites."

Nami's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by the sentiment. She started to stumble over an apology, "Oh, I’m sorry. I —"

Kaya interrupted with a kind smile, shaking her head. "Not at all. I’m sure she would agree it suits you splendidly."

Y/N stepped in at that moment, smoothly saving Nami from the awkward tension. With a bright smile, she looked at Kaya. "That she does! And as for you, Kaya—you look absolutely wonderful. Like you just stepped out of a fairytale."

Kaya’s cheeks flushed lightly at the compliment, and she gave a shy smile. "Thank you, Y/N. You’re too kind."

"Nonsense," Y/N waved her hand, "just calling it like I see it. A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl and a beautiful evening, wouldn’t you agree?"

Kaya’s smile softened, clearly touched by Y/N's warmth, as Merry turned to tell Kaya something about the transfer of ownership of the shipyard. Meanwhile, Nami shot Y/N a grateful look, while Y/N simply gave a little playful shrug, as if to say, What can I say? It’s a gift.

"Merry, dear friend, it's always business with you," Klahadore cut in, his voice smooth but firm. Merry nodded, somewhat reluctantly, as if he'd been caught in the middle of a moment. Klahadore’s arm swept elegantly toward the dining room. "Tonight is about celebration. Shall we all move to the dining room?"

"Yes!" Luffy’s voice boomed across the room, his face lighting up with pure excitement. "Oh! Oh, I’m so ready for this!"

Y/N chuckled under her breath at Luffy’s enthusiasm, glancing sideways at Nami. "You’d think he’s never had a meal before."

As the group began to file into the elegantly decorated dining room, Y/N couldn't help but admire the lavish setup. The long table was adorned with pristine white linens and flickering candles, casting a warm glow over the room.

Soon, they were indulging in the delicious spread laid out before them. The table was a feast for the eyes, adorned with an array of vibrant dishes that seemed to dance with colour. Y/N couldn't help but let out a satisfied sigh as she took her first bite of a creamy pasta dish, the flavours bursting on her palate.

"I’d love to try the fish tonight," Kaya said, glancing at Sham, the maid, who was holding a platter of food.

But before she could reach for it, Klahadore interjected, "I’m sorry, Miss Kaya, but that is not possible."

Kaya’s smile faltered, and Y/N couldn’t help but frown at the butler’s sharp tone as she took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Maybe just a small piece?" Kaya asked, her voice tinged with hope.

The butler remained unyielding, unlike earlier in the day. "Now, you know that certain foods can affect your constitution," he replied, gesturing for the plump butler to step forward. "Here, Buchi has prepared your special soup."

Kaya’s face fell, despite her attempts to hide her disappointment as the bland soup was placed in front of her.

"Kaya, it’s your birthday," Nami chimed in with a hint of irritation. "You should be able to enjoy whatever you like."

"Miss Kaya’s medical condition necessitates that I closely monitor her dietary needs," Klahadore responded curtly, addressing Nami as if she were overstepping.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she leaned back in her chair, wine glass poised. Her tone was laced with mild sarcasm. "Ah, I see. So you manage her plate… and her voice now, too?"

Luffy, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness building at the table, raised his hand enthusiastically. "I’ll take her fish!"

"Luffy…" Y/N mumbled under her breath, shaking her head softly as if to reign in his bluntness.

Usopp, sensing the awkwardness, piped up nervously while shooting a wary glance at Klahadore. "Luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to Kaya about?"

"Oh, yes!" Luffy’s face lit up as he turned back to Kaya. "Usopp told me you own the whole shipyard!"

Kaya smiled warmly, correcting him gently. "Well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard. Merry’s been running the business since… well, since they passed," She gestured towards Merry, who lifted his glass in quiet acknowledgement.

"But all of that is about to change," Kaya added, her eyes flicking to Usopp with a soft, meaningful glance. "Tonight, at midnight, I’ll officially become the sole owner."

"Ah. Well, that’s great, because we want to buy a ship from you," Luffy announced, his grin wide and infectious.

Kaya raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "I see," she replied, her smile growing. "Usopp mentioned that you’re sailors."

"Nope, not sailors," Luffy corrected quickly, his grin widening. And before Y/N could stop him, he dropped the bombshell. "We’re pirates."

The room seemed to freeze. The air became thick with tension as Usopp nearly choked on his drink, sputtering. Every guest at the table turned to look at Luffy in stunned silence—none more exasperated than Nami, who shot him a look that screamed, Seriously?

Y/N let out a long, resigned sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is going to be a disaster," she muttered, feeling the weight of impending chaos.

Zoro, unfazed, took a slow sip from his cup and muttered under his breath, "This ought to be good."

"Pirates?" Kaya echoed, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

"Yep!" Luffy replied with unrestrained enthusiasm, oblivious to the looks of Nami, Y/N, and Zoro. "We haven’t sailed together for long, but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a Marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe for a hand."

Kaya’s smile widened as she turned to Usopp. "These sound a lot like your adventures, Usopp."

"Yeah, that’s…" Usopp chuckled nervously, stealing a glance at Luffy. "That’s crazy."

"Oh yeah. And we’re just getting started!" Luffy declared, suddenly seizing his wine glass. In an impulsive burst of enthusiasm, he hopped up onto the dining table, eliciting gasps of shock from the guests.

Klahadore’s face darkened with disapproval as he bristled at Luffy’s antics. "What on earth are you doing? Get down from there at once!"

But Luffy, undeterred and brimming with enthusiasm, continued to hold his glass high. "Being a pirate has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and now I’m finally making it a reality!" He stepped closer to Kaya, completely ignoring the bewildered looks from the guests. "We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us. And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates!" With a triumphant grin, he took a hearty sip of his wine, completely unfazed by the chaos he was stirring.

He stepped closer to Kaya, completely ignoring the bewildered looks from the rest. "We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us. And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates!" With a triumphant grin, he took a hearty sip of his wine, completely unfazed by the chaos he was stirring.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head as she watched Luffy’s unyielding spirit shine through. "Well, at least he’s got ambition,"

Kaya gazed up at Luffy, wide-eyed. "You're serious?"

Luffy slammed back the remainder of his wine, then held out the empty glass to Klahadore, who sneered but reluctantly took it. Leaning closer to Kaya, Luffy gripped her shoulders with earnest enthusiasm. "Kaya, you have a beautiful ship out there—a caravel with a sheep figurehead. It spoke to me." Zoro and Nami exchanged exasperated glances, while Y/N couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the sheer audacity of it all.

"That’s the ship we need to follow our dreams," Luffy continued, his eyes shining with determination. "I promise you, we’ll take care of it. We’ll maintain it and treat it like any other member of our crew, because a ship is also a home."

"That will be quite enough!" Klahadore snapped, stepping in beside Kaya with an air of authority. "I should’ve known Usopp would bring riffraff to our doorstep."

"Klahadore, it’s okay. I..." Kaya began, trying to defuse the tension, but a sudden coughing fit interrupted her.

"Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset Miss Kaya!" Klahadore accused, his irritation palpable. "All of you, out of this house at once!"

Kaya, ever the kind-hearted soul, shook her head weakly, managing to breathe out, "No. It’s late. Let them stay the night."

"As you wish, Miss Kaya," Klahadore relented, though his tone was less than pleased. He assisted her out of the chair and led her from the room, adding, "But they are out first thing in the morning."

"That went pretty well," Luffy remarked as the door clicked shut behind Klahadore, leaving the five of them in the cosy dimness of the room. "Don’t you think?"

Y/N hums before gulping down the rest of her wine. "sure"

Hours later, Y/N lay wide awake, her bladder full and demanding release. She couldn’t help but scoff at the absurdity of it all—a mansion this grand and yet no loo in her room?

Finally deciding to venture out, she crept down the hallway, but instead of finding a bathroom, she stumbled upon a certain orange-haired girl in a curious sight: Nami was stuffing shiny treasures into a pillowcase.

"What are you, the reverse Father Christmas?" Y/N quipped, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smirk.

Nami, startled by the sudden voice, whipped her head around, eyes wide. "Shit, Y/N! You scared me! What are you doing up?"

Y/N shrugged, crossing her arms casually. "You know, just on a midnight quest for a loo. But clearly, I found something far more interesting."

Nami huffed, returning to her task with quick hands. "I’m just borrowing. Besides, they’re not going to notice a few missing trinkets."

"Oh, so you’re playing the long game, huh? Borrow now, return... never?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "If you get caught, I’m not covering for you."

Nami shrugged, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she continued to stuff the shiny trinkets into her pillowcase. "Who says I’ll get caught? I'm a master of stealth."

"Right, because sneaking around in the middle of the night with a pillowcase full of stolen goods is such a subtle move," Y/N teased, closing her door and following Nami.

Nami paused for a moment, glancing around to ensure they were still alone. "These are just sitting here collecting dust. No one will miss them."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "You do realize you’re robbing from a girl who just wanted to celebrate her birthday, right?"

"Details, details," Nami waved dismissively, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, it’s not like I’m taking anything valuable… yet."

Y/N smirked, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, but you--"

They suddenly heard footsteps approaching, echoing through the vast halls of the house.

Nami’s eyes widened in panic as she quickly shut the cabinet door "Crap!"

“Quick, come on!” Y/N urged, pulling Nami toward the nearest door. She flung it open and they slipped inside a dark room.

Just as they were about to catch their breath and survey their surroundings, Kaya’s voice startled them.

“Y/N?… Nami?” The lights flicked on, illuminating the room.

Both girls gasped in surprise, and Nami hurriedly concealed the pillowcase behind her back.

“What are you two doing? Is everything okay?” Kaya asked, still unaware of their antics.

"Oh, Kaya!" Y/N exclaimed, feigning a chuckle. "Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep! This house is like a maze, and I couldn't find the loo. So naturally, I enlisted Nami's expert navigating skills, right, Nami?"

"Yeah, we just got a bit turned around," Nami added, trying to sound casual.

Kaya’s gaze drifted behind Nami, landing on the clearly bulging pillowcase. She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "With a pillowcase?"

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Y/N pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"So… you really are pirates after all," Kaya said, rising from her bed. Her demeanour was calm, not angry or frightened.

"No," Y/N quickly denied.

"I hate pirates," Nami chimed in, her tone dripping with disdain. "But I am who I am," She declared, setting the pillowcase down defiantly. "And I won’t apologize for it."

Y/N pursed her lips and sighed, taking a seat on the window sofa. "Can’t put it much better than that."

Kaya let out a light chuckle as she settled beside Y/N. "To be honest, I find some of the decor to be a bit gaudy. I’d prefer to donate it to charity."

Nami bristled at that. "We’re not charity."

/N waved her hand dismissively. "Relax, Pumpkin. I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way, right?"

Kaya quickly shook her head. "No, of course not. I just think, what’s the point of having so much if you can’t share it with others? Like those in need—family... friends."

"So we’re friends now?" Nami asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course we are."

Nami turned to Y/N, motioning toward Kaya. "But she doesn't even know me!"

Kaya shrugs thoughtfully. "Usopp and Y/N do, and that’s a start.

Nami frowned slightly, but Y/N patted the space beside her with a playful grin. "Come on, Pumpkin, let's bond."

Nami rolled her eyes at Y/N's antics but eventually settled down next to her. "So what do we do now? Have a sleepover? Do each other’s makeup?"

Y/N smirked, leaning closer. "Only if you promise to let me go wild with the glitter. We can start with—" Y/N began, but was interrupted by Kaya's coughing.

"Kaya, are you okay?" Nami asked, concern etching her features.

Y/N placed a hand on Kaya's back. "Should I get you some water or something?"

Kaya stopped coughing and looked at the girls, shaking her head. "Not you too."

"What?" Y/N frowned in confusion, sharing a puzzled glance with Nami.

Kaya sighed. "Everyone’s so careful around me. Like one wrong move and I’ll break." She looked between the girls. "I don’t want your pity."

"Well, you won’t get it then," Nami said, with a small grin.

"No pity here, just friendship," Y/N shrugged, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. "And as friends, you ought to tell us what is going on between you and Usoppppp."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Nami grins.

"Oh. Um…" Kaya chuckled, glancing between the girls. "Usopp and I? No, no. We’ve known each other for years. Ever since his mother passed away, he didn’t have anyone, so my parents gave him a job at the shipyard." Her smile grew a little wider as she continued, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "He likes to come around and tell me all about his brave exploits and grand adventures. And the truth is, they make me feel better."

Y/N leaned in, a teasing grin on her face. "So, it’s like Usopp is your personal bard, spinning tales to lift your spirits? I can see how that’d be comforting."

Kaya chuckles, "After my parents... he was able to make me smile again."

"Your parents, what happened to them?" Nami asked, her voice softening.

Kaya’s eyes instantly glistened with unshed tears, and Y/N could see this was a sensitive subject. "They, um… They died at sea. After all these years, it still takes my breath away. I couldn’t even go through their belongings. Just… locked up the memories in the East Wing, where their bedroom was."

"I’m so sorry," Nami said softly, echoing Y/N's thoughts. She understood the weight of loss, grief, and the pain that lingered.

"Have you ever lost anyone close to you?" Kaya inquired, her gaze searching.

"No," Nami replied, her voice steady but filled with empathy.

Y/N paused for a moment, her heart heavy. "Yes," she said softly.

Y/N and Kaya shared a look of understanding, a silent acknowledgement of their shared pain. The bond of loss wove them closer together in that quiet moment, as they realized they were not alone in their experiences.

Kaya, after a moment of quiet, turned to Nami with a small smile. "Well, I’m jealous of you, Nami."

Nami scoffed, her eyebrow raised. "Said the rich girl."

Kaya chuckled at the response, shaking her head before looking directly at her. "You’re not very good at this friends thing, are you?"

Y/N grinned at the exchange, nudging Nami playfully. "She’s a tough nut to crack, but trust me, she’s definitely worth it."

The three of them shared a laugh, the tension lifting as they bonded in their own quirky way.

Kaya let out a soft yawn, clearly indicating how late it had gotten. Y/N smirked, her eyes glinting with playful amusement. "Need your beauty sleep, princess?"

Kaya chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "I suppose I do," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "Though I’m not sure how much help it’ll be."

"Trust me," Y/N grinned, "you're already glowing."

Nami rolled her eyes, but even she smiled a little at Y/N’s cheeky comment. "We should get going though,"

Y/N stood up, stretching a bit before nodding. "That we should. I still need a loo."

Kaya chuckled, pointing down the hall. "Down the hall on the left."

As she made her way to her bed, Kaya added, "Why don’t you two join me for breakfast tomorrow? Your friends too. We can discuss a deal for the caravel."

"Yeah, that’ll be great." Y/N smiled, starting to walk away, but she paused when Nami spoke again.

"This may not be my place," Nami said, glancing back at Kaya, "but don’t let Klahadore or anyone run your life. You’re stronger than you think."

Kaya smiled softly at the sentiment. "I appreciate that."

"Good night, Nami, Y/N," she called out as she settled under her blankets.

"Good night," Nami replied with a small smile.

"Night, Kaya," Y/N added with a wink.

As they reached the door, Kaya called after them with a grin, "Don’t forget your pillow."

Nami took the pillowcase as she, Kaya and Y/N chuckled softly. Once they were outside the room, Nami halted and pulled something out of the pillowcase—a small box of some sort—and placed it on a nearby table. Y/N grinned at her, clearly amused.

Nami noticed the grin and rolled her eyes. "What?" she asked, her tone exasperated.

Y/N shrugged, still smiling. “Funny how a little girl talk can literally change people.”

“Shut up,” Nami muttered, giving Y/N a playful push. “Besides, Kaya’s just an exception.”

Y/N laughed, her teasing grin only growing wider. "Sure, pumpkin, whatever you say. How about you and I go for a midnight snack?"

"I could eat," Nami shrugs aimlessly.

"Right, you go find the kitchen while I find the loo because I'm about to explode," Y/N told the girls she was already on her way to the bathroom.

Nami shook her head with a smirk. “Alright, see you in the kitchen—if I don’t get lost first.”

"Shut up,"

After using the fancy loo, Y/N strolled into the kitchen, her usual playful grin in place. "Can you believe they have hyacinth-scented soap here? I mean, if you're going to steal something, might as well go for—"

Her words came to an abrupt halt when she noticed it wasn’t Nami in the kitchen. No, standing there were the butlers—Klahadore, Buchi, and the maid, Sham. And on the table, laid out unconscious, was Luffy.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she took in the scene. Klahadore turned slowly toward her, his expression cold and calculating.

“Well, it seems we have an unexpected guest,” Klahadore said with a chilling smile, the air growing tense.

"Shit," Y/N muttered under her breath, instinctively taking a step back. Her heart raced as she quickly realized she had walked straight into something dangerous. It didn’t take a genius to know the butlers were up to no good.

"Now, now," Klahadore cooed, "there’s no need to make a fuss."

"Too late for that," Y/N shot him a defiant look before bolting for the door.

However, Y/N didn’t make it far. Just as she turned to run, Klahadore seemed to teleport, appearing in front of her in an instant.

She gasped, heart pounding as she spun back around, desperate to escape. But before she could even take a step, a sharp blow struck the side of her head. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and everything went dark as her body crumpled to the floor.

The next time Y/N opened her eyes, the first thing she saw wasn’t Zoro’s concerned face but the dark, starry sky above. The cool night air hit her skin, and the faint sound of crickets chirping filled the quiet. She blinked, disoriented, before realizing she was lying on the cold, hard ground outside, near an old stone well.

"Oi, wake up," Zoro’s familiar gruff voice cut through the haze, accompanied by another tap, harder this time.

Y/N blinked and squinted, barely making out his face against the moonlit sky. “Zoro?” she muttered, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, it’s me. You good, or you need another nap?” he asked, crossing his arms, his expression unbothered but with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Y/N groaned as she sat up, feeling the cold stone of the well against her back. “Where are we?”

“Outside. Near the well behind the mansion. I found you knocked out cold.”

“Gee, thanks for stating the obvious,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “What the hell happened?”

Zoro knelt down beside her, his tone growing more serious. “Klahadore isn’t just some butler. He’s Kuro—Captain Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates. That bastard’s been hiding out here, playing the good servant. That psycho’s got some plan involving Kaya-"

Y/N's heart raced as she shot up to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that washed over her. "Luffy—he was passed out! And Nami—she was supposed to be in the kitchen. They’re in there with those psychos. We have to go back!"

Zoro’s expression darkened as he drew one of his swords, the steely glint catching the moonlight. "Then let's go. No time to waste."

Despite the pounding in her head, Y/N steadied herself, determination fueling her. She nodded, and the two of them sprinted toward the mansion. The eerie quiet of the night only heightened the sense of urgency, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone path.

As they neared the mansion, Y/N and Zoro began to hear voices, the two exchanged a glance as they crept closer, the voices becoming unmistakably clearer.

"Father always said, 'Dead pirate weighs the same as a live one,'" came the cocky, irritating voice that Y/N instantly recognized. Helmeppo.

"Garp gave us strict orders," a softer, more hesitant voice responded, trying to reason with him.

"He gave you strict orders," Helmeppo sneered as Y/N and Zoro finally reached the scene. Helmeppo stood there, holding a gun to Luffy, "Start walking, pirate, or die."

Zoro wasted no time. He was a blur of movement, taking out the two marines flanking Helmeppo with effortless precision. They hit the ground before they could even register what had happened.

As groans filled the air, Helmeppo and the kind boy Kobi she had met before turned to face Y/N and Zoro. The smug look on Helmeppo's face faded quickly when he saw them approach.

Y/N crossed her arms, a dangerous smirk tugging at her lips. "Gotta say, you picked the wrong night to be an idiot, Helmeppo. But then again, that's just who you are."

"Zoro! Y/N!" Luffy called out excitedly, as though he hadn’t been held at gunpoint just seconds earlier.

Zoro strode forward with his usual calm, while Y/N rushed to Luffy's side, giving Helmeppo a quick but satisfying punch that knocked him out cold.

"How’d you two know where to find me?" Luffy asked, a huge grin on his face.

"We didn’t, stud," Y/N replied, helping him up. "We thought we were headed to the house." Her nose scrunched up as she noticed the blue barf near Luffy and and instinctively wiped some goo from his face with her sleeve, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine now," Luffy smiled, his usual carefree attitude shining through as he began to make his way back to the house. "Come on!"

Y/N and Zoro exchanged a glance before following Luffy, but their steps were halted by Koby.

"Hold it right there!" he called, his voice firm. "By order of the Marines, I’m placing you under arrest."

"Koby…" Luffy took a step forward, a small grin creeping onto his face, but it quickly transformed into a more serious demeanor. "I know you’ve got a job to do… but I’m gonna go back and help my friends. So don’t try to stop me."

Koby hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face as he looked at Luffy. It was clear he was torn between duty and friendship but he remained rooted to the spot, conflicted, as the three of them dashed into the shadows of the mansion, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping. They needed to save their friends, and nothing was going to stop them now.

When the trio reached the house, they quickly noticed the heavy metal covering the door, effectively barricading them from entering. Y/N felt a surge of frustration, but before she could voice it, Zoro stepped forward with a determined look in his eyes.

“Step aside,” he said. Zoro squared his stance, gripping the edge of the metal barrier. With a powerful grunt, he heaved against it with all his might.

To her astonishment, the metal slid upwards with a loud screech, revealing the entrance. Without hesitating, she quickly shoved a nearby statue beneath the opening to keep it in place and with a swift kick, she propelled the wooden door open, and it swung inward with a thud, revealing the interior of the mansion.

Luffy stepped inside, followed closely by Y/N and Zoro. The three of them paused in the foyer, taking in the surroundings. The air was thick with tension, shadows stretching across the walls as the faint light flickered from the ornate chandelier above.

“I need to grab my fans from my room,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Luffy nodded, his determination unwavering. “Let’s split up.”

Zoro and Y/N exchanged glances before also nodding in agreement. Without wasting another moment, the trio took off in different directions. Luffy headed upstairs, while Zoro moved toward the kitchens, every step echoing with purpose. Y/N made her way to the guest wing, her heart racing as she recalled the location of her weapons.

As she dashed down the corridor, the silence of the mansion felt oppressive, every creak of the floorboards amplifying her anxiety. She finally reached her room and pushed the door open, relief flooding through her as she spotted her fans resting on the dresser.

“Got you!” she whispered to herself, snatching them up and flipping them open, the familiar weight comforting in her hands. With her weapons secured, she turned to leave, but a noise from the hallway caught her attention.

Holding her breath, Y/N peered out into the corridor, her war fans gripped tightly in her hands, poised defensively. The dim hallway stretched before her,

Holding her breath, Y/N peered out into the corridor, her war fans gripped tightly in her hands, poised defensively. The dim hallway stretched before her, shadows danced along the walls.

She scanned the area, her senses heightened, every creak echoing ominously in her ears. The silence felt almost tangible, pressing against her as she waited for any sign of movement. Just as she was about to step out, a creak from behind made her whip around.

Standing there was Bushi, the plump butler from earlier, draped in an absurd cat-like costume complete with a cape. His beady eyes gleamed in the low light, and a smirk spread across his face, giving him an almost sinister air.

"Of all designs, that's the one you chose?" Y/N scoffed, laughter bubbling up despite the tension.

Bushi smirked, revealing sharp canine-like teeth as he brandished two blades from behind his back. "It comes with perks,"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful grin still on her face, but her stance was ready. “Perks, huh? I guess you must feel pretty fancy in that ugly getup." With a swift motion, she opened her war fan, the edges glinting ominously. “Shift it, mongrel.”

The butler lunged forward, and Y/N expertly sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as his blade sliced through the space she had just occupied. In one fluid motion, she spun around, bringing her war fan down with precision aimed at his wrist.

Bushi barely raised his other blade in time, the metallic clash ringing out as sparks flew from the impact. He grinned, lunging again, but Y/N ducked low, her fan cutting through the air as she aimed for his legs.

He jumped back, narrowly escaping. With a swift kick, Y/N drove him against the wall, the force of her strike causing him to grunt.

“You’ll pay for that!” he snarled, lunging at her with renewed ferocity. Y/N raised her fan just in time to block the incoming strike, their blades clashing once more.

Using the momentum, she pushed off his blade and leaped into the air, executing a graceful flip. As she landed, she swung the fan down toward him like a blade.

Bushi rolled out of the way, regaining his balance as Y/N charged again. He swung at her, but she ducked and sidestepped, moving with agility. She slashed at him, the fan cutting through the air, forcing him to backpedal.

As they danced around each other, the sound of metal on metal echoed through the hallway, tension thickening the air. Y/N felt the adrenaline surge, her instincts kicking in as she prepared for the next move.

Bushi lunged, but she pivoted, dodging and countering with a swift strike aimed at his midsection. He barely blocked it, gritting his teeth as they continued to clash, each movement fluid and aggressive.

Finally, Y/N saw an opening. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent her fan spiraling toward his face, momentarily stunning him. In that split second, she charged forward, delivering a powerful kick that sent him crashing to the ground.

As Y/N caught her breath, she glanced around the dimly lit hallway, scanning for any additional threats. But before she could take a step, Bushi sprang back to his feet, eyes narrowed with determination.

“Not done yet!” he growled.

The butler lunged again, and Y/N met his charge with a swift deflection of her fan. The two danced around the narrow space of the staircase, trading blows as they fought against the railing.

Bushi swung his blades, forcing Y/N to duck and weave, her instincts sharp. She retaliated with a swift jab of her fan, catching him in the side. He stumbled, growling in frustration, but quickly regained his footing, the glint of his sharp canines reflecting the dim light.

Y/N could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she adjusted her stance, her fan poised for the next move. Bushi lunged again, blades slicing through the air, and she narrowly avoided the attack by pivoting to the side, the tips of his weapons barely grazing her. The narrowness of the staircase forced them into a tight rhythm, each movement calculated and precise.

Bushi spun low, attempting a sweeping strike at her legs. Y/N leapt back, her heart pounding, and then retaliated with a powerful jab of her fan into his shoulder. The impact sent him reeling against the railing, his balance faltering for just a moment.

Seizing the opportunity, Y/N launched forward, her movements fluid and fierce. With a well-aimed kick to his midsection, she sent him crashing through the railing. The sound of splintering wood echoed in the hallway as he plummeted down into the foyer below.

Y/N glanced down at the foyer, her eyes locking with Zoro, who had just dispatched the maid, Sham.

"Impressive finishing move," Zoro remarked, sheathing his swords with a casual air.

Y/N grinned, tilting her head in playful acknowledgment."What can I say? It’s hard not to show off when I’m surrounded by such unimpressive company. Now, let’s find something to restrain them with—preferably something more effective than their fashion choices."

Sooner rather than later, to Y/N's relief, Kaya, Nami, Usopp, and Luffy emerged from the upper levels, sporting only a few scratches but no serious injuries.

"Oh, thank the stars," Y/N exclaimed, her heart settling at the sight of them. "Looks like you all survived the thrilling experience of fighting off shit butlers and overly dramatic maids."

Zoro swung open the main door, allowing the bright morning light to flood into the dim foyer.

Nami rolled her eyes but there was a shinning in her eyes of relief and amusment. "You missed all the fun, Y/N."

"Fun?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on her lips. "You mean the kind of fun that comes with questionable service choices and bad manners?"

Both girls exchanged grins, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Zoro remarked to Kaya, his tone devoid of any regret. “You probably need some new staff.”

“I think I’m done with staff for a bit,” Kaya replied, her gaze lingering on her former cook and maid, now tied on the floor.

“Too bad we can’t collect their bounty,” Zoro sighed, arms crossed.

Nami jumped in, her frustration bubbling over. “No. No. The Marines already know where we are. We have to get out of here.”

Y/N pursed her lips, glancing around the room. “We don't have nowhere to go,"

"Nor a ship," Luffy added.

"Yes, you do." Kaya said, catching them all off guard.

The atmosphere shifted as the realization sank in, and grins spread across their faces. They knew she was about to gift them the very ship they had set out for—the one that had led them into this chaotic mess.

Y/N smirked at Luffy, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Congratulations, stud. Looks like you won the bet."

Luffy returned her smirk, his playful spirit shining through, before glancing at Nami, who rolled her eyes.

After everything that had transpired, the six of them stood before the ship, its elegant lamb bow glimmering in the sunlight.

"Wow," Luffy exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. "That looks just like your lawyer friend."

Kaya smiled softly, nostalgia washing over her. "Merry ran the shipyard after my parents passed. He was their dearest colleague and my oldest companion."

"Then his memory will live on, "Luffy declared, "I hereby name this ship the Going Merry!"

Kaya smiled warmly, her eyes shining with pride. “It’s yours now. Your new home.”

“Thank you, Kaya,” Luffy replied, his voice full of genuine gratitude. Then, with a burst of energy, he thrust his fist into the air. “Whoo! Yeah! We did it!”

Without warning, Luffy leaped at Y/N, Nami, and Zoro, pulling them into a bone-crushing hug.

Y/N laughed, feeling the warmth of Luffy’s infectious happiness wash over her. “That we did!”

As they broke apart, no matter how hard she tried not to, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning of something truly extraordinary or horrifying.

"Usopp!" Luffy suddenly called, causing everyone to turn their heads toward the boy.

Luffy approached him with that signature grin. "What are you waiting for? Get your stuff."

"What stuff?" Usopp asked, clearly confused.

"You’re coming with us. Right?" Luffy said with a grin that suggested he already knew the answer.

"What?" Usopp stammered. "Uh… uh… No. I… I couldn’t."

"Don't make him beg, champ," Y/N teased with a playful wink.

“I’m gonna need a great sharpshooter,” Luffy added, leaning in confidently. “Just like Yasopp. And I saw what you did back there--sticking up for your friends. That’s exactly the kind of guy I need on my crew.”

Usopp hesitated, his gaze flicking to Kaya. "But… I couldn’t leave Syrup Village. What… what about Kaya?" His voice wavered as he looked at her. "She needs me to take care of her."

Kaya stepped forward, her expression gentle. "Usopp, you’ve been a great friend," she said, taking his hand. "But I think it’s time I start taking care of myself."

"But I said I’d never leave you," Usopp protested, his frown deepening. "And don’t you need help with the shipyard?"

Nami, Y/N, and Zoro quietly made their way to stand beside Luffy, content to watch the moment unfold between Usopp and Kaya.

"The shipyard was my parents’ dream," Kaya said softly, her eyes warm as they met Usopp's. "I think I might do something different. Like study to become a doctor."

"So… I guess this is goodbye," Usopp said slowly, his voice tinged with sadness.

Kaya squeezed his hands, offering him a soft, encouraging smile. "I’ll see you again someday. And when I do, I expect to hear all about the real adventures of Captain Usopp."

Much to Usopp's surprise—and to no one else's—Kaya leaned in and kissed him. It was a tender moment, prompting the spectators to avert their eyes… except for Luffy, who frowned in confusion.

"They… they do know I’m the captain, right?"

Nami patted Luffy on the shoulder. "Let them have this one,"

Y/N grinned, nudging Luffy playfully. "Besides, you’ll get your moment, stud. Maybe with less kissing though, but who knows." she winks at him.

And just like that, they were out at sea again—this time, however, with a new friend and a real ship beneath their feet. The Going Merry cut through the waves with ease, her elegant lamb figurehead gleaming in the sunlight.

And then, they were out on the open sea again, this time with a new crewmate and a real ship beneath their feet. The Going Merry glided effortlessly over the waves, its lamb figurehead leading the way toward new adventures.

Y/N leaned against the railing, gazing out at the endless blue ocean. The sun warmed her skin while the salty breeze danced through her white hair, tousling it playfully. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the serenity of the sea wash over her, giving her a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt in a long time.

A sudden shout nearly made Y/N jump out of her skin, snapping her attention to the bow of the ship. She couldn’t help but snicker as she spotted Luffy, perched at the top of the lamb’s head, waving his straw hat with pure joy. His wide grin was infectious, and the sight of him celebrating like a carefree kid brought a warmth to her chest.

He was so ridiculously happy, as if he’d just discovered the greatest treasure in the world, and for a second, Y/N envied his simplicity—his ability to find joy in the smallest things, no matter the chaos surrounding them.

Looking back at the ocean, a quiet hope took root inside her. This might actually work. The thought of reuniting with her sister felt closer than ever, and the mere possibility made her smile.

A lively melody echoed around the ship's gallery, and Y/N ran her fingers over the guitar strings, crafting an upbeat tune that danced with the rhythm of the waves.

In Syrup Village, where dreams took flight, Lived young Kaya, shining so bright. But Kuro the Cat, with a sinister crew, Plotted to take her, oh, what would they do?

Then we arrived, with laughter and cheer, “Don’t worry, dear Kaya! Your heroes are here!--”

"We did not arrive with laughter and cheer," Nami scoffs from beside Y/N, interrupting the ballad.

Y/N rolls her eyes, a playful grin on her face. "Shush, it rhymes! Besides, artistic license!"

Nami crossed her arms. "More like a disaster in the making."

"Focus on the song, not the flaws," Zoro mutters from her other side, his voice low yet steady.

Y/N scoffs at him, "Excuse me, but my ballad doesn't have any flaws."

Luffy, grinned wide as he ate some fruit. "I like it! Keep going!"

With a theatrical sigh, Y/N continued, her fingers dancing over the guitar strings.

“Thank you, brave souls!” Kaya smiled wide, “I’ve got a surprise—come take a ride!” With joy in her heart, she gave them the key, To the Going Merry, as grand as could be!

"And that’s the end of my masterpiece," Y/N said with a playful shrug, her grin wide.

Nami shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. "You're utterly ridiculous, you know that?"

“Ridiculously talented, you mean!” Luffy exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. He turned to Y/N, beaming. "Can you whip up one about each of us?"

"Only if the muse strikes me just right," Y/N replied.

“Guys! You’ve got to see this!” Usopp burst into the room, proudly draping a black mantle over his shoulders. “Behold my unparalleled artistic genius!” He positioned Luffy to hold the flag aloft. “Ta-da!” The flag showcased a cartoonish skull with exaggerated features reminiscent of Usopp himself.

Usopp chuckled at his creation, but the room fell into silence, the others unsure how to react.

“I know, I know,” he said, breaking the quiet. “My flair for design often leaves people speechless.”

Luffy, unfazed, closed the flag and handed it back to Usopp with a cheeky grin. "I already drew our flag."

"Okay, but this one is way cooler!" Usopp insisted, trying again.

Zoro interjected, his tone deadpan, "Neither of those flags are gonna scare anyone off."

"Well, the Jolly Roger is supposed to reflect the captain," Usopp argued, wrapping the flag around himself like a cape.

Luffy leaned in closer, a playful spark in his eyes. "I am the captain. We are the Straw Hat crew."

"They call me Captain Usopp!" Usopp declared dramatically.

"I’m the captain. Me, captain. Captain, me."

"The captain is the one who gets the ship and knows the most about sailing," Usopp countered, trying to hold his ground.

"I am…"

Their ridiculous bickering over who truly held the title of captain was so absurd that even Nami couldn’t help but chuckle. Y/N exchanged amused glances with her, and soon the whole crew was laughing along.

Luffy beamed as he patted Usopp on the back, his excitement radiating through the room. "You see? This is what it’s all about!" He leaned in closer, confidence oozing from him. "From now on, it’s all gonna be smooth sailing."

Just as his words hung in the air, a thunderous boom erupted from outside, causing everyone to exchange puzzled glances. Before they could react, another explosion shook the ship, this time sending a tremor beneath their feet.

"What was that?" Usopp asks as he holds into Luffy.

Y/N cursed under her breath, instinctively reaching for her weapons. "Cannonballs!

Nami set her drink down with a frustrated sigh, rising to her feet. "You had to open your mouth," she shot at Luffy, just as the sound of cannon fire rattled the ship again.

The crew scrambled outside, eyes widening as they took in the sight before them. A Marine ship just behind them, cannons poised and ready for another strike.

"Marines! We’re under attack!" Nami shouted, her voice laced with urgency as another cannonball soared perilously close.

Y/N felt a sense of dread wash over her, but what came next was entirely unexpected. Luffy, the boy who prided himself on being a pirate, who declared his dreams of becoming the King of the Pirates with fervor, said;

“Grandpa?”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of love. Be safe.

Also, tell me if you want to get tagged.

Divider by @cafekitsune

[hitlikehammers]

AVOIDANCE: the only real solution to all of Eddie’s your falling-in-love problems!

(0 out of 10 participants in this approach have proven its INeffectiveness; talk to your ✨love interest✨today to avoid this heartbreaking waste of your energy!)

It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.  By simply avoiding Steve Harrington. 

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, eddie munson and his newfound obsession/unprecedebtedly-close-to-love feelings for steve harrington, answer: avoid steve harrington like the plague, excellent and emotionally-mature ways of dealing with your problems! /s, primary hiccup in existing plan: forgetting steve harrington doesn’t take well to failure, (oops), miscommunication, boys so dumb, confessions, hint of angst (because eddie is a very silly boy with very silly ideas sometimes), self-confident!steve, steve harrington facing the issues head-on, feelings confessions, peak eddie dramatics, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day fifteen: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”―Jane Austen, Emma

True fact: Eddie thought he was playing things cool. Thought he was totally copacetic, in, you know, keeping it all subtle. He can do subtle, y’know: being loud and proud, shouting on tabletops and shit, screaming at drunks—that was a choice, not a…a rule. He’s a freak, he’s an outcast, he’s a weird-ass motherfucker: he’d have had far more brushes with his actual-factual demise in this podunk town if he was literally incapable of blending in with the background, and not just kinda sickened by the concept, let alone the effort involved to appease fucking…normies.

So yeah, he’d…he’d thought he was flying under the radar. And anyway; why the fuck would Steve Harrington even notice eddies absence in his day-to-day? They were apocalypse ‘friends’. Hospital buddies at best.

They’re back in the real world now.

Eddie supposed Vecna or whatever the fuck his name is will come crawling back in the foreseeable future, but brighter minds than his are preparing for that shit. The sheepies will let him know if they need his assistance—pending what that assistance may or may not be worth dependent on how far along his PT journey he stands at that point.

But it’s not like they were glued to the hip. It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.

By simply avoiding Steve Harrington.

It’s kind of a foolproof plan, really. He starts wrapping Hellfire earlier, tells the little shitheads he’s gotta run, Wayne needs a hand with a revolving door of household projects now that they’ve got their own place with more than one bedroom. Gotta mount that hangers for that ball cap collection just right, you know, yadda yadda.

He thinks they gave up being suspicious without a week or two, now just hit him with annoyed eye rolls. God bless the scourge of self-centred teenage bitchiness playing directly into eddies hand.

What he failed to account for, however, about eleven weeks into his up-to-now flawless scheme, was…well. The leading man himself.

Showing the fuck up at Eddie’s door, which Eddie answered for once like a fool and now can’t back out of cleanly because there’s no truck in the drive—it’s clear he’s here on his own.

Motherfucker.

One thing can be said for the plan, in terms of like, general side quest observations—absence definitely made the heart grow fonder. Or at least didn’t contribute at all to the opposite. Which Eddie hadn’t been entirely sure was possible, because the speed and strength of how he fell with every fucking cell in him had honestly terrified the shit out of him on its own. But after avoiding Steve, nodding at best if he canoed paths and sneaking away when the man called out like he was gonna snake through a crowd at any of the number of the family dinners for interdimensional-trauma-survivors-anonymous that Eddie couldn’t weasel out of: it’d been clear pretty fucking quick.

The almost-indefensibly-absurd affection he’d developed for the King of Hawkins—it wasn’t just reign over the high school if the parents were so charmed, if the fucking hospital has cowed into acting and quick when they tried to hesitate in treating an accused murderer, as Eddie’d been regaled with by everyone but Steve, who shrugged his kinda crucial role in saving Eddie’s ass with a shrug and of course, man, like there was ever even a question—but his indefensibly overwhelming and absurd infatuation that spent every month expanding further to try and crack his fucking ribs, well.

It was chronic, at best. He wasn’t gonna shake it…any time soon.

Any time soon.

So: best to at least keep the catalyst at bay, stop it from causing the condition to worsen.

He’d made the mistake of thinking it couldn’t get worse already. Learn from your mistakes, and all the shit.

So what if it’s been months now and not only has the malady of being ass-over-nipple in-fucking-love persisted, but got so much fucking worse? Deeper? More, when that shit should have even been possible?

No. He just has to be persistent. Keep at the plan. Eventually, it’ll die off. It’ll whither and blow away. It’ll fucking fade—

He does, however, fail to calculate all contingencies.

Namely Steve Harrington’s incapacity to accept defeat.

He’s also too fucking scatterbrained to check the door before opening it when there’s a knock, just after Wayne’s left for his shift. When Eddie has no excuse to slam it back shut on the exceptionally exquisite face waiting when the hinges swing open.

Exquisite, but looking…pinched. Sour.

Pissed the fuck off.

And worst of all of it—because so far the list only server to underscore that unfortunate state of being fucking beautiful, on every possible level—but worst of it all, because it’s worst on its own but also because it twists, distorts all the beauty, and it’s so clearly Eddie’s fault because Steve is standing right here, and not elsewhere, after all this time.

Looking hurt, under everything else.

“I’m done with this, yeah?”

Eddie could run. He’d only make it to his room; Steve would probably be able to break down the door and get to him before he could slither through the window and run, but he’s still not 100%, right, he’s physically at a disadvantage anyway, it’s not even gonna be a question—

Steve’s got him cornered.

So he just stands. Blinks.

Doesn’t…know what Steve’s ‘done with’, but he feels his literally twist, wring like a dishrag, when he figures out the most likely answer is just:

 Eddie.

Even trying to keep the maximum distance, he either knows, and hates it, hates him, or…

He doesn’t know, and doesn’t need to. He just is over Eddie and his bullshit.

It’s in the heart-piercing distraction of either and both possibilities that Steve pushes past him into the front hall.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?”

Steve crosses his arms as the door latches closed, caging them in.

Eddie’s heart starts kicking hard, which is painful. He assumes that’s because it’s been pierced by the hurt still on Steve’s face.

“I thought we were, like, that at least we were friends?”

He says it like he also has maybe had thoughts like there’s something else they were, or could have been. That by association and context would be somewhere more than friends?

Eddie’s pieced-through heart switches to a double-thumping sort of thing that’s really just as confused as the rest of him.

Hurts like a motherfucker, too.

“Did I do something?”

Steve asks, finally sounds more defeated than any of the other things Eddie can pick up in how he holds his body, and honestly that’s what breaks Eddie’s resolve, of everything; after everything. After holding out this long and failing for the entire fucking effort, after hurting Steve, the last thing he could ever want, probably the main underlying reason he’s been running from him the whole goddamn time—to not hurt him.

He’s suck a fuck up. He’s such a fucking fuck up.

“You know how sunflowers grow?”

Steve startles a little, grows the slightest bit.

“They find the sun, and the grow toward it,” and Eddie’s not stupid enough to think the whole disaster that’s unfolding in front of him, from his own chest, his own fucking mouth—he’s aware.

He can’t do nothing, but he also doesn’t think he can sugarcoat this in a way that goes down easier; sand the rough edges to make it make better sense.

He has to wrench it raw and bloody from his ribs, caught on the jagged bone like the messy fuck he is.

“You were the sun,” Eddie finally says it out loud, and his voice is so small and wondering, he can’t hide it. “You were the sun and I woke up broken, I had to grow back so much and I did, because I had the tools,” he swallows, takes a shaky breath:

“I had the sun right next to me, to do all the growing toward. To…rebuild around.”

Eddie’s always been a weirdo, and outcast—he’s spent a lot of time in libraries; often hiding.

But he’s read a lot of random shit. And enough of it’s stuck to make some sense of this fucking mess.

Steve’s face gives nothing away. It’s usually so…so generous with its feeling, even if there are some feelings Eddie knows Steve’s careful to never let show.

But in the now, he just stares.

“Otters,”Eddie blurts out, fingers twitching, wrists shaking; “they hold hands when they sleep,” and he looks up for a second before looking away again, pulse a mullet in his throat.

“I used to hold onto your hand when I fell asleep in the hospital,” and he says it like it’s a secret, a confession, even though of all people, of course Steve already fucking knows. The part he doesn’t, though:

“I still reach, and how fucked that? Like I deserve it as a rule, like it’s mine.”

Like you’re mine.

He can’t say it. But he doesn’t have it. It rings out on its own.

“But then there are the trees that shoot up all tangled,” Eddie can’t remember what they’re called; “where the trunks split off into one another, or they’re so braided up together the share their bark, whole pieces left Bernal’s, naked but the other tree covers it, makes it strong and safe but only so long as they’re literally fused together indefinitely,” and Eddie hopes that one…that one explains itself.

He pauses, waits for any reaction.

No dice.

“Bats sleep in pitcher plants.”

That at least gets the slightest lift of the chin. Probably because it’s weird, and also…bats.

Right. So Eddie’s gonna have to spell it all out.

Which he kinda knew. The examples are fucking weird. But they’re…they’re true. They’re where he is.

“If I get too fucking close, I will destroy you,” Eddie says, because that’s the fear, right—or no.

That’s the fucking truth. Eddie always ends up with the tatters of the things he loves the most.

“I’ll take too much, I’ll take everything,” Eddie confesses, pleads in his tone to be seen, which Steve’s always been weirdly good at, and understood—the bigger gamble.

“There won’t be any stoplights, there won’t be a barrier or a boundary where I’ll know I’ve gone too far because I won’t even think of what that fucking is, what it could be to even watch for, like the barebones idea of ‘too far’, let alone what it looks like, I won’t,” and his breath runs out, so he gasps, and he thinks he sees Steve move to reach, to help, to steady.

He thinks.

It’s probably just wishful thinking.

“I won’t stop holding on just when I’m sleeping, I’ll,” Eddie licks his lips, because now…now he’sstarting to hurt, closer to what it felt like with teeth ripping his flesh than anything has felt, than any loss has threatened. He has to clear his throat, because otherwise the rest will just spill out like a sob:

“I’ll tear your bark so you bleed, and you’re exposed and you die off slow, because I was selfish, so selfish, I held to close, I fucking…” eddies voice cracks; his eyes fucking burn; “because I fucking demanded the whole of you, and damn the cost because I couldn’t process an end, why would I stop doing to even think to be logical and careful when an end to you was, is, well, fuck,” he huffs, and a tear spills out white hot down his cheek;

“It’s incomprehensible, because that would be the end of everything, that was made real fucking clear for me with the bats, both times,” and Eddie means that—he’s had time to think through the origin of his aching and it was early, it was any hint of being in the world without this person in it, too; “and the end of everything, well,” he shakes his head, some of his hair sticking in the single trail of salt on his skin:

“Tied up in you, so tight we couldn’t physically untangle?” His voice drops to a whisper, and he knows his smile has to look sad, but he means this is the deepest places his heart even holds:

“What better way to go?”

He maybes watches Steve’s throat bobbing. Maybe.

Probably not.

So Eddie just sighs. Because…none of that matters. None of that matters in the face of the core truth:

“Those pitcher plants dissolve things inside them, it’s how they eat,” he half-recites, retreating into those deep-heart places, where the feeling is most saturated, but hard to find, somewhere to hide as he whispers, cowers in himself as he flats his own flesh:

“I’ll leech from you for wanting too much just the same. I’ll fucking destroy you, Stevie,” he moans, feels his arms wrap around his chest, protective. Trembling.

“I’ll love you so hard I’ll suffocate you, I’ll tear you to pieces trying to get closer, trying to hold the heart of you closer to mine,” he doesn’t even make a conscious decision to press a palm over his flailing heart where his arm already holds, hugs himself so fucking tight. His lungs are sore. It’s tight, trying to breathe.

“It’s not an overstatement, though, the other plants, the flowers,” Eddie feels overwhelmed, suddenly, with a need to make clear that there’s only one person at fault for this, and it’s him—Steve didn’t deserve to get hurt. Eddie should have found a better way to keep him safe—from Eddie—from the very start. Because—

“You are my sun,” Eddie makes himself look up, look at Steve. “I didn’t realize how little I was growing even before spring break. I didn’t notice, how fucking thriving wasn’t even in my goddamn vocabulary, until there was you.” His breathing shudders again, followed by the rest of him:

“I turn toward you as a rule,” because here’s the thing. All these weeks and months.

Eddie’s been shrivelling. Eddie spends his nights dreaming of sunlight.

It’s inescapable.

He was going to have to find a more sustainable compromise soon, anyway. Might as well…lay it all out now.

He’s already ripped off his bark. He’s already prepared to dissolve in the acid, to burn for what it means to have left the feeling grow so big.

“I hope,” he coughs, starts slow, formal-like: “I hope you can do me the favor of just,” he has to clear his throat again; fuck, it’s hard; “politely ignoring that part. Like, even at a distance, it’s not something I can seem to stop.”

He was aiming for apologetic for that last bit, honest.

He fucking fails spectacularly, so. That’s cool.

“I swear, I won’t bother you,” he tries to convey how he’s sorry, for all of it, save for the core of the loving, because he as granted. A taste, no matter how it’s fallen to ruin; he’s selfish that way anyhow, to have seen some of the sun versus darkness alone for always.

Still:

“I won’t come near, I’ll do what I’ve been doing but better, I’ll be better, I’ll try harder, it will—“

Eddie thinks maybe he’s finally died. Of heartbreak, of whatever the Upside Down did to him. Of living without his sun for a long.

Any. All of the above.

Because the next thing he knows is pressure. Heat.

On his lips.

He barely processes responding before its town away: of course death wouldn’t be a reward. Not for him.

“Are you fucking telling me,” a voice bites out close enough to Eddie’s lips that he can feel how sharp they cut:

“That you have been avoiding me, running awayfrom me,” and Eddie knows that voice—

“Breaking my heart,” and fuck, fuck Eddie knows he knows that voice because when it’s hurting—and those words are irate and disbelieving and they’re hurt—

“Because you’re fucking scared of loving me too hard?”

And Eddie pulls back, opens his eyes: Steve.

Steve’s eyes are fucking vibrant with feeling, so many feelings. He’s…he doesn’t think he’s dead, because a lot of those feelings are ones Eddie’s not familiar with, and how would he know to place them there if he’s never known them at all?

He doesn’t know of it’s better or worse, to not be dead right now.

Because he just apparently got to feel Steve’s lips on his lips.

But then:

“Because that’s what you’re saying, right” Steve raises a brow, demands in posture as much as in tone:

“You’re in love with me.”

And then on the flip side of being alive-or-dead: he has to deal with the consequences of spelling out the answer to…that.

Which he’s apparently broken Steve’s heart over handling…the only way he could figure out. And still fucking it up.

“That sounds less than what it feels like,” Eddie whispers; it’s the only thing he can latch on to.

Steve’s eyes narrow at him, contemplate him.

“And you think me, of all people,” Steve finally asks, slow, his tone wrenchingly deliberate; “that Iwouldn’t meet someone loving that big and that much,” “and he huffs, shakes his head in searing disbelief Eddie almost wishes he could flinch from, but it’s so warm, it’s his sun:

“That that wouldn’t feel like there actually was a heaven, and I’d died and somehow made it there?”

Eddie’s breath catches, then stops entirely. He can’t seem to properly suck in another one because…

“That finding that wouldn’t feel like I’d won the lottery, like I’d figured out what it meant when people talk about a blessing, and all that shit?”

Because what…what it almost sounds like Steve is saying can’t actually be—

“That finding it, with you,” and oh, oh Steve is a lot closer than he was last Eddie processed the world around him, his chest is grazing Eddie’s chest when he seems to have no trouble breathing, just is doing it really deep and reallt fast—

“That it’d be anything less than a gift,” Steve murmurs half against Eddie’s lips; “a dream come to life?”

And Steve’s eyes flick up, and it’s when they land on Eddie’s and see him that his lungs shiver and he chokes out the only word he thinks his every molecule knows by heart:

“Steve?”

And Steve doesn’t move, neither. Loser nor farther away.

Doesn’t look away; doesn’t blink.

Just asks:

“Do you love me?”

And something in Eddie unfreezes, some string holding him up, holding him back snaps free and he just grabs Steve’s hand and presses it to his chest, like he needs to be tethered now that the string in him’s been cut, and the touch, this touch: Steve is really all he’s been wanting to keep him.

To keep him at all.

And maybe this is the one shot he gets.

But Steve, Steve said…

He presses Steve’s hand to his chest a little harder, because he’s bathed in the sun again. Their hands are linked, and they’re not asleep. He’s peeled off all the pretense, he’s as bare and vulnerable as he can possibly get. His heart’s beating into Steve palm. Eddie will happily fucking drown in this, dissolve and be…

He’s already consumed.

How is it any different, save that maybe, just maybe, beyond all odds and against everything he’s feared—

“More than I can hold in here,” Eddie scarcely finds the air to breathe; “more than I can say.”

“Then share it,” Steve says, the assuredness, the rightness in his gravity that’s always been at his core radiating forth and warming Eddie in a way he’s never known to feel before.

“Let me know it, let that feeling not be alone anymore,” and the words hold more than their syllables, by so much; “let it out to see the sun,” and then Steve’s flipping their hands so eddies the one caught agains this chest, but he’s always pulling them close enough that Steve’s knuckles are still catching the drum of Eddie’s pulse. It feels…

Eddie didn’t know what to expect, to let the feeling be felt beyond his own chest.

It’s breathtaking in a new way. It’s…

“Let it meet its match here, in how I feel,” Steve doesn’t suggest, just speaks, instructs, leads with a match to what Eddie feels, has been drowning in, save where it stole his air it’s breathing into him; where it took his light it’s reinventing the sun as Steve murmurs close, so close to his lips:

“Let it see how it was killing me all this time without you,” and Eddie whimpers for the cost of what he’s done, what he felt so sure he had to do—

“Let the feeling inside here,” and he presses his touch back to Eddie’s chest just a little bit firmer; “know how much sharing it’s like stitching my broken heart back to rights.”

Eddie’s exhales shakes so fucking hard; he can’t be this lucky. It can’t…he can’t…

But his heart’s beating so hard, so fast, so free.

So fucking alive.

“You can’t say it, big enough?” Steve pushes, his breath so goddamn warm, his lashes so thick, Eddie wants to feel them on his skin like a blessing, a sacrament:

“You can’t say it? Then show me, instead.”

And Steve looks up at him before he grabs around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulls him close enough that speaking rubs their lips together, more combative than affectionate but still undeniably intimate as Steve growls:

“Fucking months, Eddie, Jesus,” and his grip is firm, but there’s no force, Eddie could pull back, Eddie could try to run, and fail, but how could he, how could he ever—

His hand’s crushed to Steve’s chest. The same wild thrum he feels in his veins is there.

Let it meet its match.

“Make up for it,” Steve’s breath trembles on Eddie’s lips, taunts him, begs him, asks so many questions.

Eddie flips their hands one more time, presses Steve’s hand to his heartbeat with nothing less than desperation until his ribs goddamn creak, and then he leans, makes the pressure bigger—

Meets the feeling in Steve with all the feeling in him with their lips on each other like they mean it this time, ready to dissolve in it. To grow themselves to protect around the soft parts. To keep their hands entwined for always.

To come alive inside this sun.

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[spoonfulofmilo]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader where he's got into crash and she's worried because she thinks he'll never got the chance to know that she's pregnant? Add something you'd like. Thanks :))

ahahah, i know i just said that i was gonna halt updates, but then i churned this out kinda quick haha :)

it is kind of short though so apologies :)

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fernando alonso x wife!reader

“Be safe, please, mi amor.” he held Fernando in her arms as he paused getting ready to turn around and look at her.

“I am always Carina… Podium on the cards for today haha” He smiled

“Ha, got a surprise for you after the race…if you get a podium today of course.” She looked down, smiling, thinking of the surprise she had planned.

“A nice surprise I hope carina…” He winked and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the implications of his flirty statement, and the blushes of the mechanics who had heard their conversation.

“Not that kind of surprise, but I think you’ll be happy nonetheless…” She smiled knowingly as he looked slightly puzzled before the activity seemed to pick up and was aware he needed to start getting ready.

“As long as you are feeling better than you were this morning I will always be happy.” He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

She gave him his traditional pre race good luck kiss and then his helmet was on his head and he was in the car.

Y/N snuck into Nando’s room, being let in by his trainer Alex. She placed the box on his massage table. It was a pretty simple box, all that was inside was a sonogram, a baby onesie and the positive pregnancy test that was gonna change their lives. 

She’d been feeling sick for a couple of weeks now, and when she’d missed her period she’s had a hunch as to what it could be, but it wasn’t until she had bailed on a triple header because she hadn’t been feeling well, that she’d had time to take the test, freak out about how positive it was.

(she’d called Mark in a panic, and then he’d added Jenson to the call in his panic and then they’d just had Mark, Seb and Jenson on a call freaking out, not helping her to calm down in the slightest, but making her laugh. Eventually Hanna had tried to work out what the fuck was going on with her husband, and had provided some actually useful advice)

Following Hanna’s advice, she’d gone to the doctors and gotten the ultrasound photo. She’d sent Hanna and Lance a photo of the ultrasound, to thank Hanna for her help in the boys panic call, and to let Lance know that he would be the godfather (she thought Nando would like that) but not to tell Nando, as she hadn’t told him yet, but she needed to tell someone. The doctor had confirmed that everything was going okay and that she was about 10 weeks along. Y/N had immediately spotted the onesie online and ordered it, preparing to tell Nando whenever she saw him. The onesie arrived fairly quickly, however, trying to keep the onesie, the test and the sonogram hidden from him for the week that he was home before the Spanish grand prix. She wanted him to know immediately because they’d been trying for so long and so many fails that it was a fucking miracle right now.

Their miracle. Their miracle baby.

Finally the week had arrived and she’d hidden the box with Nando’s personal trainer, who handed it to her after she’d given her good luck wishes to him and he’d sat in the car. She made sure to make it back for the start of the race, so as to not raise any suspicion. And then it was lights out and away they went.

The race had been going well for Fernando. Actually better than well. He was in P2, not even a second behind Perez. It had been helpful that Max had had his first mechanical failure in like 5 years, taking him out of the lead, and promoting everyone up a place. And now Fernando was contending for the lead. Y/N was so excited for him, she couldn’t wait to see him on the top step of the podium and then tell him the awesome news.

Of course then it all went horribly wrong.

Crofty’s voice filled her ears, “AND THAT’S FERNANDO ALONSO GOING FOR THE LEAD OF THE SPANISH GRAND PRIX GOING FOR HIS 33RD WIN GOING AROUND THE OUTSIDE OF SERGIO PEREZ AND THEY TOUCH AND THAT’S BOTH OF THEM GOING INTO THE BARRIERS AND OUT OF THE RACE WHICH PROMOTES LANDO NORRIS INTO THE LEAD OF THE SPANISH GRAND PRIX AND THAT’S A BIG CRASH. FERNANDO IS WEDGED BETWEEN PEREZ AND THE BARRIERS, AND HIS CHASSIS LOOKS CRUSHED and we are really hoping that he is okay there.”

“Fernando, Fernando do you copy?”

No response.

“Fernando, Fernando do you copy?”

Y/N could feel her legs getting weak, and could tell that the people around her were holding her up. She remembers being introduced to Shakira at the start of grand prix, and she complimented her nails. She could feel the nails digging into her left arm, which meant that Shakira was holding her up right now, and if Fernando's life wasn’t at threat, she might be fangirling right now. Still no response.

“Fernando, Fernando do you copy?”

No response. Their miracle wasn’t going to meet their dad

“Fernando, Fernando do you copy?”

fuck.

“And while i’m not entirely sure why Fernando wasn’t responding on the radio just then, but I can now tell you that he is walking out of the crash and he seems all okay.”

Y/N breathed a sigh of relief and tried standing up while letting out wet sobs. She knew she was probably on TV right now, looking a mess, being held up by Shakira and crying when her husband was all okay, but that didn’t matter.

Because Fernando was okay.

She followed his progress on the TV as the team moved the focus to Lance and potentially getting him a win. But she tracked him until he was back in the garage and back safe in her arms. Whispering his reassurances to her.

This was also being broadcast, but she didn’t care. 

He was safe and he was in her arms.

Y/N followed Fernando into his driver's room, entirely forgetting about the surprise that she had left in his room until they came in and she saw the box sitting on the massage table. 

Fernando turned around to her in confusion, “Did you leave this here Carina?”

“Uhh, yeah but it’s nothing, it was supposed to be a surprise for when you got your podium, so look at it later maybe…”

Within 2 strides Fernando was at the box and lifting off the lid. There goes the plan of telling him when he was in a good mood.

Fernando pulled out the onesie, black with a message of ‘daddy’s little race engineer’. Maybe Y/N’s hormones were hitting hard today because the sight of Nando holding a baby onesie was enough to bring her to tears, imagining Nando holding their baby.

“What is this carina?”

“It’s ummm, the surprise I mentioned before…I wanted you to see it when you got your podium, so you can ignore it I guess…”

“No, no, I mean, why is there a sonogram, baby onesie and pregnancy test in here? Is Lance having a baby and wanting to let me know I was the godfather?”

“No, no, mi sol, it’s ours.”

“Ours?”

“Our baby.”

Y/N watched as Fernando processed the words. And then all of a sudden she was being picked up and spun around in a hug as Fernando cried at her.

“Our baby…oh Carina…our baby! I’m so happy right now.”

He was practically yelling, so a few team members came to see what was going on. And then walked in on a happy couple, sobbing to each other as they curled up on the floor. A baby onesie in one’s hands, and the sonogram in the other.

And all of a sudden the media could wait.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @janeholt3

[gunsandspaceships]

Many degrees of Doctor Stark

It is widely known that 616 Tony has several doctorates. The number varies from 3 to 7, but it doesn't really matter whether he is 300 or 700% Doctor. He is one. And he doesn’t use his title 99.999% of the time.

Ok, but what about the MCU?

It is never mentioned whether Tony has a PhD or even a master's degree. Kinda weird. Both the absence of mentions and lack of degrees, since Tony is so smart and productive.

Let’s check, maybe he actually has some.

Here we have a file from a deleted scene from The Avengers (2012):

As we can see, the work is sloppy – there are inaccuracies in his hair color (it’s not black, it’s brown), and the fact that he speaks French was not included. Can we rely on this paper? Let’s not 100%, but we can still use things that don't contradict the movies.

The fact that he received his BS in Engineering from MIT does not contradict this, so we can mark it as valid. He started in 1984 when he was 14 years old and graduated in 1987 when he was 17.

We see no further education in the file. But we know something that this file doesn’t. We watched the movies.

Remember, in Civil War at 0:13:25, in the scene where Tony sees his parents for the last time, Maria tells Howard, “Be nice, dear, he’s been studying abroad”. Tony is 21 here, this is December 16, 1991. Looks like he is on winter break.

But wait… Didn’t he graduate in 1987 and stop then? Well, Maria tells us he continued.

Between 17 and 21 there are 4 years. What could he have done in these 4 years? A lot, right? He is smart and productive, we know that. A master’s degree usually takes 2 years. Tony could earn it in 1. 1 or 2, we still have 2-3 years that we need to fill with some kind of studying. I doubt he just went back and got another bachelor's or master's. That said, he was working on his PhD.

We don't know where. “Abroad” is a very broad concept. Maybe he went to Europe to study at Oxford? We do not know. Perhaps he stayed at MIT and just went somewhere else for the fall semester. We do not know. But he did go somewhere for (most probably) a PhD.

The question is: did he finish it?

Well, his parents died in Dec 1991, and we know from the first Iron Man (0:04:50) that Stane was the interim president of Stark Industries from that date until 1992. Most likely, Tony became CEO before his birthday, that is, May 29, which corresponds to the stated age of 21. He had a few months between.

We don’t know where he was in his degree at that time. But we know he is smart and productive. He doesn’t need 4 years to write a dissertation.

So, there are 2 options:

1) He did not complete his doctorate and devoted himself entirely to the company;

2) He completed it in the few months he had and then took over the company.

Here’s the evidence for the second option:

“Confusing matters more, a recently deleted LinkedIn profile for Tony Stark indicated he received doctorates in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.”

Source: https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Given all the information and analysis we have, as well as a little logic, we can conclude that Tony has a Ph.D. Even two. He had time to do them. Why doesn't he use his title? Well, maybe for the same reason 616 Tony doesn’t? He doesn’t usually brag. Check out this post if you have any doubts about my statement.

Here are some additional hints:

He gave lectures at scientific conferences (IM1 and IM3 - Bern 1999).

His scientific expertise was not limited to engineering and his company's affairs (all the movies, but specifically I can point you to IM3– the scene with Maya Hansen and her Extremis-enhanced plants in Bern).

“He must have graduated after 1990, because the '90 Brass rat was the first one with the skyline on the edge.” MIT alumni commentary https://alum.mit.edu/slice/who-iron-man

Conclusion (actual): call him Doctor Stark, guys, he deserves it. Despite his modesty about his scientific achievements, Dr Stark has a couple of master's degrees and at least two PhD degrees in the MCU - in engineering physics and artificial intelligence.

[grilledcheezy92]

Freelancer

Name: Elijah "Eli" Samson

Birthday: June 15, 1998

Pronouns: He/they

Sexuality: bi preference for men, polyamorous

Favorite Color: Blue Violet

Favorite Food: Meat Lover’s Pizza and Honey Barbecue Bone-In Wings

Appearance: 5'5 trans masc, baggy jeans, oversized school hoodie and/or tshirts mostly (style mostly tboy swag) hides their figure when they're not wearing a binder and on the skinny side from a few lean years in their late teens, 2C messy moptop dyed black hazel/heterochromia (all of the major eye colors present. like one eye has brown/amber and green, the other is dark blue and grey) warm beige with neutral undertones, round face, full lips

rgb (0, 0, 0)

Background (cw: trans microaggressions, referenced transphobia, vaguely referenced sexual coersion)

Grew up in a fairly large family. Couple of aunts and uncles on each side. Freelancer and Angel were as close as siblings growing up. Both in the church choir. Their families were very involved. Every Sunday, bake sales, potlucks, Easter egg hunts, the works. He knew at like 6-7 years old that they were not a girl and while their parents were "okay" with it, they cared about appearance. And the judgement they faced from the community forced him largely to stay in the closet but they were allowed to take T when it was clear they were uncomfortable with puberty. They were aware of some resentment because of their magic so he tried to keep it hidden but after the thousandth small incident and an ultimatum "it's either [the magic] or the transition, both are just too much. Figure your shit out" everything blows up. Parents tried to ship them off to their transphobic grandparents when they were 16, they freaked and lost control of their magic again (The Incident) and ran away rather than be forced to live as a girl.

While roaming and homeless, in 2017 they ended up with an all-denominations church community downtown in a major metropolitan city. The pastor was pretty young (early 30’s) and let Eli move in while he got back on their feet. They were asked/guilted into “favors” in lieu of rent. The pastor would intentionally misgender them during the “favors”*. They were still sleeping on the pastor’s couch when Caelum visited them for the first time. It gave them the motivation to leave the situation.

The grandparents they were being sent to both passed away the summer of 2020, the inheritance was deposited into the bank account they still had access to (the only hint their family had to the fact they were still alive)

Can't move out of their current apartment bc it's paid for by inheritance from their grandparents and all they can afford (it's also student housing)

Got back on T as soon as they could once they were settled at DAMN

They haven't talked to their parents since The Incident, opened up vaguely about it to Lasko but he thankfully hasn't pried.

He has been re-embracing a bit of their femininity with Dear and Gavin's assistance.

#polyDAMN

*Disclaimer: This is a situation where Eli was vulnerable to a man in a position of power and that man took advantage of his willingness to pay their way by any means necessary. The only reason it's significant that he was a young/fresh-faced Christian worship leader is Eli’s past with religion. (see also: Would've Could've Should've on his playlist)

taglist: @achildofapollo @thesolaireslawyer @localpigeon22 @original-bookshelf @poedays

[rizumaryy]

The Lotus Flower Love Fragrance

Kaji Ren x Akeno Hana 2798 words

ーFirst Date

The digital clock on Kaji’s phone glowed 9:47 AM. He was early. Painfully, ridiculously early. Not that he’d ever admit it. He stood leaning against a wall of Makochi Station, trying to project an air of casual coolness. Inside, however, his stomach was churning with nervous energy.

Today was the day. Their first date.

He’d planned everything. Researched the best route – a local line to a major hub, then the Shinkansen to Ueno. Studied the zoo map like a battle plan. Checked the zoo's website daily for unexpected closures or maintenance. He knew more about zoo logistics now than he did about some of Makochi's sketchier back alleys. This level of planning was… new. All because he didn't want anything to go wrong. He didn't want to disappoint Hana.

He smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his gray hoodie, which was layered under his jacket with its blue-white-green panels. Navy jeans and sneakers. Standard Kaji. But he’d debated his outfit for an embarrassing amount of time last night. He still wore his headphones around his neck, a familiar weight, though they weren't broadcasting anything. And a lollipop stick protruded from his mouth – currently a blue raspberry flavour.

He spotted her then.

The world seemed to quiet, the station's usual cacophony receding into a dull hum. Hana emerged, a splash of vibrant colour and warmth against the station's muted tones. She wore her light pink hoodie tucked into a dark gray suspender skirt that swirled just above her knees. White kitten heels gave her a slight lift, and her pink ankle socks matching her top. Her medium long brown hair framed her face, and her pink eyes, usually sparkling with boundless energy, held a hint of shy excitement as she looked around, searching. A small, brown purse was slung over her shoulder.

Kaji’s heart didn’t just skip a beat; it did a full acrobatic routine. He’d seen her in casual clothes before, of course. They’d been friends since middle school, after all. But seeing her like this, knowing she was dressed up for him, for their first date… it hit differently. She looked, impossibly, even prettier than usual.

He straightened up, trying to adopt his usual poker face. It felt like a flimsy mask today. He started walking towards her, his movements stiff, self-conscious.

Hana spotted him, and her face lit up with that blindingly cheerful smile he adored. She waved enthusiastically, a stark contrast to his attempted stoicism. He remembered Kusumi's unsolicited but surprisingly earnest advice from a few days ago:

Make sure you tell her she looks nice. Hana-chan will like that! (^0^)

"Ren!" she called out; her voice bright. She practically bounced over to him.

He reached her, stopping a little too abruptly. Okay, compliment. Look her in the eye. Don’t mess it up.

He tried to meet her gaze directly, felt the heat creep up his neck, and quickly glanced slightly to the left of her head. "Hana," he managed, his voice a little gruffer than intended.

She tilted her head, still smiling. " Sorry, did you wait long?"

"No, just got here." Lies.

He took a shaky breath. Compliments. Compliments are good. "You… uh…" He gestured vaguely at her. "You look… good. Pretty."

It came out sounding incredibly awkward, stiff and maybe a little mumbled around the lollipop he'd just put in his mouth. He expected her to laugh, maybe tease him.

Instead, a soft flush bloomed on Hana’s cheeks, mirroring the pink of her hoodie. Her smile became smaller, bashful. "Oh. Thank you, Ren." She fidgeted slightly with the strap of her purse. "You… you too. Your outfit. It suits you."

His outfit? It was just clothes. His usual clothes. But the way she said it, looking down shyly, made him feel like he was wearing something special. He felt the blush spread further up his neck, reaching his ears. He mumbled a thanks, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

The awkwardness, though fleeting, felt monumental. Yet, seeing her shy like this, the girl who could chat up a lamp post, filled him with a strange mix of pride and tenderness. Kusumi was right. Compliments worked.

"Okay! So, Ueno Zoo!" Hana clapped her hands together lightly, her usual cheer quickly reasserting itself, easing the tension that had sprung up between them. "I'm so excited to see the pandas!"

"Yeah," Kaji said, feeling a flicker of pride that his research had landed him on the right gate choice. "We'll take the train to Ueno. It'll take a while, though."

They bought their tickets and boarded the train that would take them towards Ueno. The journey involved a transfer, and Kaji, ever prepared, confirmed the route, the timings, and the platform numbers multiple times. Hana chatted easily beside him, talking about a funny thing that happened in her band club practice yesterday, or a new anime soundtrack she was trying to learn on the piano. Kaji listened, offering quiet interjections or just watching her, a small, private smile playing on his lips every now and then. He found himself talking about his life too, about his friends, finding it easy to share things with her, something he didn't do for just anyone.

On the Shinkansen, she pressed her face against the window, watching the scenery blur past. "Wow, it's so fast!"

"Yeah. It's called the 'bullet train' for a reason."

She turned back to him; her pink eyes wide. "Are you nervous about the date, Ren?"

The directness of her question, typical of Hana, caught him off guard. He'd spent the morning a bundle of nerves, but now, just sitting next to her, listening to her talk, the anxiety had settled into a low thrum rather than a frantic panic. He considered lying, maintaining the poker face. But it was Hana.

He shrugged, looking away briefly. "A little... I didn't want anything to go wrong."

She reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm. "Nothing will go wrong. It's because I’m with you! We will have a great time." Her smile was so full of simple, unquestioning trust that it made something warm bloom in his chest again.

"Yeah." He didn't look at her, but he didn't pull his arm away either. Her touch was light, but it felt significant.

Soon, the train pulled into Ueno Station, the urban bustle a stark contrast to Makochi. They disembarked and followed the signs towards the zoo. Kaji led the way confidently towards the Ikenohata Gate, recalling his meticulous planning.

"Wow!" Hana exclaimed as they approached the entrance, the greenery within already visible. Her pink eyes widened, sparkling with pure, unadulterated excitement.

They presented their tickets – the ones Hiragi had given them, a silent encouragement from his senpai echoing in Kaji's mind – and stepped inside. The atmosphere immediately shifted from urban hustle to park tranquility, albeit one filled with the distant calls of exotic animals and the chatter of fellow visitors. And Hana, bless her cheerful, easily distracted heart, saw something shiny and interesting almost instantly.

"Oh, wow! Are those the giraffes? They're so tall!" With that, she was off, moving swiftly towards the edge of the exhibit enclosure, hands already reaching for her phone to take a picture.

Kaji froze for a split second. Giraffes? Weren't the pandas the priority? And more importantly, she was already drifting away. He distinctly heard Hiragi’s advice in his head: 'Keep an eye on Hana, Kaji. She has a knack for wandering off without meaning to. Even when she's scared to be left behind, she just... floats.' He knew it was true. Her sense of direction and awareness of her surroundings when distracted by something interesting were… non-existent.

Kaji reacted instinctively. He strode forward, closing the small gap she'd already created, and reached out, taking her hand lightly in his. Her skin was warm. His heart did another frantic beat. He kept his gaze steady, attempting the poker face.

"Oi," he said, his voice firm but low, a gentle undertone beneath the mild scolding. "Don't wander off. You'll get lost." He gave her hand a light squeeze, just enough to make sure she stayed put.

Hana stopped, her pink eyes widening slightly as she registered his action and his words. She looked down at their joined hands for a moment, a faint flush returning to her cheeks. Her usual bluntness softened into shy embarrassment. "Oh! Right... Sorry, Ren. I just got excited." She squeezed his hand back.

"It's kinda scary getting separated, even though I always end up doing it..." She gives him a sheepish smile.

Kaji's grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "Just stay close," he murmured, not letting go of her hand. He wasn't sure if the gesture was more for her benefit or his own at this point. Holding her hand, even the simple contact, sent a weird pleasant jolt through him. It felt... right. And it definitely ensured she wouldn't just float away towards the next interesting animal.

They started walking, hand-in-hand, towards the giraffe enclosure. Hana peered over the fence, reading the information panel out loud, pointing things out. Kaji stood beside her, listening, occasionally offering a quiet observation. He found himself smiling more genuinely, the easy warmth of being near her chasing away the last remnants of his station anxiety.

They spent the next few hours exploring. They saw the birds, the rhinos, the hippos, and more. Hana’s reactions were a constant source of quiet amusement and warmth for Kaji. She gasped, she pointed, she laughed, she chattered excitedly about everything she saw. Kaji mostly listened, offering short comments or answering her questions, content just to watch her be so happy. He found himself smiling more than usual – small, unnoticeable smiles that only came out when he was around his close friends.

He took pictures of them, of the animals, posing sometimes awkwardly when Hana asked him to stand next to something for scale. But mostly, he took pictures of her. Hidden pictures. Pictures of her face lighting up seeing the storks flapping out their wings, her focused expression as she tried to get a good shot of a sleepy lemurs, her pure joy when they finally reached the panda enclosure.

The pandas were, as expected, the main event. Hana was ecstatic, practically bouncing again as they joined the queue. When they finally got to the viewing area, seeing the fluffy black and white bears munching on bamboo, her face was alight with wonder.

"They're even cuter in real life! So fluffy! And round!" she whispered; eyes wide.

Kaji watched the pandas, but he was watching Hana more. Her happiness was infectious. They watched the pandas for a long time. Hana posed in front of the enclosure, beaming. Kaji took several photos of her, her smile brighter than any flashbulb.

After the pandas, they saw more animals, then ate lunch at one of the park's eateries. The majority of the food sold there was shaped like panda, which makes Hana feel guilty about eating them. After lunch, they continued their exploration, albeit at a slightly slower pace as the day's energy started to wane.

Their last stop before heading back towards the station was the souvenir shop. It was filled with plush toys, keychains, and various animal-themed goods. Hana headed straight for the panda section, naturally. Kaji followed, letting go of her hand briefly as they browsed.

"Ren, look!" Hana held up two small panda plushies attached to keyrings. "It's so fluffy!" They were a pair, identical but slightly different. One wears a small bowtie on its neck while the other on its head.

Kaji looked at them, then at her hopeful face. He didn't usually buy souvenirs. Didn't see the point. But this wasn't just about a souvenir. It was about the day. Their first date.

"Yeah," he said, reaching out to touch one of the soft, fuzzy keychains. "Let's get them."

Hana's smile widened again. "Really? Like, matching ones?"

"Matching ones," he confirmed, feeling a warm satisfaction at her obvious pleasure. He paid for them; after winning a fierce battle of rock-paper-scissor, slipping one into his pocket and watching as Hana immediately attached hers to the zipper of her purse.

As the afternoon wore on, they started making their way back towards the exit. The train ride back to Makochi was long, involving the return Shinkansen journey. Hana, who had been buzzing with energy all day, recounting her favorite parts of the zoo visit, gradually started to quiet down. Her voice grew softer, her sentences shorter.

Kaji listened, watching the setting sun cast long shadows across the landscape outside the window. He felt tired too, but it was a good kind of tired. Not the exhaustion that followed a fight, but the pleasant weariness after a fulfilling day.

Hana's head dipped. She blinked slowly, her eyelids fluttering. Her chatter stopped altogether. Then, with a soft sigh, her head gently lulled sideways and came to rest on Kaji's shoulder.

Kaji froze.

His entire body tensed. He could feel the soft weight of her head, the delicate strands of her hair brushing against his neck. His heart, which had been relatively calm since arriving at the zoo, suddenly kicked into overdrive, thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He instinctively scanned the carriage. Empty. Blessedly, wonderfully empty. Thank God. He didn't think he could handle someone seeing this right now. He let out a silent breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His face felt hot, his cheeks flushing. This close… feeling her soft hair against his cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing… it was overwhelming.

His hand twitched, reaching towards his pocket, towards the familiar shape of his lollipop. His usual, reliable method for calming his nerves or keeping his temper in check. His fingers closed around one. He pulled it out, started peeling the wrapper... and then paused.

He hadn't had a single lollipop since Hana arrived at the Makochi station this morning.

He hadn't needed one. Not when Hana was chattering beside him on the train ride, not when he was holding her hand at the zoo, not when he was just watching her smile at the pandas. His quick temper, his occasional awkwardness, the internal turmoil he often pacified with sugar – it had all been remarkably quiet today. Being with Hana had a calming effect on him that no amount of candy ever could.

The realization hit him with surprising force. He looked down at Hana's peaceful sleeping face resting against him. Her breathing was soft and even. The small, goofy panda keychain dangled from her bag, which was resting on her lap.

A profound sense of fondness washed over him. A rare, small, amused smile touched Kaji's lips. It was fleeting, barely there, but genuine. He peeled the wrapper the rest of the way and put the lollipop in his mouth anyway. The sweetness a minor addition to the warmth spreading through him. It wasn’t about the lollipop anymore. It was just a habit, overshadowed by a new, much stronger feeling.

He shifted slightly, adjusting himself so her head rested more comfortably on his shoulder. He looked at her sleeping face, soft and relaxed, a complete contrast to the vibrant energy she displayed when awake. He traced the line of her jaw with his eyes, the curve of her cheek, the gentle flutter of her eyelids.

Warmth spread from his shoulder throughout his body. It wasn't just physical warmth; it was a deep, comforting feeling of peace and belonging. He felt anchored, complete in a way he hadn't realized he was missing. Slowly, carefully, Kaji closed his eyes and rested his head lightly on top of hers. Her hair was soft beneath his temple. He inhaled softly, catching the faint, sweet scent of her shampoo.

He stayed like that, not sleeping, though. He needed to stay awake to make sure they got off at the right station, of course. But more than that, he wanted to savor this moment. This quiet intimacy after a day of shared excitement. This feeling of her weight on him, of his head resting on hers. It was confirmation of everything he was starting to understand about their relationship, about her, about himself.

With Hana by his side, the world felt a little less chaotic, his own internal landscape a little calmer. Kaji was a Grade Captain of Bofurin, the protector of a town. But right now, he wasn't thinking about fights or delinquents or keeping the peace. He was just Ren, with Hana sleeping on his shoulder. And for the first time, he understood that the strongest kind of peace wasn't something he had to fight for, or even suck on candy to maintain. Sometimes, it was just the quiet weight of someone you cared about, curled up safe beside you.