#but it’s not really like people are mocking the accent they just find it amusing because it’s not what they’re used to

[the-casbah-way]

my hot take of the day: a lot of memey videos of british people are not actually funny it’s just that people (americans) find their accents funny

[lemonvii]

Home to you (Once more, for the record)

11k word fic

Pairing: Zosan | Roronoa Zoro x Vinsmoke Sanji

Tags: Older Character au - Canon Divergence - Friends to Lovers - Fluff - Shameless Smut - Oral Sex - Praise Kink - Degradation - Pining - Anal Fingering - Boot Worship - Complicated Relationships - OPLA

Top Roronoa Zoro Bottom Sanji (One Piece)

SUMMARY - Years after their adventures on the Thousand Sunny, Zoro and Sanji find themselves reunited at Sanji's new restaurant/ roof top apartment. A night of shared memories and rekindled passions leads them to confront the feelings they've long kept buried, ultimately realizing that the connection they share goes far beyond just physical attraction.

Sanji moved through his kitchen with a practiced grace, each flick of the wrist and smooth motion revealing a lifetime of experience since they last crossed paths. From his perch at the kitchen island, Zoro's eyes followed him, noting the subtle shift in the cook’s physique—stronger, more defined, with a touch of silver at his temples that only added to his allure. At 35, Sanji had aged like fine wine, and Zoro wasn’t too proud to admit how much he’d missed that boyish charm and the ever-present scent of cigarettes that clung to him like a second skin.

“Not quite the reckless chef I met 16 years ago, huh?” Zoro commented, his tone laced with nostalgia.

Sanji’s laugh filled the kitchen, richer and more grounded than Zoro remembered. With a steady hand, Sanji refilled Zoro’s cup of Umeshu, his movements smooth and confident. “People change, Zoro. I’d hope all these years would add some depth to both of us.” There was a subtle shift in his accent, a faint trace of his rougher roots slipping through.

Zoro nodded and took a deep sip of his drink, letting the warmth seep into his throat. Absently he’d been his fingers tracing the letters of his name into the cool surface of the marble countertop in thought. The contrast between the countertop's chill and the kitchen's heat made him think back on their lives together; the up’s, down’s, and everything in between.

His gaze lingered on Sanji, who moved with effortless grace, portioning food onto plates and fully in his element. The cook's hair, once meticulously styled, now had a few rebellious strands falling into his eyes, the rest tied back in a messy half-up ponytail. It was a stark contrast to the polished look Zoro remembered, but somehow, it suited him even more. The sight was captivating, and Zoro couldn’t help but feel that Sanji had more than earned the attention he got.

“I can see that. You’ve turned this place into something... impressive,” Zoro murmured, sliding his chopsticks out of the way as Sanji placed two plates down with a flourish, his grin knowing and just a bit smug. Without needing to ask, Zoro recognized his favorite—onigiri and salted sea king meat, beautifully garnished.

“Thanks,” Sanji sighed, patting his hands on his apron before peeling it off with a sense of finality. “It’s my little haven near the city. But what about you? Still wandering blind, or have you finally found a port to call home?”

Zoro grinned at the jab, his voice rumbling with amusement as he shot back, “You still slummin’ the tables, waiter?”

Sanji scoffed, a mock glare on his face as he rounded the table. "Hush it, bastard." He muttered but dropped into the seat beside Zoro, the chair creaking under his weight as he settled in.

They began to eat, the clink of chopsticks against plates filling the comfortable silence between them. Sanji didn’t miss a beat, offering small, pointed insults about Zoro’s table manners between bites, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of annoyance and affection. Zoro, unbothered, grunted in response, his grin widening with each quip as they tucked into the meal together.

Gratitude washed over Zoro as they ate; he had really begun to miss this. Luffy, in his usual chaotic way, had planned to bring everyone back together at Sanji’s bustling new restaurant to mark another anniversary of their crew’s formation. But the others hadn’t arrived yet—Zoro had actually sailed in early, prompted by a news coo letter from Sanji written in a code only the two of them knew.

Sanji’s message had been simple but unmistakable: “The sake is running low, and the moss on the rocks is growing fast.” It was their way of saying, "We need to talk, just us."

Slipping back into easy camaraderie with Sanji felt like rediscovering an old rhythm. But it wasn’t just the banter or the familiar taste of Sanji’s cooking that Zoro had missed. It was the closeness, the way they used to connect, both in and out of bed. He caught Sanji’s eye, a hint of that familiar smirk playing on the cook’s lips, and Zoro felt a flicker of the old heat between them.

They both knew what was on his mind, but for now, they danced around it, letting the moment linger, enjoying the tension that crackled just beneath the surface. As the meal came to an end, the mood gradually shifted, the lighthearted banter giving way to a more subdued atmosphere. Zoro noticed the way Sanji’s smile softened as he lit a cigarette, his eyes flickering with something unspoken, as if he too was navigating the space between nostalgia and the present. It was in these quieter moments, when the noise of the world faded, that Zoro found himself opening up in ways he rarely did with anyone else. The room felt smaller somehow, as if the walls were leaning in to listen.

"I visited my old village," Zoro sighed, shifting in his seat. "Paid my respects to Kuina's grave and... spent some time with Wado Ichimonji."

Sanji remained silent, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazily into the air as Zoro's admission settled between them. The weight of it was palpable—a rare moment of vulnerability from Zoro, and he knew it. Wado Ichimonji was more than just a sword; it was a living link to his past, to Kuina, and to the promise that had defined his life. Only a few people truly grasped the depth of that bond, and Sanji was one of them. He’d held that knowledge in quiet confidence, never once betraying the trust Zoro had placed in him.

After a long moment, Sanji finally spoke, his voice softer than usual. "She’d be proud of you, Zoro. Proud of how far you've come... and that you've kept her close all this time." There was no teasing, no banter—just a sincere acknowledgment that hit Zoro with unexpected force. He felt it deep in his chest, a rare surrender to the emotion in Sanji’s words—something he didn’t often allow himself to feel. Sanji collected their plates and dumped them into the sink, rolling up his sleeves. Zoro watched and scowled, but it was more to mask the stirring emotion within him than to reject the sentiment.

Wordlessly, He pushed himself up from his seat and moved to the sink, slipping seamlessly into the old rhythm they’d shared aboard the Thousand Sunny. He didn’t need to ask where to start; his hands found the dish towel, drying each plate and bowl with the same practiced ease he’d developed during countless meals at sea. The soft glow of the kitchen’s overhead lamp bathed them in warm light, casting gentle shadows that swayed with their movements.

“You did a good thing, moss,” Sanji murmured, his voice barely cutting through the soft clinking of dishes. Zoro didn’t respond with words; he grunted softly, acknowledging the sentiment as he set another dish to dry.

As they worked, Zoro found himself easing into the routine, his usual tension melting away with each swipe of the towel or scrub of the pot. He felt a rare calm settle over him, a quiet contentment that made him more attuned to Sanji's gentle directions on where to place each item. It was the kind of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been missing, and for once, he let himself enjoy it.

Their shared feelings wrapped around them like a balm, smoothing the rough edges of old wounds. The silence between them was filled with unspoken understanding, a reminder of the resilience that had carried them through so much—Arlong, Thriller Bark, Whole Cake—every near-death encounter with Kaido or Big Mom, every scar etched into their skin.

Sanji leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against Zoro’s, the contact welcomed in kind. Sanji’s voice followed, a soft murmur meant only for Zoro, the words slipping past the clatter of the kitchen and securing his attention in the moment.

“I missed you,” Sanji whispered, the sincerity in his tone carrying a weight that settled deep in Zoro’s chest. Goosebumps prickled along Zoro’s bare arms and he held his breath. Sanji’s words washing over him like sea glass, smooth and polished.

“You too, Curly.” He offered Sanji a gentle smile, affirming the sentiment without the need for more words. Their eyes locked, the air between them grew heavier, thick with the weight of unspoken emotions. He hadn’t expected to feel such a strong ache for Sanji after all this time—yet here he was, drawn to the man who had once been a constant in his life.

The suds from the dishes clung to their hands, and the sound of their breath echoed.

Zoro’s gaze lingered, heavy and searching, as if trying to bridge the years of distance with just a look. Sanji met his stare with equal intensity, a silent understanding passing between them. The kitchen around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, closer than they’d been in years.

Sanji’s warmth still lingered on his hand with a gentle grasp, even if he was someone strong and unyielding enough to match his energy, someone who understood him without needing words- he could be soft too.

Luffy had his loyalty, no doubt, but Sanji—his left wing—was the one who had always protected his back, who dealt with his bullshit and moods without flinching. Sanji was the one Zoro could count on—the one who fed him well and fought just as fiercely beside him.

The loneliness of those long nights at sea brought them together, their brief touches in the galley and the unresolved tension that filled them. The weight of their shared history, their unspoken bond, pressed in around him, filling the space where words failed.

Zoro’s grip tightened around Sanji’s hand, still slick from the soap, and he leaned in slightly, their foreheads nearly touching. “You’ve always had my back, Sanji,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of everything he’d never said. “Even when I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Sanji’s eyes softened at the admission, his smile small but genuine. “And I always will, you idiot,” he replied, his voice tinged with the familiar mix of affection and exasperation. He squeezed Zoro’s hand gently.

As if sensing the shift in Zoro’s thoughts, Sanji suggested they move to the living room. The ambiance transformed; soft jazz played in the background, and the warm glow from the lamps cast gentle shadows around the room. Zoro’s gaze wandered, landing on the tangerine tree Nami had given as an opening gift, a vibrant reminder of their shared history. Scattered throughout the space were pieces of all the Strawhats—knick-knacks, furniture, each item steeped in memories of their time together. It was an inviting scene, where the bottle of Umeshu they shared felt like a bridge between their past and present.

===

“Remember when you used to sneak into the galley late at night?” Sanji teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he handed Zoro another refill. Sanji was definitely tipsy– but Zoro proudly knocked back another sip as he still had a while to go. “Always claimed you were hungry, but I knew better.”

Zoro leaned back into the couch, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What, you think I was there just to see your ugly mug?” Yes.

Sanji rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin. “Please, like you could resist my cooking—or anything else in that kitchen.”

Zoro’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as the flirtation stoked a familiar heat between them. “Maybe you’ll find out tonight, if you’re lucky,” he shot back, letting his fingers linger a moment longer as he handed Sanji the bottle. Their eyes locked as he drank, the unspoken desire between them simmering just beneath the surface.

Sanji swirled the nearly empty bottle, his smirk not wavering, but there was a flicker of something intense in his gaze as he tucked his feet into the crease of the couch, flushed and tipsy.

 “You been with anyone else since me?” Zoro asked, his tone casual, though the question carried more weight than he let on.

Sanji paused his swirling thoughtfully before pouring himself another drink. “What’s it to you, mosshead? Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. But none of them were as stubborn or thick-headed as you,” he teased, but the usual bite in his words was missing, replaced by a hint of vulnerability if you listened close enough.

Zoro shrugged, leaning back into the couch with a lazy confidence that belied the intensity of his gaze. “Guess i'm just one of a kind, hm?” His tone was light, but the underlying challenge in his words was clear.

Sanji’s chuckle faded, but the way his gaze lingered on Zoro told him everything he needed to know. Zoro wasn’t blind to the blonde’s flirtation or the desire simmering beneath those casual words. He knew Sanji better than anyone—knew just how far the cook was willing to go when given the chance. And if there was one thing Zoro could read as clearly as a map, it was the fact that Sanji wouldn’t have sent that news coo for him to come early without a damn good reason.

Zoro leaned back, eyeing Sanji with a cocky tilt of his head, his fangs peeking through a sly grin. “So, this is what you had in mind when you called me here early, huh? Could’ve just said you missed me.”

Sanji’s lips twitched, but his eyes held Zoro’s with a seriousness that belied his playful tone. “Would you have come if I did?”

Zoro didn’t answer right away, letting the question hang between them. The truth was, he’d been planning to come home to him anyway. The endless wandering had lost some of its appeal, and lately, he found himself thinking less about the next adventure and more about the people who’d always been by his side. About what he said years ago when they both stood before death’s door.

“Maybe,” Zoro finally replied, his voice low and rough, but the meaning clear. “But you didn’t have to ask. You know I’d have shown up eventually.” He leaned in, closing the distance between them, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But I’m here now. So what are you gonna do about it?”

Sanji’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t back down. His tone sweet as he leaned in, meeting Zoro’s gaze head-on. “Depends on how long you plan on sticking around.”

Zoro’s grin sharpened, a dangerous edge to it that made something in Sanji’s chest tighten. “Long enough,” he challenged.

The air between them thrummed with anticipation, the weight of years of banter and rivalry pressing down on them. Neither would yield, not when so much was on the line.

Zoro’s eyes followed every deliberate movement as Sanji traced the rim of his glass, his pale fingers collecting the salted rim and agave syrup. With a slow, deliberate motion, Sanji brought the finger to his lips, sucking the syrup off in a way that was anything but innocent. Checkmate- His eyes stayed locked on Zoro’s, daring him to make the next move.

Before Sanji could quip back, Zoro went into action. His hand shot out, gripping Sanji’s wrist, the glass clattering onto the table, forgotten. Zoro didn’t wait—he pulled Sanji to him, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was wine slick, demanding, and full of all the heat and tension that had simmered between them for too long.

Sanji responded instantly, his free hand tangling in Zoro’s hair as he leaned into the kiss, matching Zoro’s intensity with his own. Their mouths moved together with a raw, unfiltered need that sent sparks through both of them. The taste of salt and syrup mixed on their tongues, but it was the taste of each other that had them both craving more after so long.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the small space between them, foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath. Zoro’s hand cupped Sanji’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the slick, kiss-swollen lips. The blonde panted, eyes blown wide with desire. Zoro looked him over–breath caught, a fierce, primal need surging through him. His voice dropped, gravelly with intent. “I’m thinking you missed this– you missed my mouth on you, hm?” he murmured, the challenge laced with unmistakable desire.

“Shut up,” Sanji growled but angled his neck wider for Zoro to hold him there.

“Can you handle it?” Zoro challenged, hand sliding from his jaw to his throat. Squeezing as Sanji gasped– yes , his voice rough with the lingering heat of the kiss.

Sanji’s smug expression returned, but his eyes were dark, filled with something far more demanding. “I’ve been handling you for years, Marimo. Question is—can you keep up?”

Zoro let him go and suddenly brought his booted foot up to balance on the edge of the table, his legs spreading wide enough to stand in, effectively caging them on the couch. The remnants of meticulously cut ice cubes clinked softly against the glass as he did so.

The music from the record player shifted, the soft jazz morphing into a deeper, more evocative melody, throbbing with the pulse of the room. It enveloped them, a rich, heady sound that mirrored the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Sanji watched Zoro with wide, glassy eyes, his usual control slipping further away, replaced by an unguarded excitement that left him almost breathless. The anticipation was palpable, each of Zoro's movements drawn out, heavy with meaning.

" Sanji ," Zoro repeated, his voice deeper now, filled with a gravity that sent a shiver down Sanji’s spine. The room fell away, leaving only the two of them and the soft thrum of music—a backdrop to the significant moment unfolding.

Sanji’s breath caught, barely louder than a whisper. "Yes?" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and anticipation, a rare show of vulnerability as he adjusted his grip on the suede pillows.

"Get undressed," Zoro commanded, locking eyes with him in the dimly lit room. Tipsy or not, Zoro’s expression was serious enough to make everything else fade to silence in Sanji’s ears.

"Right," Sanji replied after a beat, standing slowly to shed his button-down and trousers. His hands, normally so steady and sure, trembled slightly as they unbuttoned everything piece by piece. The sight of the tent in his boxers was a pleasing one, and Zoro watched him from the couch, eyes dark with desire as he palmed himself through his jeans, other hand thrown casually along the back of the sofa.

Zoro’s gaze burned into him, every movement of his hands on his own body deliberate and slow, like he was savoring the moment, watching Sanji strip for him. The tension between them crackled like electricity, the air thick with the promise of what was to come.

As Sanji stood there, nearly naked, he felt the weight of Zoro’s gaze on him, the desire in his eyes making the room feel even smaller, hotter. Zoro leaned back; the timbre of his voice sparked a thrill straight to Sanji’s core. “Now, come here.”

Sanji moved toward him, each step deliberate, as if testing the tension in the air between them. The soft thrum of the music filled the room, the low notes resonating through the floor, vibrating up through their bodies. Zoro’s gaze was fixed on Sanji, every breath he took seemed to synchronize with the blonde’s movements. The warm light of the room highlighted the contours of Sanji’s body, casting shadows that accentuated every line of muscle, every curve of his frame.

Sanji stopped just short of Zoro, his bare feet brushing against the plush rug. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air thick with anticipation. Then, with a deliberate motion, Sanji sank to his knees in front of Zoro, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound as he settled between the swordsman’s legs. His hands, slightly trembling, found Zoro’s thighs, the heat of his skin seeping through the rough denim, sending a shiver of anticipation through both of them.

Zoro’s breath hitched, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the back of Sanji’s neck. The warmth of Sanji’s skin under his fingers was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and Zoro’s grip tightened, his thumb tracing the line of Sanji’s hairline with a tenderness that belied the roughness of his earlier words.

Sanji’s fingers worked on Zoro’s belt with practiced ease, the metal buckle clicking softly as it came undone. Each movement was unhurried, almost reverent, as if Sanji was savoring the moment, drawing out the anticipation. Zoro could feel the tension in his own muscles, the way his body hummed with energy, every nerve ending on high alert as Sanji slowly unzipped his jeans, the sound loud in the intimate space.

The fabric slid down Zoro’s legs, the rough texture brushing against his skin before pooling around his ankles. Sanji’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of Zoro’s cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, the heat radiating off him in waves. He leaned in, the scent of Zoro’s arousal mixing with the subtle notes of sweat and the lingering salt from the rim of the glass, creating a heady blend that made Sanji’s mouth water.

“Don’t make me wait, cook,” He ordered, heart pumping with desire, each word vibrating through Sanji’s body, settling low in his belly.

Sanji smirked, his confidence returning as he looked up at Zoro, the challenge clear in his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, marimo,” he replied, his voice steady, though his hands were anything but as they hooked into the waistband of Zoro’s boxers, tugging them down tentatively.

The moment Zoro’s cock sprang free, the air between them thickened, the scent of Zoro’s skin mingling with the warmth of the room. Sanji’s breath caught in his throat as he wrapped his hand around the base, the heat of Zoro’s arousal pulsing against his palm, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of his own heart.

He leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the tip before his lips brushed lightly against it, the touch feather-light, teasing. Zoro’s grip in his hair tightened, a wordless command, and Sanji obliged, his tongue darting out to taste the salt and musk of Zoro’s skin, the flavor exploding across his senses, grounding him in the moment.

Zoro’s hand guided him, fingers threading through his hair, not forceful but firm, as if reminding Sanji who was in control. Sanji took him in deeper, his lips sliding down the length, his tongue pressing against the underside, feeling the throb of Zoro’s pulse against it. The sounds that escaped Zoro’s lips—low, guttural groans—sent shivers down Sanji’s spine, spurring him on, making him crave more.

Each slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue, each hollowing of his cheeks, drove Zoro closer to the edge, the tension in his body winding tighter with every second. The room seemed to shrink around them, the music fading into the background as the heat of the moment took over, their breaths the only sound as Sanji’s mouth worked Zoro with a relentless intensity.

“Fuck,” Zoro muttered, his voice thick with restraint. He looked down at Sanji, the sight of the blonde’s head moving between his thighs, the way his eyes fluttered shut in concentration, almost undoing him. “You’re too fucking good at this.”

Sanji hummed around him, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that made Zoro’s hips jerk involuntarily. The taste, the heat, the feel of Zoro in his mouth was intoxicating, a heady mix that made Sanji’s own arousal pulse in time with the rhythm of his movements.

As Zoro’s control slipped further, his breathing grew ragged, his hips instinctively moving in tandem with the skilled strokes of Sanji’s mouth. The pressure built in his core, the pleasure cresting with every pass of Sanji’s lips and tongue, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. Zoro could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, a coil ready to snap.

“Sanji—” Zoro’s voice broke into a guttural growl, his body taut as he fought against the urge to fuck into his mouth, his hand gripping Sanji’s hair, holding him in place. “I’m close—”

Sanji, hearing the desperation in Zoro’s voice, felt a thrill run through him. His free hand moved quickly, sliding down to his own aching cock, wrapping around it in a firm grip. The slickness from his own arousal made his strokes smooth, each one mirroring the rhythm he maintained on Zoro. He let out a raucous moan, the vibrations from his throat sending another jolt of pleasure through Zoro’s body.

Zoro’s eyes, half-lidded and dark with need, caught the movement of Sanji’s hand. A wicked grin spread across his face as an idea struck him. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “You want more, cook? I’ll give you something.”

With his grip still firm in Sanji’s hair, Zoro moved his other leg out the way to guide sanjis gaze to his foot, the steel toe of his boot pressing lightly against Sanji’s cock, dragging it along the length. The pressure was firm, unyielding, but not enough to satisfy—just enough to tease, to drive Sanji mad with want.

“Rub yourself on it,” Zoro growled, his aura commanding, a challenge laced with degradation. “Like the desperate slut you are.”

Sanji’s breath hitched at Zoro's words, his eyes widening as a flush spread across his cheeks. The heat of Zoro’s boot pressing against his cock, the rough texture of the leather against his sensitive skin, sent a shiver down his spine. He hesitated for only a moment before surrendering to the demand, grinding himself against the boot, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that rippled through his entire body.

“Freak,” Sanji growled, though the word came out more as a moan, betraying the intensity of the sensation coursing through him.

Zoro’s grip tightened in Sanji’s hair, a thrill running through him as he watched Sanji’s hollow complaint crumble into submission. His own arousal surged at the sight. “Look at you,” Zoro rasped, his voice thick with desire. “So fucking needy, grinding on my boot like a damn whore. Who’s the freak now?”

Without giving Sanji a chance to protest, Zoro pushed more of his cock into Sanji’s mouth, his movements rough and demanding. The slight graze of Sanji’s teeth was nothing compared to the soft pressure of his tongue, and the mix of sensations drove Zoro wild with need.

Sanji moaned around Zoro’s cock, the degrading words and the combination of Zoro’s rough treatment only fueling the fire in his belly. The friction against the boot and the feel of Zoro in his mouth pushed Sanji to the brink, his own strokes on himself becoming frantic as he chased the release that was rapidly building inside him. 

Zoro’s hips began to buck involuntarily, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. His foot remained stuck until Sanji, with a desperate need for more friction, grabbed the sole and forced it to slide in the rhythm he craved—guiding Zoro to press harder, driving him to grind against it. The degradation, the intensity of the moment, only spurred them both on, riding that thin line of oblivion before Sanji could fall completely into subspace.

“Fuck, Sanji,” Zoro gritted out, his control slipping completely as he felt the coil in his core finally snap. “Come on, you filthy fucking slut, make us both come.”

The command, laced with desperation and raw need, sent a jolt through Sanji, his entire body responding to Zoro’s words. With one final, frantic grind against Zoro’s boot, Sanji’s release hit him with the force of a tidal wave, his cry vibrating around Zoro’s cock as he came hard, the pleasure overwhelming.

Zoro’s reaction was immediate, the sight and feel of Sanji unraveling beneath him pushing him over the edge. His body tensed, and with a guttural groan, he came, his release spilling into Sanji’s mouth in hot, thick spurts. The sensation of Sanji swallowing around him, combined with the sight of Sanji’s own pleasure, left him shaking with the intensity of his orgasm.

Zoro’s hand remained tangled in Sanji's hair, holding him there as the last waves of pleasure coursed through his body, leaving him breathless and spent. When Zoro finally released his hold, Sanji pulled back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Zoro with dark, teary eyes.

Zoro stared down at him, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. A lazy, satisfied grin spread across his face as he took in the sight of Sanji kneeling before him, flushed and disheveled, his release still evident on the floor and on Zoro’s boot.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Zoro said, his voice approving and rough, an unmistakable edge of fondness in his tone, a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper that only Sanji could bring out in him. Sanji looked up at him, still on his knees, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And whose fault is that?” he shot back; his voice hoarse but tinged with satisfaction. There was no real bite to his words—just the contentment of a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Zoro didn’t disagree, already hardening again. He reached out instead, pulling Sanji up for a heated kiss, tasting himself on Sanji’s lips, the kiss more languid, more indulgent than before. “My turn,” Zoro murmured against his lips, his voice carrying the promise of what was to come.

He was still on his knees, breathless and dazed, his body humming with the lingering heat of Zoro’s touch. He was trying to steady himself, his fingers digging into the rug as he processed the aftershocks of his spent orgasm coursing through him. But before he could fully gather his wits, Zoro’s calloused hands were on him again, strong and unyielding.

With a rough, fluid motion, Zoro yanked Sanji up from the floor as if he weighed nothing, pulling him into his lap. Sanji’s legs instinctively spread as Zoro positioned him, his naked body caging Zoro’s thighs, their skin hot and sticky where they touched. The sensation of his plush cheeks balancing on Zoro’s spread thighs sent a shiver through him, a mix of vulnerability and raw desire coursing through his veins.

Sanji’s head fell back further, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the sensations Zoro was drawing out of him. The way Zoro’s lips pressed against his throat, kissing, biting, and sucking with a desperate need, made Sanji’s pulse race. He succumbed to the movement of Zoro’s deft fingers, that sent sparks of pleasure raking through his veins.

“Zoro… shit, I’m still fucking hard—” Sanji gasped and clenched his eyes shut, his voice breaking as he rocked his hips harder, faster, desperate for more, desperate for his first mate.

Zoro moaned at the admission, his grip on Sanji’s hips bruising as he pulled him down harder, grinding their cocks together with a force that made Sanji’s vision blur. “That's it gorgeous,” Zoro rasped, his breath hot against Sanji’s ear. “Don't come until I’ve had my fill of you.”

Sanji’s moan, the choked " Hng— ", grew almost to a sob, the denial both agonizing and exquisite. His grip was weak, caught between the need for release and the overwhelming desire to give Zoro everything he wanted. He could feel Zoro’s cock, hot and hard against his own, the slickness between them making every movement more intense, more desperate.

Zoro's lips trailed down Sanji’s chest, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through Sanji’s body. The sensation was almost too much to bear, yet Sanji craved more. His fingers tangled in Zoro’s hair, tugging with a desperate need as he leaned down, his own mouth finding the bronzed skin of Zoro’s neck. Sanji bit down lightly, his teeth grazing the flesh before sucking hard, leaving a mark that contrasted starkly against Zoro’s tanned skin.

Zoro’s response was immediate, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he felt Sanji's teeth sink into him. The sound only spurred Sanji on, his mouth working feverishly to taste every inch of Zoro he could reach. He moved with a hunger that matched Zoro's, his lips and tongue tracing along Zoro's collarbone, up to his jaw, and then back down to his shoulder, leaving a trail of heated kisses and love bites in his wake.

Zoro’s hands gripped Sanji’s muscular thighs, pulling him even closer until their bodies were flush against each other. The heat between them was almost unbearable, their slick skin sliding together with every movement. Zoro’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Sanji’s thighs, anchoring him in place.

Sanji’s breath came in ragged gasps, his mind spinning as Zoro’s mouth continued its assault on his body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Every kiss, every lick, every bite sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him, coiling tighter and tighter in his belly until he felt like he was going to explode. 

Zoro clutched both of their cocks, his grip firm yet tender, a quiet moan escaping him as he looked up at Sanji who was curled over him, their gasps mingling in the lowlight. His own mouth fell open, mirroring Sanji’s expression, captivated by the way his gorgeous face was lost to the pleasure.

“Fuck that feels good” Sanji groaned and joined his hand to Zoro’s, stroking them both at his preferred pace.

Zoro chuckled and obliged as to not overstimulate them both. The friction between them sent lava through his entire body, chest heaving as worked them to completion.

“That all you got? Sanji challenge, straightening with renewed energy. He pushed a hand through his hair and Zoro felt his dick pulse in approval.

“Patience curly,” Zoro warned before reaching to hold Sanji by the nape to change the angle. He yelped in surprise but let himself get manhandled. With ease Zoro had maneuvered him, draping Sanji up and over his shoulder to clutch the headrest of the couch. Instantly switching to grope his ass and support his weight.

Sanji’s world tilted, his body jolting as he was suddenly airborne, a breathless gasp escaping him as he tried to adjust to the new sensations. Zoro’s large hands moved with purpose, one arm wrapped securely around Sanji’s waist while the other trailed down, his fingers finding their way between Sanji’s cheeks.

Sanji gasped, the sound high and breathless, as Zoro’s fingers brushed against his entrance, the touch light but deliberate. Sanji’s breath hitched, trembling as his cock was pressed tightly against large pecs. His nails bit into Zoro’s back, scraping against firm muscle as he clung to him. Each breath was sharp and uneven, catching in his throat as Zoro’s fingers teased his ass with deliberate slowness, pressing and prodding at his most sensitive spot, drawing out the tension.

Sanji’s control frayed further, his cock trapped between that delicious muscle and relentlessly squished and milked. Sanji wanted him inside already, wanted him so badly he felt the telling drip of blood warm his upper lip. 

Zoro’s grin widened, catching the way Sanji’s body reacted to every touch, every teasing motion. He leaned closer, his breath warm as he pressed a soft kiss to the curve of Sanji’s spine, just below where he could reach from his position. His lips lingered, feeling the way Sanji shivered under his touch and wiped his nose as best he could.

“Relax, I've got you.” Zoro murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble that vibrated against Sanji’s skin. The words weren’t just a command—they were a promise, one that echoed in the soft brush of his lips against Sanji’s back and the steady, patient way he moved, giving Sanji exactly what he needed to let go.

Zoro’s fingers paused just before they could delve further, and he pulled back slightly, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “We need lube,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Sanji, still trembling with anticipation, blinked down at him, dazed. It took a moment for the words to fully register. “Lube… right,” he stammered, trying to gather his wits, rubbing his spit slick finger on the head of the couch. “It’s… it’s in my bedroom. Top drawer, beside the bed.”

Zoro grunted in acknowledgment and, with a final spank to Sanji’s hips, slid the man off his shoulder and stood up. Sanji watched as Zoro deftly untangled his jeans from his ankles, kicking them off after he unlaced his combat boots with practiced efficiency and tossed them aside. The sight of Zoro standing there, bare and sweat slick from their sex, muscles rippling under his bronze skin, was enough to make Sanji’s dick jump in interest. But just as he was admiring Zoro’s sculpted back and perfectly toned ass, Zoro began striding purposefully in the wrong direction—toward the front door.

“Oi!” Sanji yelled, a mix of alarm and amusement in his voice. “Bedroom’s that way, you idiot!”

Zoro halted mid-stride, glancing over his shoulder with a confused look.

“Did your nose just bleed?” He leaned in and squinted. Mortified he was caught, Sanji threw a pillow and barked, “Hell no, go find the lube.”

Zoro shrugged and easily dodged the decorative pillow.

Sanji couldn’t help but sigh, shaking his head at the sheer absurdity of it all. “How the hell do you get lost inside?” he muttered to himself.

But even as the humor bubbled up, Sanji’s eyes couldn’t help but follow Zoro’s retreating form, taking in the taut lines of his body, the way his muscles moved with every step. There was something undeniably sexy about Zoro’s casual confidence, the way he owned every space he was in, even when he had no idea where he was going.

The sound of that shitty swordsman bumping into furniture and cursing softly drifted in from the other room, and Sanji’s sigh turned into something softer, more affectionate. He lay back on the couch, his hand absentmindedly trailing down to his navel to his softening length, stroking himself slowly as he listened to Zoro’s heavy footsteps and muttered curses. The moment was both intimate and endearing, a strange mix of the domestic and the erotic, and it filled Sanji with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the moment.

Sanji could hear Zoro rummaging through the drawers, the occasional thud or clatter punctuating the otherwise still air. As he waited, his body began to sink into the cushions, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles, more to keep the warmth of arousal simmering than to bring himself closer to release. The silence gave him space to think, and in the quiet moments, he found himself missing the days when Zoro was always around, their proximity a constant, reassuring presence. He’d long since moved past the days where such thoughts would have driven him mad, his affections for the brute now something he’d come to embrace.

The memory of Zoro’s hands, the way they knew exactly where to touch, the weight of his body pressing him down, sent a ripple of anticipation through him, keeping him on edge. His heart beat a little faster, the anticipation thrumming just beneath his skin, a reminder of how deeply his desires had rooted themselves. He didn’t rush; instead, he let the thoughts linger, savoring the quiet thrill of what was inevitable and thumbing the pre that collected as a result of such thoughts. 

It wasn’t long before Zoro returned, the bottle of lube clutched triumphantly in one hand. He was still naked, his body glistening faintly with sweat, and the sight of him, fully revealed in all his thick, uncut glory, made Sanji’s breath catch. Zoro’s cock, heavy and erect, bobbed slightly as he walked back into the room, and Sanji’s eyes were drawn to it, his mouth going dry at the sheer sight of it.

Zoro smirked as he caught the way Sanji was looking at him, all dazed and flushed, one hand still wrapped around his own cock. “Like what you see?” he asked, his voice laced with a cocky confidence that made Sanji’s heart skip a beat.

Sanji’s response was an involuntary moan, his lips parting as he nodded, his eyes locked on Zoro’s body. Zoro’s smirk deepened as he came closer, his presence filling the space between them, the heat of his body almost palpable.

“On your knees, baby,” Zoro commanded, his grey eyes narrowing and that gravelly tone that sent a shiver down Sanji’s spine.

Sanji’s mind went blissfully blank at the command, his mouth falling open as he moved to obey. He settled back into position, his knees sinking into the cushions as he presented himself to Zoro, his body humming with anticipation. There was something about the way Zoro said it—so confident, so sure—that made Sanji’s heart race, made him want to give in completely.

Zoro didn’t waste any time. He slicked his fingers with the lube, the cool sensation making Sanji gasp as Zoro’s hand slid between his cheeks, fingers teasing at his entrance once more. “Good boy,” Zoro murmured, his voice filled with approval as he worked the lube into Sanji, making sure he was stretched and ready. Sanji let out a drawn-out groan, his voice thick with need as he squeezed his eyes shut, collapsing against the armrest and baring his ass to Zoro’s relentless hands. The tension that had kept him stiff as a board melted away, leaving him vulnerable, exposed, and completely at Zoro’s mercy. Every touch sent waves of heat coiling tighter in his gut, intensifying the sensation with each passing second.

“Taking my fingers so good, gorgeous,” Zoro murmured, a grin tugging at his lips as he eased a second thick finger inside. The added stretch pulled a deep groan from Sanji, his body trembling beneath Zoro’s touch. Zoro rubbed soothing circles on the curve of Sanji’s cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of bone and muscle as he worked him open, coaxing him into a state of ease, of readiness for what was to come.

“Just wait till I fu— hhn —f-fuck you next time,” Sanji punched out, his voice breaking into a breathless chuckle that quickly morphed into another groan. The sound was wild, almost delirious, punctuated by the tremors that racked his body as he rocked back onto Zoro’s thick fingers. His breath caught in his throat when Zoro’s fingers brushed over that spot inside, sending a shockwave of pleasure through him.

Zoro froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he took in Sanji’s breathless, teasing words. A pleasure driven chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against Sanji’s skin as Zoro leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Sanji’s ear. “Oh, you think you’re gonna be able to handle that, huh?” Zoro whispered, his voice dripping with challenge. “You won’t be laughing when I have you begging for it.”

Sanji’s giggle faltered, replaced by a sharp intake of breath as Zoro’s fingers curled inside him, hitting that spot again with precise intent. “Z-Zoro,” Sanji managed to stammer, the sound almost a plea as he tried to keep his composure. But the way his body trembled, the way his breath hitched with every thrust of Zoro’s fingers, betrayed just how close he was to falling apart.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Zoro muttered, his voice rough with satisfaction as he watched Sanji’s cock twitch, his body betraying him as he rocked back onto Zoro’s fingers, desperate for more. “You’re all talk, aren’t you, Sanji? But your body knows what it needs.”

Sanji’s response was lazy and drawn as he moaned, his body arching into Zoro’s touch, trying to chase the pleasure that was building again inside him. He could focus his thoughts, his mind too clouded with need, with the sensation of Zoro’s fingers inside him, pushing him closer to the edge. “Just shut up and fuck me already,” Sanji groaned, the words tumbling out in a rush, head falling back as Zoro petted him simultaneously.

Zoro smirked, clearly pleased with Sanji's demands as he slowly withdrew his fingers and savored the way Sanji gasped at the loss. He could feel the heat radiating off Sanji’s body, the tension that had coiled so tightly within him ready to snap. “You want this, Sanji?” Zoro breathed out, his voice rough with the weight of his desire. “Gonna feed you my cock, baby, just wait.”

Zoro’s hands gripped Sanji’s hips firmly, holding him steady as he positioned himself, the thick blunt head of his cock pressing against Sanji’s entrance with a deliberate, teasing slowness. The heat of Zoro’s velvety skin against him was almost unbearable, the anticipation building to a fever pitch that left Sanji’s breath catching in his throat.

“Say it,” Zoro demanded, his voice a low growl as he hovered at Sanji’s entrance, refusing to push in just yet. “Tell me how bad you want it, Sanji.”

Sanji’s breath hitched, his body trembling with need as he tried to muster the words, tried to keep his voice steady. “Zoro… I-I need it, fuck , I need you,” he finally choked out, his back and arms trembling with raw desperation.

Zoro’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, and without another word, he began to push inside, inch by deliberate inch, filling Sanji with a deliberate, relentless pressure that made his entire body quiver with pleasure. He slid a thumb around the fluttering rim beside his cock, stretching his pink hole with the indent of the digit. Sanji shook and gasped beneath him- words coming out garbled.

“Good boy,” Zoro murmured, his voice thick with approval as he bent closer, his breath hot against Sanji’s neck. “I knew you could.”

Sanji whimpered and braced himself, his fingers digging into the armrest as Zoro began to push inside, the stretch and burn of it making him gasp, but it was exactly what he needed—what they both needed.

Zoro's thrusts started gradually but never lacking in depth, each one deliberate and rough, making Sanji gasp and tremble with the force of it. The couch creaked under their weight, barely holding up against the ferocity of his thrusts. The air was thick with the heady scent of sweat and sex, their bodies slick as they slid against each other and increased the tempo.

Zoro’s grip on Sanji was possessive, his large hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises if it were anyone else, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Every thrust was a calculated effort to make Sanji feel every inch of him, to push him to the brink and keep him there. Zoro pulled back almost entirely, leaving Sanji achingly empty for a moment before thrusting back into him with a force that sent shockwaves throughout Sanji’s entire body.

“Ugh,” Sanji choked out through blurry vision, his fingers white with pressure as he clung to the couch cushions desperately. The angle had him seeing stars, each thrust hitting so deep it felt like Zoro was splitting him open, owning every part of him. His breath was coming in short, desperate gasps, his mind barely able to keep up with the relentless pleasure that Zoro was driving into him.

Without warning, Zoro shifted, pulling Sanji up and flipping him over onto his back with an almost careless strength. He maneuvered Sanji so that his leg draped over Zoro’s broad shoulder, the position forcing Sanji open wider. Zoro’s gaze locked onto his, dark and hungry, and the intensity of it made Sanji feel completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that had his heart racing.

“Look at you,” Zoro growled, his voice dripping with lust as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Sanji’s calf. “You’re so fucking perfect like this.” Sanji nodded in agreement, too lost in the moment for his usual scowl.

The new angle allowed Zoro to thrust even deeper, each movement sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to Sanji’s core. Zoro wasn’t gentle; every push was hard, raw, and unrelenting, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the room. The slap of skin on skin, the guttural grunts from Zoro, and Sanji’s broken moans filled the air, creating a symphony of raw, unfiltered desire that drowned out the record, its tracks playing on a forgotten loop.

Sanji’s leg trembled on Zoro’s shoulder, his other foot barely keeping him balanced on the couch as he tried to take everything Zoro was giving him. His hands were restless, searching for something to hold onto, but Zoro grabbed his wrists, pulling them up to rest above his head, holding them there with a gentle grip.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” Zoro hissed, his breath hot against Sanji’s ear as he leaned over him, their noses almost touching. Zoro’s thrusts tested Sanji’s flexibility, every movement filthy and deliberate. “I know you missed me fucking you like this,” he murmured, his words skittering down Sanji’s spine, the suede of the couch cushions a pleasant friction on his flushed skin.

Zoro loomed over him, keen eyes locked onto Sanji’s, the sight of his glistening, sweat-slicked chest driving Sanji wild. A sob caught in Sanji’s throat, the overwhelming urge to bite into Zoro’s thick flesh nearly consuming him. But the intensity of it all—the pleasure, the pain—left him breathless, words struggling to form as his mind blurred with sensation.

“Fuck yes… I missed you, Zoro… so much,” Sanji gasped out between thrusts, his voice firm despite the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The emotion was almost too much to bear, his hands trapped above him as Zoro took him apart piece by piece, leaving him dizzy and desperate, craving more.

Zoro’s hands released their grip, opting instead to roam across Sanji’s pale skin, fingers tracing delicate paths that made Sanji shiver with every touch. When Zoro’s thumbs brushed over his nipples, the gentleness drew a soft whimper from Sanji, his body achingly responsive to each dark, deliberate caress. He surrendered to the warm, floaty clouds in his mind, his cock weeping onto his stomach, lost in the sensations that Zoro stirred within him.

The softness in Zoro’s eyes was unmistakable, a tenderness reserved for these intimate moments, as he watched Sanji unravel beneath him. The sharpness usually present in Sanji’s blue eyes had faded, leaving them glassy and vulnerable, reflecting the deep connection they shared in his sacred space.

He slowed his pace, allowing the intensity to shift into something more profound as he leaned in to capture Sanji’s lips. The kiss was messy, desperate, their mouths moving together as if they were both drowning and the other was the only source of air. Zoro's tongue delved deeper, seeking out the taste of Sanji's tears, mingling with the salt on his lips, and groaning as his hips moved in a slow, deliberate grind.

“I’m here, Sanji,” Zoro whispered against his lips, his voice thick and raspy with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Zoro’s words were a vow, one that resonated deep within Sanji, unraveling the last of his defenses. His voice, rough with sincerity, seemed to reverberate in the space between their lips, drawing out a sound from Sanji that was raw and unfiltered, a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability.

Zoro leaned in, capturing Sanji’s mouth into another languid kiss, savoring the taste as if it were the only thing grounding him in this moment. His grip tightened as he poured everything he had into each thrust, his body moving with renewed purpose. He wanted to make up for every second he’d been away, to show Sanji how much he had been missed, how much he needed this.

Sanji’s body responded with an urgency of its own, arching off the couch, desperate to take everything Zoro was offering. The slick heat between them only amplified the sensations, and even as Sanji scoffed at the mess, he couldn’t stop the gasp that followed, his breath hitching with each precise thrust. Zoro’s pace was brutal, relentless, each movement designed to push Sanji closer to the edge, driving him to a place where only Zoro existed, where nothing else mattered but the way their bodies fit together, the way they made each other feel whole.

Zoro’s grip on Sanji’s wrists tightened, his free hand sliding down to wrap around Sanji’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The slick sound of Zoro’s hand moving over him, combined with the deep, relentless thrusts, was enough to push Sanji over the edge. His body tightened. His vision went white as his orgasm tore through him, leaving him trembling and gasping for air.

“Fuck, baby,” Zoro growled, his voice thick with raw need as he watched Sanji’s expression twist with pleasure, his body tightening and locking beneath him. Even as Zoro teetered on the edge, it was the intensity in those blue eyes that held his focus, grounding him in the storm of desire. The tightness that gripped Zoro, pulling him in deeper, made him feel like he was on the brink of losing control. “M'gonna come, baby-fuck, can I?” He begged with urgency, knowing he couldn't last long with the way Sanji held onto him, both physically and emotionally.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Sanji wasn’t just along for the ride. His thighs tightened around Zoro’s waist, locking him in place, his intent clear and resolute. Meeting Zoro’s gaze, his eyes burned with a fierce determination, a silent command that spoke louder than words. “Inside,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with an undeniable need. His hands reached up, pulling Zoro down into a kiss that was more than just a plea—it was a demand for connection, and Zoro was helpless to deny him.

Zoro shuddered at the intensity of it all, his lips moving with frantic desperation, matching the erratic pounding of his heart. But it was Sanji who took control of the kiss, guiding it with a purposeful rhythm, making it as much about their connection as the physical act. With a final thrust, Zoro buried himself deep, his hips stuttering as he let go. In that moment, it wasn’t just about release; it was about the way Sanji’s presence, his strength, and his unwavering influence over Zoro, drove them both to the edge. 

His cock pulsed inside Sanji, spilling his come thick, hot ropes, a deep groan tearing from his throat as the release overtook him. Sanji clung to him, their bodies locked together, riding out the waves of pleasure that crashed over them in tandem. The sheer intensity of it left them both breathless, their bodies shaking, their skin slick with sweat as they held onto each other, Inseparable and sated.

Zoro’s breath came in heavy pants against Sanji’s lips as the last of his release was milked from him, the sensation almost overwhelming in its intensity. They stayed like that, entwined and trembling, as the aftershocks of their shared pleasure slowly subsided. The world outside could wait—right now, there was nothing but the two of them, wrapped in the heat and the raw, undeniable connection they’d rediscovered.

When it was over, Zoro didn’t immediately pull out. He stayed there, buried deep inside Sanji, his forehead resting against the blonde’s as they both caught their breath. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the air still thick with the scent of their release.

“You've always been mine,” Zoro murmured, his voice rough but laced with affection as he kissed all over Sanji’s dried tear-streaked cheek. “Always.”

Sanji’s response was a soft, exhausted laugh, his muscular thighs still twitching as he relaxed to whisper back, “Always.”

They lay there, panting and spent, the echoes of their passion lingering in the air like a promise. The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the quiet hum of their breaths and the steady beat of their hearts filling the room.

“To think I almost forgot how well we fit together,” Sanji sighed, his voice a soft whisper tinged with nostalgia.

Zoro chuckled softly, shutting his eyes as Sanji’s fingers carded through his hair. “Not a chance I’d let you forget that.” he replied, his tone sparkling with amusement and affection.

“Go get my cig’s,” Sanji ordered tiredly, though he leaned into Zoro’s petting, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Too tired. You do it,” Zoro huffed, only to receive a sharp knee to the ribs. With a reluctant groan, he got up, grumbling all the way as he headed to fetch the cigarettes at the same place they always were.

===

Zoro watched as Sanji took a slow drag from his cigarette, noticing the subtle tremble still coursing through his spent body. Lying there naked and utterly gorgeous, his skin glowed with a golden hue from the soft lamplight around them. He deserved that froufrou shit he was always gushing about, and for once, Zoro didn’t mind the idea of taking the initiative.

He wasn’t used to this—tending to someone in the aftermath—but with Sanji, he wanted to try. Carefully, he untangled their intertwined limbs and rose to his feet, his muscles humming with a pleasant ache as he moved. The room settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft exhale of smoke and the steady rhythm of their breaths, grounding them both in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Zoro muttered, his voice still rough from their exertion, but there was a gentleness there that hadn’t been present before. He looked around the bathroom, clearly unsure of what he was doing.

Sanji watched him, a small, amused smile playing on his lips despite the exhaustion. “You’ll need the bath salts, Marimo,” he said softly, pointing to a shelf behind Zoro vaguely from his view in the living room. “Top left. And the sachet of herbs too.”

Zoro grunted in acknowledgment, his hand finding the bath salts, and after a few moments of rummaging, the sachet. He seemed to be getting the hang of it. He turned on the tap, letting the water heat up before tossing in the sachet. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus quickly filled the air.

As the tub filled, Zoro turned back to Sanji, who was still lying on the couch, his body lax and spent. “Come on, cook,” Zoro said, his voice soft but insistent. He reached down, offering a hand to help Sanji up.

As Sanji settled into the hot water, the warmth immediately began to soothe his tired muscles, easing the tension that had built up over the night. His head lolled back against the edge of the tub, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Zoro stood nearby, watching him with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

Sanji opened his eyes, catching the look on Zoro's face. "You’re really taking this aftercare thing seriously, huh?" he teased, though his voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual sharpness.

Zoro shrugged, leaning against the wall as he kept an eye on Sanji. “Figured it was about time I did something right,” he muttered, his tone gruff but laced with sincerity. He looked away for a moment, as if embarrassed by his own admission.

Sanji chuckled, a low, tired sound and closed his eyes. “You do plenty right, Marimo. Just didn’t expect you to be so good at this part.”

Zoro’s lips quivered in a small smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

Sanji let the silence hang for a moment, the warm water lapping at his skin as he contemplated his next words. There was something he’d been meaning to ask, something that had been on his mind since he’d sent that letter, and now, in the quiet intimacy of the moment, it felt like the right time.

“Zoro,” Sanji started, his voice hesitant, eyes fixed on the rippling surface of the water. “You know, I didn’t just call you here hoping to… fuck.”

Zoro’s gaze snapped back to Sanji’s, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his dark eyes. He didn’t say anything, waiting for Sanji to continue.

Sanji took a deep breath, the steam from the bath curling around him as he tried to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. More than I’d like to admit.” He looked up, meeting Zoro’s eyes with a rare vulnerability. “And I wasn’t sure if… if you’d be interested in something more. Not just tonight, but… long term.”

Zoro’s expression softened, the usual hard lines of his face easing as he took in Sanji’s words. He moved closer, kneeling down beside the tub so he was at eye level with the cook. “What are you trying to say, Sanji?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm, wanting to be sure he understood.

Sanji swallowed, his throat suddenly dry despite the humidity of the room. “I wanted to see you again, to ask if you’d be willing… to give us a real chance. Not just the occasional night together, but something more.” His voice wavered slightly, betraying the uncertainty he felt. “I know we’ve been at each other’s throats for years, but… there’s something here, Zoro. I feel it, and I think you do too.”

Zoro was silent for a moment, his eyes searching Sanji’s face as if weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low, but there was no hesitation in his tone. “I do feel it. And I’ve been thinking about you too, wondering if we could make something real out of this.”

Sanji’s heart skipped a beat at Zoro’s admission, satisfaction blooming in his chest. “So…stay?”

Zoro reached out, his hand warm as he brushed a damp strand of hair from Sanji’s face and cupped his stubbled jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes holding Sanji’s with a steady intensity. “Let me stay with you, Sanji, but only if you mean it.”

Sanji smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Zoro’s lips curved into a small smile of his own, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to Sanji’s forehead, the gesture surprisingly tender. “Then it’s settled,” he said quietly. “I told you once—I love you, Sanji.”

Sanji’s eyes fluttered shut, the relief and happiness washing over him like the warm water he was submerged in. He remembered that moment vividly, right before Zoro knocked him out at Thriller Bark to take on all of Luffy’s pain. It had been a brief whisper, almost lost in the chaos, but it had hit Sanji like a freight train. The words had haunted him ever since, buried deep but never forgotten.

“I remember,” Sanji whispered now, his voice thick with emotion. “You know I love you too, right?”

“Yeah,” Zoro replied, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness, though the warmth in his tone softened the edge. “It took some time but… I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

Sanji nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. “Me too,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet Zoro’s once more. “Me too.”

Zoro watched for a moment, his eyes softening as he took in Sanji’s relaxed expression. Then, without a word, Zoro grabbed a washcloth, soaking it in the water before kneeling beside the tub. He hesitated only briefly before bringing the cloth to Sanji’s chest, wiping away the sweat and remnants of their earlier activities with a care that was almost foreign to him.

Sanji’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, and he couldn’t help but smile, something warm blooming in his chest at Zoro’s unexpected gentleness. “You’re not half bad at this, you know,” he teased lightly, but there was no bite in his words, only appreciation.

Zoro huffed in response, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, almost bashful smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

Sanji chuckled softly, letting his eyes drift shut again as Zoro continued his careful ministrations. Despite his earlier bravado, Zoro was surprisingly thorough, his calloused hands moving with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with his usual roughness. He washed Sanji’s chest, his arms, and even took care to clean around the places where Sanji’s skin was reddened from the force of their earlier passion.

“Lean forward,” Zoro instructed, his voice a low rumble. Sanji complied gratefully, and Zoro washed his back, the motions steady and soothing. It was such a simple act, but for the two of them, it felt deeply intimate, a silent affirmation of the bond they had rekindled.

When Zoro was satisfied that Sanji was clean, he drained the tub and reached for a towel. He stood, draping it over Sanji’s shoulders and helping him out of the tub with a surprising level of care. Sanji leaned into the warmth of the towel, the exhaustion catching up with him.

When Zoro was satisfied that Sanji was clean, he drained the tub and reached for a towel. He stood, draping it over Sanji’s shoulders and helping him out of the tub with surprising care. Sanji leaned into the warmth of the towel, the exhaustion finally catching up with him, but he still managed a soft smile as he assured Zoro he was fine.

After drying off, Sanji grabbed a toothbrush and began brushing his teeth, then wordlessly offered Zoro the same one after he finished rinsing it off, knowing the swordsman wasn’t one to fuss over such things. Zoro accepted it with a grunt of thanks after hopping out of the shower. The array of soaps and lotions on the shelf was overwhelming, so he had grabbed the one he recognized from their days back on the Sunny and scrubbed himself down fast.

Zoro joined Sanji at the sink, brushing his own teeth with the same straightforward efficiency that defined him. Both of them were still naked from their earlier activities, the air in the bathroom still warm and humid from the bath. Sanji, ever meticulous, handed Zoro a pair of loose boxers before slipping into his own grey briefs and a soft cotton T-shirt. Zoro, however, chose to remain shirtless, his muscular frame still glistening slightly in the low light.

When Zoro finished brushing, he glanced over at Sanji, who was fumbling with the blow dryer, clearly too tired to do much more than hold it. Zoro rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and took the dryer from him without a word. He gently guided Sanji to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, positioning himself behind the cook.

As Zoro began to blow-dry Sanji’s hair, his large hands moved through the blonde locks with a tenderness that was almost at odds with his usual demeanor. Each pass of his fingers was careful and deliberate, ensuring that Sanji’s hair dried evenly. The steady warmth from the dryer, combined with Zoro’s unexpectedly gentle touch, had Sanji nearly nodding off right there, his eyelids growing heavy.

Zoro’s shirtless form stood tall and steady behind Sanji, his presence a comforting contrast to the fatigue weighing down the cook. The rhythmic motion of Zoro’s hands through his hair, combined with the low hum of the dryer, lulled Sanji into a state of near-complete relaxation.

As Zoro continued, he glanced down at Sanji’s reflection in the mirror. The sight of the usually sharp-tongued cook so thoroughly relaxed, his eyes half-lidded and his body completely at ease, brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to Zoro’s lips. This was a side of Sanji he rarely got to see—softened by exhaustion, trusting enough to let Zoro take care of him.

When he was done, Zoro turned off the dryer and set it aside, his hands still lingering in Sanji’s hair for a moment longer before he gently pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed,” Zoro said, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument.

Sanji, too tired to protest, let Zoro guide him towards the bedroom, the warmth of Zoro’s bare skin against his back a constant source of comfort. As they reached the bed, Sanji sighed contentedly, allowing Zoro to settle him onto the mattress. The sheets felt cool against his skin, a pleasant contrast to the warmth that still clung to him from the bath.

Zoro tugged the blankets up over Sanji, making sure he was comfortable before slipping into bed beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under Zoro’s weight as he lay down, his chest still bare, radiating heat.

As they lay there, Zoro turned to face Sanji, who had instinctively curled into his own side, trying not to impose. “C’mere,” Zoro said, his voice low and gruff, but there was an unmistakable warmth beneath the command. He reached out and dragged Sanji’s body closer, pulling him into his embrace.

Sanji couldn’t help but grin, his usual sharp edges softened by exhaustion and the comfort of Zoro’s proximity. Sleepy and smug, he relaxed into the embrace, his head pillowed against Zoro’s wonderfully large pecs, one arm draped across the swordsman’s broad chest. The steady rise and fall of Zoro’s breathing, the warmth of his skin, and the solidity of his hold all worked together to ease Sanji into a state of complete relaxation.

Zoro’s arm wrapped securely around Sanji, holding him close as if anchoring them both to the present moment. The swordsman let out a contented hum, his hand gently rubbing circles on Sanji’s back, the motion soothing in its simplicity.

Sanji’s eyelids grew heavy, the combined warmth and comfort lulling him into a drowsy state. “You really are a big softie,” he murmured, his words muffled against Zoro’s chest, but there was no bite to the teasing—just pure affection.

“Only for you, cook,” Zoro mumbled back, his voice thick with sleep.

With that, Sanji let his eyes drift shut, feeling safe and content in Zoro’s arms. The world outside ceased to exist as they lay there, wrapped up in each other. And as sleep finally claimed them, they both knew, deep down, that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

————————————————————————

Ty for reading! Not beta’d so srry for any spelling errors, its my first day out here!

[mikasuxxx]

hii!! short hc rq—been thinking about 141 + friends with an aggressively american reader like. specifically british people with words like “y’all” and “aint” [harassing them with “y’aint” sounds funny as fuck] and idk teasing them ab the war like. it’s been on my mind all day

Lol i love that. Bet! Also sorry i couldnt do more characters im kinda tired rn so I'll do them later! Thanks for the ask anon!

Soap

would find it funny as fuck

every time you say "yall" or "aint" he cant help but giggle

He laughs whenever youre talking shit about brits and bringing up the revolutionary war

ESPECIALLY if you bring up the (dead) queen. Bro is already on the floor

Tries to put on an american accent. Ends up sounding southern. Seeing this, you try to put on a scottish accent. But fail miserably

Plays the eagle sound effect whenever you enter a room, thinks its the funniest shit ever

Is entertained by watching you argue with price over "soccer" vs "football"

Price

oh he's so done with your shit

Whenever he's winning an argument with you and you KNOW hes winning, you'll switch to a bri'ish accent. Works everytime

Lowkey flinches whenever you say "yall". flinches harder when you say "y'ain't"

Alternativey when youre in an argument you just say "Aint yall's queen dead? Yeah. thats what i thought" and he just gives you a look

Or the revolutionary war.

as mentioned before hes gotten into an argument with you many times over whether its soccer or football

"Its football. You literally kick the BALL with your FOOT." "Okay well its still called soccer idc" "...."

oh hes REALLY not looking forward to seeing you brag in his face after the US vs UK world cup game

"ITS CALLED SOCCER 🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲🏈🏈🏈"

"NOBODY EVEN SCORED"

You had him try american beer/alcohol brands in general. He said it tastes like piss

Gaz

Hes also amused by it

buys you cowboy boots as a joke. You end up unironically wearing them all the time

Paid you $5 to say yeehaw as loud as you could. wouldnt stop laughing for like 10 mins after

You taught him how to sing the national anthem. Now whenever hes drink he sings it

Is weirded out but also interested in the different words americans have for random things

challenges you to point out every european country on the world map you challenged him to point out the queens burial sight on the map of england

He started saying yall and aint from being around you for so long

Yall mock each others accent too. all in good fun

Ghost

is annoyed by you

generally doesnt like americans

Really doesnt understand some of the shit americans do/say

will never admit it but he sometimes finds those british slandering jokes kinda funny. like he'll huff out some air

He kinda likes some of the food. you cant blame him tho british food sucks

he thinks there's too much fat and grease in most of the food tho

Tolerates you because you dont slander him as much as the others. And overall on missions you get the job done. so its fair game

[leyamoon7]

oddly specific headcanons for Draco pleaseeeeeee!!

Here are 20 oddly specific headcanons I have about Draco Malfoy:

He has a really concerning amount of vintage Quidditch World Cup posters and brooms magazines.

He gets annoyed when the elves don’t organise his wardrobe by colour.

Once, he fibbed about going to Italy for the summer. He'd boasted about it beforehand at the end of the school year, and when his parents cancelled the trip, he couldn't admit it. So, he bought a picture from a random stall in London and put it in his Hogwarts dorm. Crabbe and Goyle think it's from a real Italian tourist shop.

He clenches his teeth whenever he hears the sound of autumn leaves crunching.

Hates the idea of someone else smelling like him, so he blends sandalwood and bergamot with his cologne.

Every time he takes the first sip of a fizzy drink he gets this big hiccup because he drinks it too fast. He hates it at the moment, but then he totally forgets about it. And the next time he has a fizzy drink, it happens again.

Crazy about control. He's the one that takes charge of planning outings every bloody time.

He's so competitive that he creates his own little games in his head with Crabbe and Goyle. Like, 'If I can drink this faster than them, I win.' Probably happens when they're chugging fizzy drinks, which just ends up making him hiccup.

He's into origami and pretty good at it, so whenever he sees someone else doing it, he gets competitive and will dismiss their skills as mediocre, often throwing in rude comments to make them feel inferior.

He's into collecting dark artefacts. He once went to an auction but found it frustrating whenever people shouted out prices. He couldn't concentrate to see if the item was valuable enough for him, so he left.

Totally hates auctions.

He used to only like cinnamon rolls from the shop Dobby used to buy them from. But after Dobby left, the new elf couldn't locate the store. So he keeps making the elf switch stores until he finds the right one.

He once stole a comic from Crabbe and never gave it back. He feels no remorse.

He can't stand pre-written jokes; they never make him laugh. He's only amused by sarcasm or jokes that happen spontaneously. "Why did the chicken cross the road?" He'll just raise his upper lip in disgust.

When he was 7, he developed this habit of wrinkling his nose for about a whole year. His father told him it wasn't sophisticated; it looked rude, like he was saying something smelled bad. So, he tried to stop it. Now, whenever he sees someone else doing it, he'll do it too, but then quickly look around to make sure no one saw him.

Has a stash of sweets that his mother sends him from home hidden under his bed. He's really possessive so never shares them with anyone.

Picky eater. Has a list of foods that he absolutely refuses to touch even if he's never tried them before. Anything with mushrooms.

Once while having dinner with his family at a restaurant, he wanted to order something. His mother warned him against it because it had mushrooms. Just to defy her, he went ahead and ordered it anyway. He ended up liking it.

Knows so much about pureblood family history, he often drops random facts in conversations with his friends. Goyle once pointed out he'd already mentioned that fact before. He was rude to him for the rest of the day.

He's really good at mimicking other people's voices and accents. Sometimes he just does it for fun, making up excuses to mock/bully other students just to show off his skills. He loves when his friends make him do more.

This is so fun, lmao.

[indigofoxed]

OC Deep dive

Thank you for the tag @forkingbrusselsprout !

I'm greedy so I chose two of my Tavs, Ris and Nissa (pictured) as I'm writing their fics in parallel and this is a great way to get in their heads. Plus they are very different to me.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Ris- being alone.

Nissa - dark forests at night and accidentally hurting someone she loves.

Do they have any pet peeves?

R - people who take too long to get to the point. He's quite exuberant and doesn't have a lot of patience sometimes.

N - she hates dog-earing books. She has a collection of random stuff for bookmarks but she would never fold a page.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom?

R - a basic looking, leather handled short sword. It was given to him by his mum and made it through his adventures so he thinks it's lucky. His favourite boots, they cost a fortune and he loves them. Candles, he likes to play with the flames.

N - Books! Jewellery of some kind, and some kind of polished stone, tigers eyes maybe? She likes to hold them when she reads and rubs her thumb over them, it soothes her.

What do they notice first in person?

R - Footwear. He insists you can tell a lot about a person from their shoes. Astarion mocks him ceaselessly over it.

N - If they have magic and how strong they might be. It's a self-protection habit.

On a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

R - 8, he is unfortunately quite used to it.

N - 5? Pretty average, her magic tends to step in if its too bad.

Do they go into fight or flight when under pressure?

R - fight or sometimes freeze.

N - fight but defensive to start.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

R - He comes from a huge family, foster kids always in and out with his full sister, mum and dad. He probably wouldn't choose that for himself in the future 😅

N - Small, farming family, two older brothers and her parents. She would maybe like a small family one day but as an elf she isn't too caught up on it.

What is a smell they dislike?

R - Lavender.

N - Geraniums. She thinks they smell disgusting. Her partners only make that mistake once when they gift her flowers 😅.

Have they broken any bones?

R - A lot of them!

N - Her leg when she was younger because she fell out of a tree. The healer didn't want to risk magic on her due to her wild magic so she had to have standard healing and was stuck in her bed for weeks. That's when she developed her love for reading.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

R - Ridiculously charming (especially if he wants something)

N - Confident and thoughtful. She has quite a dark sense of humour when you know her better.

Are they a night owl or a morning lark?

R - Night owl for sure, even before he met Astarion.

N - Lark, she loves seeing the dawn.

Boom, surprise birthday party, how do they react to surprise?

R - Embarrassed but happy.

N - It's best not to surprise a wild magic sorcerer TOO much.. she would like a party thrown for her but don't jump out from behind couches....

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

R - So so so scruffy.

N - You'd expect it to be neat but it's really cursive to the point its hard to read unless you know it well.

What are two emotions they feel the most?

R - Amusement, he's mostly quite lighthearted, and desire/craving.

N - Contentment and also interest/curiosity.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

R - Not really, he is quite a tactile person though so you'll find him absentmindedly touching stuff around him.

N - Velvet.

What kind of accent do they have?

R - I imagine it like a very light welsh accent, but the Toril equivalent. Slightly lilting and stronger when he's tired or irritated. He sounds very much like his mum then.

N - Nothing strong, she's quite well spoken and can get quite sharp when annoyed.

Its just for fun but tagging @casualya and @hfxgamora but anyone who wants to play along I'd love to see any OC/Tavs you have!

OC Deep Dive

Thank you for the tag @andromedaancunin ♥️

🥀Iivlin Do’Urden (Eve)🥀

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

She is afraid of losing more of her memories.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When an outfit/accessories include metals of different colours. They have to match. (Yes, this might be my personal pet peeve but Eve has a lot in common with me so there is that 🤭)

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Her scimitars, a silk robe and her journal.

What do they notice first in person?

From first glance she is probably assessing how easy will it be to intimidate them.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

She’d never admit it but she is actually quite tender. She will endure pain but it will cause her a lot of peril. So I will say 5.

Do they go into fight of flight mode when under pressure?

Fight. Always fight.

Do they come from big family/are they a family person?

All she remembers are snippets from her youth in the Underdark and those are pretty grim. Being created by the god of murder will do that to a person.

Her family is Astarion now and Bhaal’s bloodline ends with her.

What is a smell they dislike?

Smell of boiling carrots. (Don’t ask…)

Have they broken any bones?

Most likely, but she doesn’t remember it.

How would a strange likely describe them?

A mean drow.

Are they a night owl or morning bird?

Night owl (curtesy of vampire husband).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

She’d find it amusing.

Do they have a nest or messy handwriting?

It’s a running joke with my best friend how Eve is not super academically bright. I think her handwriting is a little childish. I am not sure if she knows how to write in common actually. She likes to draw though.

What are two emotions they feel the most?

Confusion and amusement.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Silk.

What kind of accent do they have?

I would assume Eve has a bit of undercommon/drow accent.

———————————

I’ll tag @indigofoxed, @heyiamroe and @somer-psionic if they would like to participate ♥️

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Flufftober - Day 1

1 - Winning a teddy bear for the other

This is for @flufftober2021's event. I'll be joining for what I think could be... every day. I also used @prompts-in-a-barrel prompts. There are 2 different prompts because my brain is empty. Enjoy the teeth-rotting fluff!

Pairing: Loki x GN!reader

Tags: enemies to lovers (of course), mentions of alcohol and drugs (but nobody takes any), verbal violence (as compliments, mostly), swearing.

Word count: 1,8K

“Come oooon…. please, please, please, Mr. Rogers? Just this one?”, insisted Peter, crawling up the walls just to get his attention. Steve sighed.

“I’m really sorry, pal. It’s not that I don’t want to. You wouldn’t get a minute of normal peace and fun in there with me”, he explained carefully, “everyone would recognize me and I wouldn’t be actually joining you in anything”.

“It’s okay, I understand. Oh! What about… what about Mr. Barnes?”.

“No”, cut Bucky without looking up from his phone.

“Why don’t you ask Tony? He always wants to get you things, what about some time with you?”, tried Steve, while Tony walked in with Banner.

“Mr. Stark! Could you please, please, please, go with me to the Central Park Festival? It’s gonna be music and games and popcorn and a bunch of cool stuff! You like parties, right?”.

Tony looked at him up and down. Peter was dressed in a pair of jeans —unusual—, and a t-shirt that said the name of the festival and all the bands that would attend. It was very likely Peter just wanted to meet someone there, probably a date.

“I thought that one wasn’t for minors. It’s full of drugs and alcohol, and people tend to get naked in the heat of the moment. Sounds fun, I’d love to go. But I can’t take you with me”, he said, and Banner nodded.

“He’s right. Sorry, Peter, but that festival isn’t for you. You won’t have that much fun”.

“But… music and games… and popcorn…”, he said, really disappointed. Tony sighed and looked at his calendar from his smart glasses.

“Fine. You can go. But go with an adult, alright? I don’t want you getting in trouble”, he accepted, and Peter’s eyes shone with expectation. “You’ll have to find someone else, though. We’re working. Sorry, kid”.

Peter ran up to Thor’s room, sure that he’d accept a good party. There would be beer and loud music, and a bunch of very competitive strength games he’d love to join and win, and get the praise. He knocked the door with a special rhythm he always did, so people knew it was him. But it wasn’t Thor who answered.

“Go on, man of spiders”, called the velvet voice of Loki. Peter’s heart skipped a few beats. He had fought many assassins and put his life in danger countless times, yet the God of Mischief always unsettled him the most; very likely, because Loki had too much of a soft spot for him, and he felt like he had to do something to actually earn it. He really admired him. “You still there?”.

“Y… yes, Mr. Loki! I’m here”, he said, opening the door and finding Loki pinned down to the floor, face to the ground and you on top of him, holding him by the wrists and your legs immobilizing his. “Oh! I’m sorry, am I…?”, he stuttered, and looked away. He soon realized it wasn’t what he thought it was. “Wait. What’s going on?”.

“I’m grounding Loki until he gives me back my book”, you said, pushing his wrists even more closely together. Loki laughed sarcastically, like he was above you.

“Please, darling. You don’t really think you’re actually grounding me, don’t you?”.

“How come you can’t even move, daarrrling?”, you mocked his accent, ignoring the amount of blush it brought to your cheeks.

“I’m letting you win. It’s quite amusing, to be sincere, to see you try so hard to get your tales back”.

“They’re not tales, it’s the most interesting book I’ve read in the last decade and you just took it away in the best part!”.

Peter cleared his throat. You gave up and let Loki go, and he sat up on the floor, fixing his hair.

“I’m really looking forward to going to a very nice festival tonight, but I can’t go without an adult. It’s really not that terrible, minors can go, but accompanied, and nobody can come with me in here”, he explained. Loki was about to refuse in a heartbeat, but you interrupted him.

“Can’t your aunt go with you?”.

“She can’t know I’m going… she’ll freak out”.

“Oh, that freaky of a party? I didn’t think of you as that type of guy”.

“I’m not! I’m going for the music and the games. And the popcorn. Oh, they have the best popcorn in the world!”.

“Sure, I’ll go with you. But. On one condition”, you said, and Peter nodded eagerly.

“Whatever it takes!”.

“Loki has to come with”.

“What? No way. Under no circumstances I’m lowering myself to the…”, and Loki kept going on about how he wouldn’t join a stupid midgardian party when he could be doing so many other things instead.

Anyway, fast forward to that same night, Peter was jumping around the entrance of the festival and you were walking slowly behind by a very grumpy God of Mischief attached to your arm.

You wish with your heart you could say you didn’t want him to go there, or that you only wanted him to join to make him pay for stealing your book in the best part, but part of you knew it was because you wanted him to spend time with you.

You’ve had a crush on him for at least a year now. One of those crushes that make you go red everytime he lowers his tone of voice, or at every sarcastic pet name, or that makes you want to scream every time he looks at you up and down. It was just a crush, yet it was so hard to ignore.

But Loki’s never paid any mind to you. He was witty and you were witty back, trying to hide how much it hurted you that he didn't give a fuck about you. Right now, you were overwhelmed with a painful silence you couldn’t deny made you want to rip your eyes off. This was a terrible idea. You should’ve come alone with Peter. Loki and you would never get along, no matter how many parties you took him to.

“So… do you like… magic?”, you broke the silence.

“I’m a sorcerer. Take a wild fucking guess”.

“Rude. I’m just trying to make conversation”.

“Well, don’t. This isn’t fun”.

“Just… do it for Peter, would you? He really likes you and he wants you to have a good time. So the least we could do is pretend like this was a great idea and get fucking along, wouldn’t you say the same? Can’t you do that for our friend?”.

“Our friend?”, he inquired, raising an eyebrow. You frowned.

“Not the point whether you want to call him that way or not. Now, grab my fucking hand and let’s do something fun or I swear you’re not the only one that’s gonna get a stabbing-reputation around here”.

“Damn. I’m starting to even like you”, he joked. “Fine. Let’s have fun. I’m starving. Have dinner with me?”, he asked, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Like, as a date? Or as rival assassins exchanging death threats thinly veiled in witty banter?”.

“We’ll see how the night goes”.

“It’s a deal then. You’re paying”.

“No, darling. Stark is paying”, he smirked. “He’s the one that’s putting us through this, is he not?”, he said, appearing one of Tony’s credit cards in between his fingers. You chuckled in amusement.

“I might even start liking you, too”.

The night had gone very well. Peter was completely out of your sight but you were sure he wasn’t getting in any more trouble than Loki could if left unsupervised, so you had to prioritize. He had chosen the most expensive restaurant he could find near the park, and asked for the most expensive food, too, just so Tony knows you two were there with his card —or at least, that’s what he said.

After a meal with less talk than you would’ve liked to, you saw Loki visibly relax. He had been on alert mode for the past three weeks, very tense over missions and trouble with his parents, and he smiled lightly, thanking you for the evening without words.

Coming back to the park, you cross with Peter and find out he’s been roaming around with MJ, the girl he was always talking about, and she definitely seemed like the kind of person that would like this party, so both Loki and you clicked at the same time with an “aah, makes sense”. While you were talking with Peter and his new girlfriend, somehow Loki managed to sneak out. You didn’t pay much mind to it, ignoring the huge disappointment of thinking you’ve actually made progress towards being in his limited circle of “tolerable people”, and went back to the conversation.

Although, about ten minutes later, Loki came back to your side with a huge teddy bear. It was so, so big, it was human sized. You laughed, relieved he’d actually gone to play some silly game and make use of his godly strength, instead of leaving you without notice.

“It’s so that you feel bad because a teddy bear is taller than you”, he handed it to you with a grin. You accepted it and hugged it, not even able to touch your fingers around it.

“Thanks, it’s really pretty. I’ll cuddle it in my sleep”, you joked.

“Why don’t you cuddle me instead?”, he mocked.

“I’d do it if you let me”.

“Ugh”.

“Ugh back”.

Truth be told, as much as you two wanted to sound cool and distant with each other, the redness in both faces were undeniable. You played with the fur for a while, while Loki looked at you quizzically, trying to figure out how to let it out. His silvertongue did nothing for him at the moment.

“What I’m trying to say is… maybe we could try to get along better”, he started, and you looked him in the eyes. “I like you, even though I might not show it very often”

“Yeah, no. You don’t show it at all”.

“I’m trying here, alright? I’d just like to say you’re… somewhat… alluring?”.

“Are you… are you trying to flirt with me?”.

“Is it not good?”.

“It’s painful to even hear”.

“Is it working?”.

“Tons”.

"Ah. What did the trick?".

"The giant teddy bear might have helped. Cheesy asshole".

“Ah. Rude, I’m not cheesy, I’m just trying to get laid with you”, he said smirking, with a glitter in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Have they always been so green? So bright?

“You sure are”.

“I sure am”, he said, and this time he was sure he lied.

You stopped walking and he surrounded your waist with his arms, his big hands resting on your back. You tucked a strand of his hair behind an ear and smiled at him. He smiled back.

“Well, whether you’re thinking of marriage or a one night stand, I’m in either way”, you said, and it didn’t matter if he took it as a joke or not, because you couldn’t take your lips off each other for the rest of the night.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson )

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

part v

~

cw: homophobic encounter.

~

November

November shadows, 

shade November change

November spells sweet memory, 

the season blue remains

~

“Lo!” Finn called. “Guess who just got traded to the Rags.”

Cool dread spun its way into Logan’s chest at full force. He felt the point of one of his hips knock against the counter. “Quoi?”

“Marshy and Morgs!” Finn said, and the appeared around the corner into the kitchen, red hair a mess. “Like, together. Like us.”

“These were Harvard teammates, yeah?” Leo asked, spooning sugar into Logan’s coffee.

“Like us?” Logan said. “They’re dating?”

“Oh, no,” Finn laughed. “I just meant together, like, at the same time. Around the same time, I guess I should say.”

“Wow,” Logan nodded, which prompted Finn to imitate the way he said wow, drawing out the W’s. Logan smiled, lifting his cup to his mouth. “We could visit them over the next free weekend maybe.”

“Damn, that’d be a blast to the past.”

“What are they like?” Leo asked, leaning into Logan’s side.

“You’d love Will. Will Morgan, Morgs,” Logan said. “Really level-headed, probably the nicest person I know. Marshy…”

“Percy Marshall is one crazy motherfucker,” Finn said, and poured his own cup of coffee, black.

Logan leaned into mock-whisper to Leo. “And Finn gets insane when they’re together.”

Finn shot him a look, but continued. “Best way to say it. He’ll party until the sun, he’s crazy superstitious—worse than Cap and Loops combined—and he’s also,” Finn slid onto a stool. “One of the hardest working guys you’ll ever met. Probably the hardest working.” Finn’s smile was one Logan’s favorite one, made even more so by the fact that he got to see it directed at Leo. “Until I met you, that is, Nut.”

Leo let out a pleased laugh and let Logan brush a hand through his hair. “Well, they’re in our division now. I’ll get to meet them.”

“Oh, man, we’re in for a fucking treat when we play New York next,” Finn grinned. “Gonna hit the town hard.”

Leo snorted. “You guys might.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “I know everyone we need to know.”

“And I can finally tell you,” Logan began. “That the first time you dragged me around New York knowing ever person you saw, I loved you.”

Finn blushed a little and let Leo pull him to settle in the V of his legs from where he was leaning back against the counter. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them.”

Logan nodded, but part of his chest pulled. He cleared his throat. “Ouais. Also…”

When he paused, Leo tapped their socked toes together encouragingly.

Logan shrugged and looked down into his coffee. He thought of Finn’s quick breaths when they took the Cup back to Harvard. He thought of kissing him in their old room. He thought of everything before. Percy and Will were a part of all of that. Not directly, maybe, but Logan knew what seeing them again would do.

“Memories,” Finn said, and Leo nudged him.

“Don’t say it for him.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Memories,” Logan agreed. “Good and bad.”

~

Remus missed the net three times in fifteen minutes, and only barely managed to keep himself from breaking his stick against the boards. He would be embarrassed afterwards if he had, but could it really be so much worse than the way that he felt now?

He accepted Thomas’ fist bump as he passed him going into the locker room and sat down heavily in his stall. The game had been close, but the Devils had won out in the end. He glanced at some of the assistant coaches, who were murmuring together. There was no guarantee it was about him, but it still felt as thought it was. Sirius was talking with Evgeni, Evgeni’s loud laugh warming up the room. Remus stripped out of his sweaty uniform quickly and was headed for the showers with a towel around his waist when someone slapped him on the back.

“It’s decided,” Logan’s accent came from beside him. He wasn’t bothering with his towel, which was slung over his bare shoulder. The fleur-de-lis tattoo on his hip—and everything else—was on full display. “Me and Talker are taking you out tonight.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?”

Logan just smiled. “No boyfriends. No hockey. We have a day off tomorrow, so no pressure. Just some drinks.”

“And some pool, maybe,” Thomas said, coming up to Remus’ other side. “What do you say, Loops? Fun, eh?”

“Okay, one of you is butt-naked right now and the other is in a three-piece suit. I’m going to say yes and shower, all right?”

Thomas gave a whoop, and Remus couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he dropped his towel in the change room and turned on the hot water. He felt like a sling-shot lately, being catapulted one way, and then in the opposite direction. He guessed he should feel thankful that his friends could pick him up like that, and he did, but another part of him caved in beneath the sheer affection.

I’m letting you down.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and looked over his shoulder when he felt a gentle, quick kiss against the back of his neck.

“Bonsoir,” Sirius said with a soft smile, and went to the shower head beside him.

“Hi,” Remus smiled back. “Beautiful goal tonight.”

He watched the water lace over Sirius’ tan skin, darkening his hair further as he pushed it back, away from his face. “You’re beautiful.”

“Hey, Olli,” Finn called across the showers, making Olli look over at him. “You’re fucking beautiful, man.”

Olli just squeezed shampoo into his palm. “I know that, Harzy.”

Sirius’ laugh echoed through the showers, joined by others, and Remus let it warm around him like the steam.

“Apparently Tremz and Talkie are taking me out tonight,” he said to Sirius as they walked back into the locker room.

“Tremz,” Sirius called over to him. “Ouch.”

“Pas de capitaines,” Logan waved him off and went back to looking at whatever Leo was showing him on his phone. Sirius laughed and looked back to Remus.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Wake me up when you come in if I’m asleep.”

“And go to bed without a kiss?” Remus glanced down at the towel slung low across Sirius’ hips, then back up to his bright silver eyes. “I’d never.”

Sirius smiled and kissed him, but Remus felt the unspoken settling between them. Sirius had stopped bringing up wanting to help with Remus’ shortcomings on the ice. Remus knew he had brought that upon himself with refusals after refusals to talk about it, but now it felt more like a thing. An object. An ugly vase in the corner of the room.

Maybe he really did need to go out tonight.

Thomas settled in his stall beside Remus. “We’re gonna go to Red’s, yeah?”

Remus nodded as he pulled his gray t-shirt over his head. He held up his dark jeans. “I can wear this, right?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m not wearing this thing,” Thomas picked at the lapel of his suit. “Noelle already screen shotted the snapchat I sent her. Why keep it on now?”

Remus just laughed. “All right, Talkie. Lead the way.”

Red’s bar was shoved up against the side of a larger block of buildings in Gryffindor. Remus glanced up, one or two stars were poking through the increasingly cooling loud cover. Inside it was warm, though. Foggy in the way some rooms get when there are lots of happy people in them. Logan had chosen a long-sleeved, dark gray cotton shirt, so thin that Remus could see each ridge of his defined muscles and his necklace, too.

“What the fuck happens when that thing gets wet?” Remus snorted, plucking at it as they waited for their drinks at the bar.

“I’ll pretend we had a fight,” Thomas said. “Throw a drink on you, find out.”

Logan just eyed them suspiciously as they leaned against the bar. “You guys are strange.”

Thomas just flagged the bartender, stretching the white material of his thin knit sweater. He ordered a whiskey, Logan a rum and coke, and Remus opted for a lighter gin and tonic. They still had a game on barely 72 hours. Not that anyone was that much of a light weight, but he didn’t want any assumptions being made, any photographs taken that could put him in a worse light than he already was.

“I know what this is, you know,” he said after Logan and Thomas’ intense COD debate had gone on too long. They both looked over at him, the picture of innocence. Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Media’s a bitch,” Thomas said. “That’s all this is. Hockey’s hard. You can’t help that you live with Cap, who makes it all look like a piece of cake.”

Logan laughed. “I think Cap would disagree. He stinks after games, mon dieu.”

Remus and Thomas shared a look. “And you don’t?”

“Finn likes it,” Logan smirked. “Gets him going.”

“Are you sure its the stench and not the muscles?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Logan waved him off. “I’m not talking about this with you two. We’re here for Loops.”

Remus groaned. “Guys…it’s not…I mean every player goes through this, right?”

They both nodded.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “But it doesn’t help that some people—“

“Assholes,” Logan amended.

“Right. It doesn’t help that some assholes don’t think you deserve to be here.”

Remus tilted his glass towards him. “Yeah.”

“We just think…” Logan began uncertainly, tongue poking out to wet his full bottom lip. “Look, I love Cap. He’s like a brother. But he’s intense. For him…sometimes hockey solves hockey.”

Remus wavered. “Yes and no.”

“We just thought you might want some other ears,” Thomas offered a smile. “I mean we can’t offer a feel good night of lovin’ to make you feel better…”

Remus snorted. “Right. You know, Talkie, that’s exactly what Sirius calls it.”

Thomas cracked up, too. “But we can offer drinks. And, you know…”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Ears?”

“Right,” Thomas nodded. “Look at Tremzy over here, finishing my sentences.”

Remus let his smile die down a little. “I…thanks, guys. I mean, I love talking to Sirius, but I also…he is the Captain. He’s a representation of all of us. I feel a little…” Remus took a slow breath, not sure if he was even ready for the words to come out of his mouth. “I feel a little like I’m letting him, and you all, down sometimes.”

“Aw, Loops,” Thomas said, voice softened.

“I know,” Remus sighed. “It’s just…it creeps in sometimes.”

Remus watched Logan swallow. “I get it. If there’s anything I can understand it’s guilt.”

“Tremz,” Remus said comfortingly. “I guess I should listen to my own advice here, but it’s not your fault. I can be ears, too, you know.”

“Is this…” Thomas said quietly. “Carrot?”

They both stared at him. “Carrot?”

“Code names,” Thomas whispered, even though the tables were noisy and the bar was somewhat empty.

Logan laughed a little, and nodded.

Remus waited. Logan gathered thoughts slowly, carefully. Interrupting, he’d learned while talking with Leo, tended to scatter them. He was also happy that the spotlight wasn’t entirely on him anymore.

“I found him at Harvard,” Logan began, swallowing dryly despite the drink in his hand. “And I was a mess. And then we spent that year apart, and I was a mess. And then I found him again, in Gryffindor, and I was a mess. I fell in love with Leo and I was a mess.” He looked at them, eyes pleading, then back down at his drink. “I am so, so happy now. It worked out. I can’t believe my luck. I wake up so fucking happy every morning. Every little look at them, my life with them, is incredible.”

Remus and Thomas waited some more. Thomas sent Remus a half smile across him, then leaned his cheek on his fist.

Finally, Logan finished. “But I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t a mess without them.” He closed his eyes, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, it really does. Tremz, I get it.” He tilted his glass, making his ice cubes stir the liquid inside. “You’re someone when you’re with who you love. But you gotta be your own someone, too.”

“Ouais,” Logan was already nodded. “Right, like…Re, you’re you, no matter what. Leo, he’s the same way. Finn, too.”

Remus sighed. “I’m not so sure right now. But I think what you’re saying makes sense. Tremz, you’re allowed to want that for yourself. It’s not a slight to the boys. At all.”

Logan laughed, still laced with frustration. He rubbed at his eyes. “But I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

Remus smiled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a pretty level-headed duo in your corner. I mean, Finn’s Finn.”

Thomas snorted. “Might take him a second.”

Logan smiled and it was fond. “Yeah.”

“But Leo…” Remus snapped his fingers. “He’ll get it. They both will.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the bar. “I’m not asking for space. I don’t want space. I don’t want anything to change I just want to stop feeling like I’ll crash and burn by myself.”

“Me too,” Remus admitted. “Maybe in a different way, but…me too.”

“I don’t know if I feel like I’m gonna crash,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “But hey, life’s tough sometimes.” He smiled and raised his glass. “Friends.”

They clinked their glasses together, laughing, the conversation turning to organizing a pick-up game in the park that weekend—if it didn’t snow. 

“Gotta use the big WC, gents,” Thomas said after a while, picking up his crutches. “Then pool?”

“Who the hell calls it that?” Remus snorted.

“Me,” Thomas called over his shoulder, politely excusing his way through the crowd with his charming smile and causing a few longing looks to follow him at his back.

Logan drained the last of his rum and coke. “You don’t feel like Cap’s putting pressure on you, do you?”

Remus looked at him, eyes widening for a moment. “God, no. No, he’s been nothing but supportive. It’s mostly me, I think. He even wants to talk about it. Sometimes I just…can’t.”

Logan nodded. “Good. No, good, I just thought I’d ask. When I first met him, he’d get like that with me sometimes. Wanting to run extra drills or talk through tape. I snapped at him for it a bit. This was before he was really who he is now.”

“Parents were lingering in him,” Remus nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

A man came to lean against the bar beside Remus, then, and Remus shot him a smile that he hoped looked friendly rather than uneasy. The guy was really in his space. He shared a look with Logan, who’s shoulders were rounded a little in alert, green eyes narrowed in on the guy.

“You’re Lupin, eh?” the man said.

Remus sighed softly, looking down at his now watery drink. He should’ve known.

“Yep,” he replied, and looked at the man. He had two friends, hovering a little ways back.

“What’s going on this season, huh?”

The worst part was that the man was smiling, as if he thought this conversation was going to go well.

“I mean, I know you’re with the Captain and all,” the man said. “But, I mean…come on. Some of us care about how the team does.”

“Excuse me?” Remus replied.

The man tilted his head, looking mockingly regretful. “It’s not just about you.”

“Okay,” Remus said, keeping his voice flat.

“What he do to get you there?” the man asked, leaning in like they were friends. “I mean, like…some type of reward, or does he already give you those at home?”

Remus flushed. “I think we’re done talking.”

At least his friends had the decency to look a little nervous.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Fuck off, man,” Logan said in a low tone.

“What,” he sneered. “You got yourself a boyfriend, too, Tremblay?”

Logan was on his feet then, stools screeching back, taller than the man, stronger. Remus’ arm shot out against his chest, keeping him and his balled fists back. The man’s friend stepped forward, too.

“Whoa, Mike,” one of the friends said, hesitating. “That’s not why we…that’s not what this is.”

“Oh,” Thomas scoffed, announcing himself as he made his way back to them. He somehow made his crutches and boot look threatening. “Wrong type of harassment for you, my guy?”

The fans’ eyes went large. “Talker…”

Thomas just stared at them, and Remus watched him go from Thomas Walker with his friends to Thomas Walker on the ice, defensemen. Enforcer. “Only my friends call me that. Sit down at your own table or get out.”

Thomas shouldered through them, one crutch landing briefly on Mike’s shoe, who only just bit back a groan. Thomas was all bright, sharp grin as he sat down, leaning his crutches against the bar again. He waved the bartender over, then looked at Mike who was still standing there.

“Do I have say it again for you?” Logan snarled. “Trust me, you don’t want me to.”

Logan sat down slowly as the three men backed up and turned away. Remus pressed a thankful hand to his shoulder, also meant to calm him down a bit.

“Well, that was fun,” Thomas sighed. “Jesus. We take you out to forget about it and those three show up.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, though his heart was pounding. “I’m surprised that was the first time it happened. Had a close call at the grocery store the other day.”

“Another round?” Logan asked. “Then pool?”

“Ouais,” Remus smiled, in his best impression of Sirius.

~

Most of November passed without change. Remus felt the stagnant ball of frustration in his stomach. He and Sirius cooked together, slowly mastering more and more recipes. Remus lived for the triumphant look on Sirius’ face when a dish came out just right. He went out with Logan and Thomas, with James and Sirius, Finn and Jackson and Kasey. He never felt more at home than when he was tucked against Sirius’ side at a team dinner, watching Logan toss food into Finn’s mouth from across the table, hollering when he caught it and then ruffling an embarrassed Leo’s hair, who was shushing them.

The weather had officially turned to Gryffindor winter, biting harsher and harsher with each night. It got to the point where Marlene started bugging them all about the Christmas video—for the fans, she kept insisting. Come on guys, it’ll be fun!

Evgeni seemed to be the only one who was truly game for it.

Remus wasn’t unhappy, but the media was growing more and more aggravated with him, the fans’ patience was running thin like ice, and now Arthur had started sending him glancing looks until, finally, he pulled Remus into his office as the boys were packing up.

The ball rolled around Remus’ ribs, fighting for space with his heart, and he sat in the leather chair across from Arthur’s desk.

Arthur took off his glasses, which was a bad sign. He didn’t say anything for a long time and Remus didn’t have the courage to make him.

“I know,” Remus finally said, and then his throat choked up. “I’m…”

“I don’t want any apologies,” Arthur said. “And, God, Lupin, I didn’t bring you in here to yell at your so get that look off your face.”

Remus blinked through the scarce relief and looked down at his hands.

“Media’s being real tough, I know,” Arthur sighed. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Remus said. “I’m just…it’s not connecting, I…I don’t know. Maybe I could put in more time one-on-one with one of the coaches. Or ground work with the trainers. I know we’re about to go on the road. Maybe tomorrow morning before practice.”

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. “If you’d like. But overworking yourself isn’t gonna help if that’s not the issue. Frankly, I don’t think skill is the issue. You’re a beautiful skater out there. You’re wicked fast and can misdirect hits like I’ve never seen. But…”

“No net,” Remus mumbled.

Arthur looked regretful. “No net.”

Remus nodded. “I’m working on it. I’m doing everything I can.”

“I don’t doubt that, Remus. Really. Don’t think I do. I’ll be seeing you at the Dumais Thanksgiving, yeah?” Arthur asked.

Remus nodded, spared a smile. “Of course.”

Arthur smiled back and rose. He clapped Remus on the back as he opened the door to his office again. “Good. Try and relax over the break, okay? I know it’s short, but sometimes its less work that pays off. It doesn’t always have to be more.” He looked up. “Ah, another young rascal I’ve had to say that to.”

Remus looked up to see Sirius’ smile, his dark hair curling against his neck, but otherwise tucked under a thick black winter hat. Every muscle in Remus’ body eased at the sight of him. He wanted to wrap himself up in Sirius, tuck himself inside of his winter coat and never leave.

“Cap,” Arthur gave him a nod. “See you for Turkey. Who you’ve got for the big game?”

Sirius just shrugged. “American football. Who cares?”

Arthur made a wounded noise—and another one came from Leo and Thomas down the hall as they were bundling up for the cold. Evgeni was holding Thomas’ crutches for him as Jackson helped him into his coat. Remus cracked up and took the warm palm Sirius held out. They walked down the hallway that smelled familiar and warm, under toned by the scent of carpet and cleaner that, had it been any stronger, would have been unpleasant, but it just added to the familiarity.

The garage door rattled shut behind them as Sirius unlocked their back door, letting them into their warm kitchen. Remus shook out of his coat, hanging it in the closet and rubbing his hands together. With his coat and bag, he tried to drop everything else at the door. This was his and Sirius’ space. This wasn’t a rink, or a locker room, or the press room. Theirs. The word was warmer than the heat Sirius had set to come on a half hour before they got home.

“I’m starving,” he said. “What do you feel like? I maybe want pasta.”

“I feel like you,” came the reply from behind him.

Remus’ smile was slow and he turned to see a glint in Sirius’ eye. “What is it, the cold weather? You’ve been all riled up after games lately.”

Sirius just grinned, hands squeezing Remus’ hips. “I love watching you out there.” He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek, his neck and his nose, between each phrase. “I love your face, I love your feet, I love your shoulders, and the way you bite the finger of your glove while you watch the game between shifts.” The kisses got considerably more heavy, lingering and accompanied by the the brush of a tongue and teeth. “I love the way you cradle a puck and the way you tape your stick. The way your hair sticks to your neck.”

Remus just smiled, eyes closed. “I’ve been playing like shit.”

“Nu-uh,” Sirius said, and Remus whined a little at the next nip, letting Sirius rock him back against the kitchen counter. “Slumps are normal. You play amazing. Just no points. Shit and slumps,” Sirius said, and Remus’ mouth went dry as he was lowering himself to his knees. “Shit and slumps are different.”

Remus let out a laugh. “Aren’t those the words to turn a guy on.”

Sirius just grinned and bit at his pants zipper. “I love you.”

“Better choice.”

Sirius carefully pulled Remus’ zipper down. “Can I? Here?”

Remus only reply was tugging Sirius’ hat free to get at his hair, the thick strands weaving between his fingers. He could already feel himself getting interested, pressing against the slip of his boxers by Sirius’ proximity alone.

“Sirius Black,” Remus sighed as Sirius nuzzled against him.  He stroked over his hair, overwhelmed with how much every part of Sirius meant to him. “I love you.”

Sirius took one of the hands Remus had in his hair by and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Remus let Sirius’ mouth fuzz his mind out, moaning softly at his hollowed out cheeks, laughing at the gentle nips to his hips and thighs. After, Sirius kissed him against the counter until both of their stomachs growled. Remus pressed his mouth against Sirius’ flushed hot cheek.

“I feel like a million bucks, thanks, baby.”

Sirius just smiled, tucking himself away.

It was true. Remus felt home. Settled. Almost as if he could forget the conversation today. Maybe even like he wanted to go down the the basement rink, just for fun, which he hadn’t felt like in a while.

“D’accord,” Remus sing-songed. “We have pasta or chicken or both.”

Sirius grinned. “Both.”

They were mostly quiet as they cooked, bumping hips, iPhone playing softly through their speakers. Remus watched the way Sirius kept his fingers carefully curled away from the knife, like Remus’ mom had taught him that summer. His tongue peaked out of the corner of his mouth, the same way it did when he was carrying a puck up the ice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked softly as Remus minced garlic.

Remus glanced over at him, then kept his eyes on his fingers, so close to the sharp blade. “Um. Coach says it’s not my fault. He says I’m playing well. It’s just…pointless.”

“C’est pas—”

“No, not like pointless, like, pointless. Like I’m not getting net.”

“Ah.”

They smiled at each other, Remus’ a little shakier.

“Yeah.”

I feel like I’m letting you down.

“I feel…” Remus began, and the words caught. “Um. I mean, it’ll get better. It has to.”

Sirius’ expression flickered, but he nodded. “Mhm.”

“Do you feel like a white sauce?” Remus asked, turning to the refrigerator. “Go well with the chicken.”

“Sure,” Sirius nodded. “Sounds perfect, mon loup.”

Remus took a long breath as he opened the refrigerator doors, maybe taking longer than necessary to find the half & half. He was angry at himself. He didn’t know why the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He didn’t want pity, he supposed. He didn’t want Sirius to feel like he had to comfort him. Remus closed his eyes.

He’d do better.

~

Leo and Finn had their shoulders pressed together, each with their own book in their hands, when Logan opened the apartment door.

“Got the cream,” Logan raised the shopping back, and Leo all but leapt from the cushions.

“Yeah you do,” Finn said without looking up.

“Thank you,” Leo slid on his socks in his rush to get to Logan. He pressed his palms to Logan’s cold cheeks, kissing him in a quick burst. “Thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Logan smiled as Leo scurried back into the kitchen to finish making his part of the the American Thanksgiving dinner Pascal was hosting.

“I can’t believe I ran out,” Leo said, stirring something on the stove.

“It’s fine, Le,” Logan said, shrugging out of his jacket and following him in. “Happy to get you whatever you need.”

Leo turned, a touched pout on his face, and Logan beat him to it this time with a slower kiss of his own. Leo tasted like the caramel he had had them all taste test earlier and Logan licked into his mouth eagerly.

“I love you, too,” Logan mumbled.

Leo’s expression softened in the way it always did when one of them said that. Maybe Logan wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe his luck.

“Want to peel sweet potatoes?” Leo asked with a hopeful grin, and Logan laughed.

“Sure, soleil.”

Finn gasped from the couch, eyes on his book, glasses on his nose. “They kissed. I fucking knew they would.”

Leo gasped, too. “No. Harzy, spoilers, you’re faster than me.”

Logan looked between them. “Are you guys reading the same book again, like, next to each other?”

“Sorry,” Finn said, but he was gripping the book like another secret might spill out. “And yes.”

Leo pressed a peeler into his hands with another kiss, this one fast and skittering across his cheekbone.

“I love both of you,” Logan sighed as he picked up the first potato. “You’re weird.”

Finn closed his book without marking his place and heaved himself up with a groan, cracking his back. He came to sit at the bar counter across from where Logan was peeling.

“Thanks for the help, Harz,” Logan said.

“I don’t like it when my hands smell like potato.”

Leo laughed. “Sweetheart, how’d you ever survive on your own?”

“Take out,” Finn and Logan answered at the same time.

“And catering,” Finn added. “I think the NHL is used to boys who can’t cook. Marlene just slid the caterer’s card into my hand without a word.”

Leo just shook his head. “She tried the same thing on me. Honey, please.”

Logan and Finn shared a smile, both turning to gaze at Leo’s back.

“How much time do we have?” Leo asked.

“Like, two hours, babe, you’re good,” Finn said.

“Do I have time to ravish you in your glasses?” Logan asked.

Finn raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, these old things? You want to wear them?”

Logan dropped his peeler and walked around the counter. He spun Finn to face him on the stool and Finn’s feet hooked around his calves, holding him there. “Non.”

Finn smiled, leaning forward to nip at Logan’s bottom lip and pull.

“Tremblay, potatoes.”

Logan groaned and Finn gave his butt a firm slap as he pulled away. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

~

“Uh, hey dad,” Cole cleared his throat. “It’s me. I just um. I’m in Pascal Dumais’ house. Can you believe that? Uh, I just wanted to say���you know, happy Thanksgiving, and all that. Maybe you can come out to a game soon? Yeah…let me know, I can get you tickets. Okay. Okay, see you. Merry—or happy Thanksgiving. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

Cole sighed as he put his phone down and looked around the Dumais’ sitting room. It was tidy, with food laid out every table, ready for guests. Cole, after that phone call, already felt tired.

There was a knock on the doorframe and he turned to see Layla, smiling at him hesitantly. She held out a glass of a deep colored wine. “I thought maybe you’d want some.”

“Oh, I can’t, uh…” Cole began.

Layla snorted. “Me neither, but…” she glanced around the tall-ceilinged living room. “Who’s gonna tell? Dumo? Please.”

Cole laughed a little and took the thin stem from her fingers. “Thank you.”

Layla nodded, bending for a cheese and cracker. “That sounded a little tough. If you don’t mind me saying.”

Cole pocketed his phone. “It’s not really. Well…maybe now it is. But I don’t think of him that way, of this that way. He’s a good father.”

He sounded defensive even to himself and sighed. “When he decides to be.”

“He hard on you?” Layla asked. She took a seat on the couch and Cole glanced around before settling on the ottoman of one of the fat leather chairs. “About all this?”

“Hockey?” Cole said, then laughed. “No. No way, he doesn’t give a shit about ice hockey. My mom got me into hockey. My dad still hopes I’ll be, like, I don’t know…I don’t know what.”

Layla frowned. “It’s not like you could’ve been a money-bags doctor and chose to paint watercolors instead?”

Cole cracked a smile. “Yeah…Yeah, he sort of skipped around a lot before I actually started getting good.”

“Oh,” Layla said softly.

The doorbell rang. And then rang again and again, like someone was jamming their finger into it repeatedly.

“Tremzy!” he heard Katie shriek a moment later.

Warm voices filled the hall.

Cole rose and, after a moment, offered Layla a hand. She smiled, letting him pull her up. “It’s not as sob-story as it sounds.”

“I get it,” Layla nodded. “My older sister skipped altogether when I was little. Still don’t know why. I know it’s not the same but…”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said.

Layla just smiled, one of her bright ones, and wrapped her hand—gold rings and all—around his arm. “Come on. Shit’s about to get wild.”

“And delicious,” Cole said, turning towards the smells coming from the kitchen.

Layla laughed, and Cole wanted to hear that sound twenty more times.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Seven // Wanda Maximoff

chapter six | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter eight

author’s note: hope y’all like this one 👀

The Maximoffs were just as a good at throwing a party as my own parents were.

Celebrating a new book that was published at Pietro's business, they threw a party in their back garden big enough to host half the town if they wanted to. Actually, now that I thought about, half the town was probably there.

We were invited to celebrate along with them because we were 'family' now, as Oleg and Iryna pointed out, so I found myself standing in their garden getting a drink under the night sky and trying to blend in with the snacks table so I wouldn't have to mingle. Parties still weren't my thing, clearly.

People-watching was more my forte. It was amazing the things people did when they thought nobody was looking. One guy coughed into his hand and wiped it on his pants – I reminded myself not to shake his hand – whilst some woman checked if her teeth were clean on the back of a serving tray.

My gaze raked the garden, indifferent to the men who attempted to get women's attention with a boyish grin and terrible pick-up lines, or the women who lifted their dresses a little higher than necessary to steal a man's attention. I spotted my parents talking to some guests whom I'd never see before, then there was Wanda's parents laughing alongside Pietro as he told a joke to some important looking people.

Eventually, my eyes fell to the remaining Maximoff, who was looking especially beautiful tonight. A deep lilac gown adorned her figure and she wore it like it was uniquely made just for her. She probably didn't even realise, but all eyes were definitely on her; a simple stride around the garden had people turning heads to see who the lilac beauty was. Y/B/N was the most envied man of the evening, with every guy here wishing they could have Wanda on their arm.

I'd wanted to tell her just how truly stunning she looked tonight, but I hadn't been able to pull her away from my brother's side for even a second. Everywhere he went, she went, too. I'd caught her eyes maybe three times tonight since she was so involved with whatever she spoke about with the people who worked for Pietro. I didn't take it personally of course, but it didn't make me feel any better.

Y/B/N had his hands all over her, probably suspecting just how many people were checking her out tonight, and I hated the way it made me feel. Envy and jealousy came over me and it wasn't pleasant. His hand was permanently fixed on her waist, at times moving suspiciously lower and making me roll my eyes. Occasionally, he'd lean over and whisper something in her ear making her flush – involuntarily or not, I didn't know. Wanda was a good actress, appearing as the perfect fiancé to him and couple to everybody else. Or, at least, I hoped it was acting.

"Pretty ladies shouldn't be standing by their lonesome," said someone with a Sokovian accent, but sadly not the one I wanted to hear.

"Pietro," I said with an amused smile, turning to face the man of the evening. "Congratulations on the new published book!"

He smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Y/N. How are you finding the party?"

I glanced around, disguising my discomfort with a nod. "It's great."

He chuckled, as if suspecting that was a lie, before changing the subject. "So, the book. Have you read it?"

Glad that this was something I could actually talk about, my shoulders relaxed and I nodded. "Yes! I bought it yesterday as soon as it was published. I've only read the first six chapters, but what I've read is beautifully written."

Pietro snickered, raising his brows. "Only? That's further than anyone here has read."

I smiled bashfully, eyes veering elsewhere with embarrassment. "I guess I just have a lot of free time."

He hummed with amusement. "And you must really like reading... Wanda mentioned you write, too. It's nice to know it runs in the family."

Certain my cheeks were flushed, I nodded. "Yeah, our dad, he taught Y/B/N and I how to write when we were kids. That's where my love of literature began."

"And what do you like to write?" he asked, intrigued.

I shrugged, the grip on my glass of champagne loosening as I grew comfortable. "I don't know... short stories, drabbles, novels. I mainly deal with themes of love and romanticism. We're so intent on leading our lives with what other people want that we rarely take time to think about we want... I write about that."

Swallowing, I looked to Pietro, hoping I wasn't boring him. He was a publisher after all, besides my soon-to-be brother-in-law. His opinion was important to me.

"I must admit, Y/N, my interest is piqued," he admitted, watching me with an inquisitive gaze. "Do you have anything I could read?"

"It's probably better than it sounds," I said dismissively, knowing this was just small talk.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I doubt that. You shouldn't say such things. You never know, you could be my next signed author."

I tried not to laugh. "Nice try, Pietro."

He smiled widely. "What? I'm serious!"

Tilting my head towards him knowingly, I sighed. "We both know that can't happen."

He was grinning now, clearly entertained by my unamused expression. "Says who?"

I motioned around us with my drink. "Says everyone? The world we live in?"

He began to list authors on his fingers as he said, "Jane Austen. Emily Bronte. Mary Shelley. Louisa May Alcott. Dare I name more?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I said, pushing his hand down and rolling my eyes at his smug expression. "But I can promise you that all of those women fought tooth and nail to get published. Their families probably weren't as accepting as they wanted them to be. There's still people now who talk about how unprofessional and lacklustre their works are. They didn't have it easy. Still don't. And don't even get me started on the reputation side of things for you... d'you know how much backlash you'd get for signing a woman?"

Pietro shrugged, sipping his drink, before saying casually, "I only care about talent, Y/N. And if you have even a quarter of the talent your brother does, then I'm happy to go from there."

I quirked a brow, trying to gauge if he was pulling my leg or not. But the kind eyes looking back at me suggested he may not have been. Either way, the idea of actually being published – something I'd been dreaming of since I was a kid – was enough to raise my suspicions and make me shake my head.

"Thanks for listening, Pietro," I said conclusively, hoping he got the hint.

He nodded, accepting my word, thankfully. "Anytime. Hopefully this isn't the end of this conversation, though."

I cracked a smile, knowing it was but giving him the benefit of the doubt. He pursed his lips, glancing around briefly before attempting to hide an amused smile.

"What are you smiling at?" I teased, nudging him in the arm slightly.

His eyes met mine, sparkling with mischief. "You've probably not noticed, but as we've been speaking, almost everyone in this garden has looked our way."

I cocked my head with confusion, smile still present. He nodded subtly, eyes flickering to the right, so I followed his gaze and inconspicuously looked around. He was right, as murmurs of gossip escaped people's lips, their eyes trying to get a good look at the two of us. Even our parents were looking our way, no doubt discussing our future wedding affair.

"Wow," I breathed out, trying not to laugh as I looked back to him. "You'd think they'd have something better to do."

He leaned in, muttering, "Wanna give them a show?"

My eyes flickered between his, seeing that roguish charm of his come to life. I couldn't resist his mischievous attempt to piss off our parents, so of course I nodded with a stifled laugh.

"Care to dance, Miss Y/L/N?" he asked, a little louder than he needed to, attracting more attention.

I grinned, grateful for the idiot that was Pietro. He was already making my evening ten times better than it was.

Resting my hand in his outstretched one, I nodded. "Thank you, Mr Maximoff."

I barely had chance to put my glass down before he led me to the area before the live band that was strumming a lovely upbeat ballad. We joined the other couples that were also having a dance, unbothered by their nosey stares.

Bowing dramatically, he smiled and I curtsied before resting a hand on his shoulder and the other in his. He rested a hand on my waist respectfully before a grin spread across his lips and he began to dance me around everybody else, way too fast for me to keep up.

"Pietro!" I exclaimed between fits of laughter, trying not to trip over my feet or his.

"You said we could dance," he answered simply, before spinning me around.

My eyes went dizzy as he dipped me, making me laugh joyfully. For the first time all night, I was having fun. When he pulled me up, his eyes motioned to the left of us.

"D'you think our parents have already picked the wedding venue?" he teased.

"Definitely," I said with a nod, before shoving him back slightly. "But you, mister, need to slow down. You're like a speedster with the dancing. We should call you Quicksilver."

He laughed, continued to dance me around but much more slower this time. "I like that. You're clever. I can see why Wanda has taken a liking to you."

I knew he didn't mean it like that, but my heart dropped to my stomach anyway. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips as he noticed my expression. Thankfully, he didn't question it and we continued to make a fool of ourselves for a few more songs before taking a break by the snacks table.

"You're an idiot," I told Pietro as we caught our breath, but a delighted smile was on my lips. "You know you've probably convinced our parents that we're a couple now, right?"

"Hey, you're the one who started to fluff my hair like you loved me!" he retorted with humoured eyes.

"Because you're just so darn cute!" I mocked him, before moving forward and going in to fluff his hair yet again.

He attempted to smack my hand away as he said, "Hands off the hair, Y/L/N! I styled it perfectly!"

Grabbing my wrists, he held me back and I tried not to cry with laughter at the expression on his face.

"Such a child," I decided, pulling my hands away. "Whatever happens from here on out is definitely your fault."

He scoffed, as if ready to refute that fact, but before he could say anything, my brother's voice was heard.

"It's nice to see you actually conversing with people for a change, but maybe not my publisher."

Pietro and I turned and saw Y/B/N and Wanda approaching us. My brother seemed entertained by Pietro and I, looking between us with pre-conceived ideas that we may have already fancied each other, just like everyone else had tonight. Wanda, meanwhile, was watching me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"He's good company, what can I say?" I joked, returning my brother's smile.

"Oh?" He raised a brow, knowing look in his eyes.

I rolled my own, trying not to laugh at his insinuation. There was no point trying to convince him otherwise.

"I was just giving Y/N here the best evening ever since she was moping around in the corner," Pietro explained nonchalantly, making me smack his arm.

"I was not moping!" I defended myself.

He shrugged, ghost of a smile on his lips. "Whatever you say."

I gave him a playful glare before focusing my attention to the couple before us.

"As lovely as it is to see whatever this is," my brother continued to make things awkward as he motioned between us, "I came to get Pietro. Someone from the press is here and has questions about the book."

At the mention of this, Pietro straightened up and neatened his bow tie, flashing my brother his most confident smile. "Lead the way, Y/B/N."

After assuring Wanda he'd be back in a second, Y/B/N let go of her waist and guided Pietro to the members of the press. Glad that he'd finally left her side, I looked to Wanda with a soft smile.

"Hey," I said quietly, glancing around before saying what I'd wanted to say all night. "You look radiant tonight, Wanda." 

Unexpectedly, she crossed her arms and pressed her lips together firmly. "How was your dance with Pietro?"

Her green eyes, literally green with envy, watched me with distaste. It didn't take long for me to recognise that familiar jealousy entwined in her expression because it was probably the same way I looked when she was with my brother. For some reason, this made me smile with amusement.

"He's a very good dancer," I said, half truthful and half trying to poke fun.

She wasn't amused. "Yeah, everybody saw. You've been all over him."

I covered my mouth, trying very hard not to laugh. "I mean, he's pretty funny to be around. I can totally see why everybody wants us to get married."

Her jaw clenched as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"C'mon, it's a joke," I said lightheartedly, nudging her in the arm. "You know that."

After internally debating whether or not to believe me, she relaxed her shoulders and unclenched her jaw. "I know."

"So, what's the problem?" I asked, raising a brow and smiling playfully.

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing."

My smile faded as I searched her eyes. "C'mon. What is it? You know you can tell me."

"Forget it, Y/N," she muttered, avoiding my eyes.

Realising she was still clearly bothered, I sighed dramatically, hoping to lighten the mood. Making sure my voice was low enough for only her to hear, I said, "I only danced with him to annoy our parents. Same with him. He's clearly not interested in me and neither I with him. That's why we get along so well." Teasing her once more, I added, "If circumstances were different, I'd like to think we'd be good friends. He's quite handsome, though I think the good looks are a Maximoff twin thing. Maybe if–"

"I'm in love with you!"

I paused, blinking, unsure if I'd heard correctly. Her cheeks were flushed as she looked to me with exasperation.

Glancing around to make sure nobody was attracted by her outburst, I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding in my ears as she said what I'd been struggling to accept for the past two months.

"What?" I breathed out, raising my brows with surprise.

She licked her lips, realisation replacing her look of admission. Opening her mouth to say something, she stepped forward, but my brother returned with an oblivious smile on his face and interrupted the moment.

"Wanda, the journalists want a picture of us for their article," he said enthusiastically, returning his arm around her waist and tugging her close, making my skin crawl.

Her gaze lingered on me for as long as she could before looking up to my brother with a halfhearted smile.

"Sure," she agreed reluctantly.

My brother nodded at me before leading Wanda away. She gave me one last look, her eyes trapped with unsaid words, before leaving with him. My mouth went dry as Wanda's words echoed in my mind. She was in love with me. And I knew I was in love with her, too. I had been for a while.

But wouldn't admitting that make this whole thing a lot more complicated?

—

"Will you stop shaking your hand? It's very distracting."

I stopped shaking my hand and gave my mum an apologetic glance before facing the door again. I was extremely eager and nervous to see Wanda again, as I hadn't been able to see her for the rest of the party last night.

Her words were permanently resounding in my mind all night, making it difficult to fall asleep. The reality of our situation had dawned on me and I knew that even though everything would become more difficult between us, I had to tell her that I felt the same way. The last thing I wanted was her panicking that I didn't. Because these last two months loving her in secret were better than anything I'd experienced in my life.

Iryna and my mum had made plans to hang out today, including Wanda and I in the plans without actually telling me until this morning. I didn't mind though as I was hoping it could be an opportunity for us both to finally speak.

The front door opened to reveal Iryna with a bright, inviting smile. She exchanged greetings with us both and ushered us inside instantly. There, waiting, was Wanda, looking as gorgeous as ever. A calm suddenly enveloped me as I looked to her, my heart fluttering in my chest more so than usual. She loved me and that thought alone made me feel giddy inside.

"You must come upstairs to the closet with me," Iryna insisted before I could utter a word to the brunette. "I've been very silly and impulse-ordered a bunch of new dresses. Of course, the only way to fix that is to try them on."

My mother laughed alongside her and the two of them looked to Wanda and I questioningly. I smiled their way, glancing at Wanda, before following them upstairs. Maybe later.

I spent the next hour trying on clothes against my own will, modelling them for Wanda and our mothers awkwardly. Ecstatic, our mothers threw their opinions out at me, but I was barely listening because all I could seem to focus on was a quiet Wanda. I couldn't read her mind for the life of me – she was getting better at hiding how she truly felt.

Wanda also tried some dresses on, still not as enthused as she usually was, but neither of our mothers seemed to take notice. I sat on the lounge sofa alongside them, eyes unable to look away from Wanda as she modelled the dresses. I had no words, my mind hazy and tongue tied as she stole my breath away for the millionth time. She was ethereal.

"...what do you think, Y/N?" Iryna asked, forcing me to look away from Wanda and to her. "She should keep this one, shouldn't she?"

I hummed in agreement, looking back to Wanda, who was avoiding my eyes. "She should. I don't think I've ever seen a dress so perfect for someone before."

Our mothers didn't seem to think much of my comment, but Wanda finally looked up, not ignoring me for the first time since I got here. I offered her a small smile, hoping she could see what I'd been wanting to say to her since last night. But she looked away, chewing on her lip and looking down.

"I'm gonna change," she mumbled, before turning to go back behind the curtain.

A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned back against the seat. I'd just have to find a spare moment.

Iryna and my mum proceeded to try on a bunch of dresses before we called it a day and were ready to eat lunch.

"I want you to have these, Y/N," Iryna told me as we all stood up, motioning to the pile of dresses on the arm of the sofa. "It's my gift to you."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh, Iryna, you don't need to give–"

"Don't be ridiculous," she cut me off with a wave of her hand. "You're family now. Anything for my daughter-in-law."

I smiled awkwardly, not missing the eye roll from Wanda, before nodding. "Thanks..."

She looked to her daughter. "Wanda, medovyy (honey), can you help her pack them away and meet Y/M/N and I outside on the patio for some lunch?"

Wanda, having no other choice but to say yes, nodded and forced a smile in her mum's direction. "Sure, mum."

Our mothers fell into conversation as they left the room, finally leaving Wanda and I alone. I released a breath, grateful for the privacy, and looked to the Sokovian in question.

"You okay?" I asked slowly, wanting to find a start before erupting straight into my feelings.

She nodded, nibbling on her lip. She looked like she wanted to say something more, so I watched her patiently.

After a pause, when I thought she may just stay quiet forever, she spoke. "If what I said last night was out of line, I'm sorry."

I shook my head, a smile curling on my lips. "It wasn't. I'm in love with you, too."

Surprised, she finally met my gaze, eyes swirling with confusion. "You are?"

"Of course I am," I said quietly, stepping forward and taking her hands in mine. "I didn't mean to make you jealous last night. Pietro and I were genuinely just hanging out as friends."

She shook her head, eyes flickering between mine. "It doesn't matter about that. Forget it."

I still felt guilty, adding, "I know, but it does matter. I don't want to–"

She pressed her lips to mine quickly, cutting me off. Her fingers tangled in my hair as she tugged me closer with her other hand, making me gasp when my body touched hers. I kissed back, closing my eyes and moving my lips against hers in perfect sync.

I probably could have kissed her all afternoon, but the sound of the door opening made us both jump apart, startled. It was just a servant who was coming in to clean up the room. When she saw us, she gave us a small smile before moving around the room carefully. My eyes fell to Wanda's excited ones, and I smiled at her before nodding to the dresses.

"We should sort this out before they wonder what's taking so long," I told her, moving to pack them.

She nodded, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently before helping me. We packed the dresses in no time before joining our mums out on the patio where they were sat with our lunch. I tried to keep my eyes off Wanda as our mothers spoke to us about God knew what, but it was hard when all I wanted to do was kiss her over and over, telling her just how much I loved her.

"...nice to see you both getting along lately," Iryna was talking, and I only zoned back in when I realised she was looking at me.

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Wanda stifled a smile as my mum gave me a disapproving look from across the table.

Iryna didn't seem to mind as she chuckled. "You and Pietro," she continued. "You both seemed very comfortable at the party last night."

I settled on a polite smile. "He's a gentleman. Very nice to be around, I guess."

Iryna smiled knowingly, exchanging glances with my mum before patting Wanda on the forearm, getting her attention. "How does that sound, dear? Your brother and Y/N together?"

I shook my head instantly, realising how she'd taken my words. "That's not what I meant."

Humming in response, Iryna continued to look to her daughter. "You may have to start sharing your new best friend with Pietro."

Remembering Wanda's jealousy last night, I spared her a glance of concern, hoping she wouldn't let this get to her. She was smiling, but her eyes were dimmed with dismay.

"Uh-huh," she played along with her mother's words, before using her fork to pick at her food.

As our mums began to talk about it, I found Wanda's hand under the table and laced my fingers in hers, hoping she'd know I only cared about one person and it was her. Though she didn't look up, her hand tightened around mine and she didn't let go.

The rest of the lunch went by as expected, though the more Iryna and my mother mentioned the wedding, the more Wanda and I grew uncomfortable. It was so much harder to hear about it when I knew my feelings were growing stronger for the brunette every day. By the end of the meal, my mother was happy to go back home and said I could stay to hang out with Wanda, which of course I did.

After bidding her a goodbye, I let Wanda drag me upstairs and to her bedroom, though the door closed when she spun around and pushed me against it, immediately kissing me. Before I could even question what was happening, she pulled away and looked at me through a half-lidded gaze.

"I don't want to share you with my brother, ever," she rasped out lowly, before licking her lips. "I don't want to share you with anyone."

She breathed out, her breath mingling with mine. Her hands rested on my waist before she reattached our lips, moving hers slower and more thoughtfully against mine.

I closed my eyes, grabbing her face and holding her gently, letting her slip her tongue between my lips and play with mine. Then she sucked on my lower lip, teeth nibbling gently at the sensitive skin, and made my insides go warm and fuzzy.

When she let go, she trailed kisses down my jaw and to my neck, having me at her mercy.

"Wanda," I moaned, hand moving to the back of her neck as I tried to regain some control of the situation, but the longer she sucked at the exposed skin, the more my knees wanted to buckle.

Already lowering my dress to my shoulders, her hand untied the back of it and I flushed at the contact of her fingers against me, not used to the feeling but also not opposed.

"Wanda, are you sure?" I asked between bated breaths, attempting to get her attention by tugging at her dress.

She pulled back, hand rising to my jaw and caressing it with her thumb as she looked between my eyes. Hers were dark, clouded with an arousal I hadn't seen before.

"I am," she said with certainty, before asking, "Are you?"

I swallowed hard, the warmth in my core growing hotter as she stared at me with lustful eyes and swollen lips. "Yes."

She gave me a slight smile before pressing her lips to mine again, allowing me to wrap my arms around her neck. I heard her lock the door behind me as I undid the top of her dress, struggling to do so without breaking contact from her. We moved to the bed clumsily, trying not to stumble over our discarded dresses, before I laid her down and straddled her.

Leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck, I felt her fingers grip my waist, keeping ahold of my body on hers. I shivered as her nails scratched gently against the skin and grew warm when she lifted herself up gently to get more comfortable, her clothed centre rubbing against mine.

Taking a breath, I pulled away and hovered over her, revelling in the beauty that was Wanda Maximoff. Her cheeks were dusted pink as she opened her eyes, green eyes sparkling desperately as they flickered between mine.

"I love you," I told her softly, leaning on my elbow and caressing her forehead.

She smiled, nails trailing up my back and sending shivers down my spine. "Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu."

I tried not to laugh as I tilted my head with confusion. She smiled a little wider, hand reaching for the back of my bra.

"I love you, too," she translated in English, hint of amusement in her eyes, before she managed to undo the bra strap.

I rolled my eyes at her attempt of mockery before chasing down her lips once more. Everything about the woman before me was absolute perfection and I was glad I could finally share how I felt about her without having to hide it anymore.

The potential consequences of our actions was not my concern right now... all I cared about was treating her with the respect and care she deserved.

[accio-slytherout]

Mischief Managed

Concept by @helliontherapscallion

Pairings: p!sbi x reader, p!dreamXD x reader, c!Philza x reader (could be taken as platonic/romantic)

characters: TommyInnit, Ph1lza Minecraft, Wilbur, Technoblade, Captain Puffy

mentioned characters: Fundy

Warnings: Fighting, blood, swearing, pranks, trickery (?), shouting (tell me if I missed anything!)

in game dsmp!au

summary: Reader is the god of mischief and trickery. After catching up with their old friend and his family, they got into a fight with the god of the server, dreamXD.

Not proofread

note: reader does not act like peeves! sorry in advance! i really liked this concept, i just had to write it. i put more effort into this than i did on my social studies essay. was fun to write :D straying from canon lore! I was not sure how to write dreamXD's text, so i wrote it in normal text! i am not very good and pranking, and not that creative or smart on those kind of things, so I will not really specify what is going on in the pranking.

flachbacks in italic

masterpost

------

(Y/N) was just skipping around the forest, looking for flowers to make some dye when they stumbled upon a boy that was picking some red flowers.

"WHAT THE F*CK" he shouted with a strong British accent. "Who the f*ck are you?" he continued. "Well who are you child?" they retorted.

"WHAT THE- IM NOT- THE FU- IM NOT A F*CKING CHILD IM A BIG MAN" the 'Big Man' as he called himself retorted, stumbling over his words. He heard a very mischievous laughter come out of the random person he stumbled upon, and he chose to put up the angriest face he could and crossed his arms.

"The name's (Y/N). How about you, big man?" they finally replied with a slight mocking tone. "Tommy. What are you doing here? I've never seen you around before." answered Tommy.

"I'm looking for some dye, so I can dye Fundy's fur" they replied, rather mischievously? Well, point is, Tommy's eyes lit up at the mention of pranking the fox. "Could I maybe help you?" he replied with an equally mischievous tone.

Thats how a friendhip started. They caused pure havoc around the server. Pranking the first person they thought of. They were laughing their butts off on the bench.

"TOMMYINNIT YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Panic rose in their chests as they slowly swallowed and turned around. There stood Captain Puffy looking very angry... with bright pink covering her entire body. They tried their best to hold in their laughter, as she did not look very intimidating.

Yet, Tommy could not help but to start laughing loudly. That pushed (Y/N) over the edge and started laughing hysterically, and they swore they saw Puffy crack a smile at the sight.

"Im- sor- sorry-" he said inbetween his laughter. They both tried their best to stop laughing, and after a while, they did.

Puffy let out a sigh, and said "Tommy, I will get you back. I am warning you." with a glint of amusement in her eyes. Tommy seemed to have sobered up at the thought and looked scared. Puffy left with a wave and headed to her home to probably clean up.

"That was funny though." he said out of the blue. That started another round of laughter to go throught them.

"Say, (Y/N), how old are you?" Tommy asked after they have both calmed down. "I'm the god of mischief and trickery. I'm and immortal being. I am centuries old, kid." they answered.

"Really? That's quite pog! Did you know my father is also immortal? You might know him, name's Philza, Angel of Death. Does that ring a bell?" he rambled, ignoring the fact that they had just called him kid.

(Y/N) was ecstatic at the idea of being able to meet with their old friend again, but decided to say "HECK YEAH! I GET TO MESS WITH HIM AGAIN!" as to hide their feelings. They were the god of trickery after all. They had an image to uphold.

Tommy decided to go take them to Phil. Bad idea. As they reached the door of Phil's cottage, Tommy just burst into the house without knocking.

"Phil~ I'm baack~" Tommy called in a sing-song tone. Phil just said "Welcome back" in a monotone voice from the kitchen without looking.

As he was preparing supper, he heard Techno shout from the living room "TOMMY WHO ON EARTH IS THAT?!". Millions of thoughts start rushing through his head. Who could Tommy have brought with him? He ran out of the kitchen and went to see for himself who it was.

The scene in front of him just made him want to be buried 6 feet under the ground. There it was, His two oldest sons looking at the door from the bottom of the stairs and his youngest son, standing next to the person he hated the most. (Y/N).

They were walking through the forest. Phil felt something touch his shoulder. He turned around, raising his sword as he was startled. There they were, (Y/N), making the weirdest face possible.

"For f*ck's sake (Y/N)! stop it!". That only made them laugh more. "You should have seen your face!" they said inbetween laughter.

The man loathed them. He just wanted to leave them there, in the middle of nowhere, for this was not the only thing they have done in the past hour of adventuring. He, however decided to ignore them, for his heart could not bear the idea of leaving his companion alone.

"Long time no see, Philza." they said with a smirk. "Kill me already" he groaned. That was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

After Phil had supper with his family and the devil- sorry, unexpected guest, he went to clean up as his sons sat in the living room with (Y/N).

"So you're immortal?" said the oldest boy that they learnt was called Wilbur. They nodded as a reply, and he just said "Thats so cool!"

"I have read about you before, however, seeing you, I don't think the book described you correctly. Could you, possibly tell me more about your tricks and stuff?" Technoblade's monotone voice had a slight tone of curiosity and amusement while asking the question.

So they did. They told the boys about their stories. As they finished, they realised that Wilbur and Tommy had fallen asleep and Techno was half paying attention to them.

"You should go to sleep. Both of you. It's quite late already." A voice said behind her. "I'm a god, Phil. I don't need sleep." they retorted as they turned around, looking at the man.

"Suit yourself." he shrugged. He opened his mouth to tell his son to go to sleep, but he realised that his son, in fact was already asleep. He shook his head and got some blankets to lay above his sons. "I guess you can stay the night. It's late anyways" he spoke before (Y/N) could say anything and he left to go to his room. Huge mistake.

Philza minecraft was having a good sleep, when he heard a scream from the living room. He panicked, as his mind made up the worst scenarios possible. As he rushed downstairs, he saw Wilbur with bright pink hair, Tommy with a very bold red hair and hands, along with a half asleep Techno raising his sword.

Only then did he remember, that his least favourite person was at his house. Right as he thought about that, he heard giggling coming from the living room.

"(Y/N)!" he shouted along with Wilbur and Tommy. "Yes?" they batted their eyelashes innocently. Phil watched with amusement at the scene unfolding before him. Tommy and Wilbur shouting at (Y/N) and Techno lowering his sword and laying back down on the couch, sensing no danger.

"Boys, enough. (Y/N), will these dyes wash away?" he finally said in a stern tone that had a hint of amusedment in it. "Ofcourse father of minecraft. Run water through them and they will be gone" they said with such innocence that he would have believed it was not her had he not known it was their doing.

Wilbur and tommy quickly rushed to the bathroom to wash their hair out, and Phil swore the doors of the bathroom would fall off its hinges from the amount of force that was put into opening it.

"I must say, that was pretty funny, (N/N)." Phil said with amusement as he went to prepare some breakfast. (Y/N) smiled proudly from the compliment, as he was always telling her off after pranking.

Phil now remembers why he always asked them to accompany him on adventures. They were fun, and entertaining. Sometimes, they're even smart and helpful. The thought of his adventures with them brought a smile to his face.

A week in their visit, they heard a knock on the door. Phil, thinking it was just (Y/N), thought nothing of it. So he just calmly walks to the door and answers it. What he didn't expect however, was DreamXD at the door, floating in a menacing stance.

"You all give me your youngest son, or you all are dead. You have 24 hours. If you do not hive him by them, you are all dead." DreamXD said in a demonic sound.

As DreamXD turned around, Phil saw a cloud of something covering his sight, he felt... flour? he cleared the flour from his face and saw DreamXD covered in flour and (Y/N) on the roof looking rather sheepishly at DreamXD.

"Sorry, I thought you were Philza" they said sarcastically. "Not sorry, actually." they continued as they cracked an egg and poured it along with some sugar on to DreamXD's head.

DreamXD suddenly whips something out and slapped (Y/N) off the roof. As (Y/N) was used to falling from high places, they landed on the ground with nothing but a few scratches.

DreamXD stabs them with a sword, and blood splattered from their waist. (Y/N), being the god of mischief, had ofcourse had lots of experience on pranking, but wasnt strong. However, they are very witty, as they always find creative ways to prank people.

(Y/N) somehow found a way to make DreamXD retreat, but Phil could not see how. All he saw was smoke, DreamXD leaving and (Y/N) lying on the floor, with blood gushing out of their side making a puddle on the ground.

They let out a chuckle and turned to face Phil. "Your lives are safe, Phil. And what can I say? Mischief... managed." they trailed off as their eyes closed. Phil rushed to bandage them up and put them in a spare bedroom.

A week.

That was how long it was.

One singular week. Seven days. Yet it felt like seven years they had been unconscious. The house felt empty. No chaos. Everyone was worried about them.

Phil let out a sigh. He closed the door and sat down next to where (Y/N) was laying. He traced his index finger over the palm of their hand that he was holding, and whispered "I don't think you know this.. but you really are a great friend, (N/N). I love your personality.. Who am I kidding, I love you."

Phil then thought, they were unconcious. He let out a chuckle at the thought. "Look at me.. talking to someone unconscious." he said out loud, closing his eyes and resting his head on the palm of his hand that was propped up on the bed. Little did he know, they were fully awake, and pretending to be unconscious.

"Aww, thanks Phil. I love you too." he suddenly heard. He whipped his head around to their direction and saw that their head was turned to his direction. He hugged them, minding their injuries and whispered in their ear that he was thankful that they were fine over and over again.

Phil then felt their body shaking and heard gentle sobs coming out of them. He pulled away from the hug and cupped their face in his hands and wiped their tears away.

"What's wrong, (N/N)?" he calmly asked. They just cried more and gave him a hug. They told him that they have never felt accepted, and that the only person that has ever tolerated them was him. They told him that they were happy that he cared for them. They told him how much they cared for him and how great of a friend he was. They told him how much they loved him.

After their little heart to heart session, Phil went to go and prepare lunch for everyone in the house. He told the boys that (Y/N) was awake now. Everyone was glad and relieved that they were awake again. And (Y/N) was glad, that they now had a family that cared for them.

--------

end.

[let-them-read-fics]

Too Late To Apologize?

Requested By @rosiesandlilies​: “I was wondering if I can request a Rosé x female reader story where Rosie is an idol who also happens to be ur wife and since she and BP are taking over the world by storm, she starts to forget about you and whenever u ask her to spend a little bit of time with you, she gets upset and fights with you. You’re also an important person but you always make time for her. Can it be angsty with fluff 🥰”

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 6,026

Warnings / Misc: -- Angst, Self Doubt, Strained Marriage / Relationship, Crying, Some Swearing, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Oooooo lord, here we go. I am feeding 👏 you 👏 all 👏 today! This one took a while to write, but I’m pretty happy with it. I wrote it all in one go, starting at like 3am (as usual lol), so forgive me if it’s a little rough. I put a lot of effort into it, though, so I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for requesting -- Happy reading!

PS ~ I highly recommend that you listen to these songs as you read this:

You Were Good To Me -- Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Surrender -- Natalie Taylor

The Night We Met -- Lord Huron

I Found -- Amber Run

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Hongdae, Seoul  --  8:00 PM

“Good evening, everyone! Before I open the doors, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your day to stop in. We couldn’t have done this without your support, and we’re endlessly grateful. We hope you have a wonderful experience with us tonight. Now, without further ado, welcome to La Rêverie!”

To your amusement, the sizable crowd erupts into a fit of cheers once your opening speech is over. Echoes of the joyous sounds carry across the city, wiggling their way through the alleys and streets, bouncing off of the nearby buildings. The customers slowly filter in, greeting and congratulating you on their way; you’re beyond excited to start this new journey, and seeing people so happy to be a part of it only makes you more proud.

Eventually everyone makes it inside to their seats, and you join them.

--- Later That Evening ---

“Y/N, we have a private party that would like to see you. They’re eager to meet the woman behind all of this,” Pierre smirks, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. His demeanor confuses you slightly, seeing as how this isn’t the first time high profile celebrities have requested your presence -- that’s just one of the perks of being a world renowned chef. You brush off his remark as playful banter and send him to tell them that you’ll be out soon. 

---

“...yes, actually. Y/N and I were fortunate enough to meet when she was studying in Paris; we were being trained by the same chef. We’ve been close ever since. I’m not surprised that she hired me, though; I’m practically a master in the kitchen.”

At Pierre’s cocky words, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. A small grin plays on your lips nonetheless, and you smooth out your top one more time before rounding the corner. 

“What’s this idiot on about now? Did he tell you about the time that he nearly got kicked out of our mentorship program for giving Anthony Bourdain the wrong dish?” You ask the table, sending them a glance while ruffling his hair as you come up behind him. They all snicker at that, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes; with an annoyed shove, he scolds you for bringing that story up again.

“Must you always tell people about that?”

Your smile widens, spreading cutely across your face. Mocking him is one of your favorite things to do. “Mhm,” you say simply, nodding your head for emphasis. He attempts to hide his embarrassment, but it only brings a deeper blush to his cheeks. 

At the VIP table, the suppressed sound of laughter carries over to you, and you’re reminded of your reason for being here in the first place. Upon offering your full attention to the table now, no longer distracted by Pierre, you’re met with 4 different pairs of eyes on you. Warm, yellow light illuminates the area, the classy overhead fixture emitting a soft glow to cast down on the guests beautifully. It’s cozy and inviting, just like you had intended it to be, and the sight makes you happy.

As you quickly scan over each of the girls, your brain pieces together where you know them from.

“My oh my, it’s Blackpink themselves. To what do I owe this honor?” All of the natural charisma that you possess takes over now, doing its best to override your nerves. It’s definitely not the time to fangirl over them; you have to act cool. One by one, you shake their hands, making sure to give each of them a glimpse of your award winning smile. 

Jennie is the first to speak up. “Yourself, of course. You’re the talk of the town, Y/N, how could we miss this?” The way that she says it so casually, already skipping past the formalities, puts you at ease. 

“Ah, you’re too kind. Was your food prepared to your liking?”

A chorus of approving noises leaves the table, successfully boosting your confidence in the process. “It was truly incredible, Y/N.” Rosé gushes, her adorable accent adding something magical to the simple phrase. For the first time tonight, your mind goes blank; ever since news broke of your plans for this new restaurant, you practiced to avoid this very thing. As you stand there floundering for a beat, she takes notice of the effect that her words have on you; it doesn’t take long for her to realize how much she loves to make you blush.

“Thank you so much. We’re so glad to have you here tonight.” 

“We’re happy to be here! Rosé hasn’t stopped talking about it for the past week.” The Australian’s eyes go wide as Lisa exposes her, and she shoots the younger girl a shocked look. Lisa only smirks at this, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. Jisoo nods in confirmation, adding, “Yeah, she’s been super pumped.”

On the inside, you’re freaking out. Rosé was that excited to try out your creations? There’s no logical explanation for that one. Your own surprise is evident in your voice as you respond, “Oh really now? And why’s that?”

“I-I’ve just heard a lot of great things, you know? You’re pretty talented.” She tries to sound confident, but the stutter in her voice betrays her. The tips of her ears are burning with embarrassment, and after sending her yet another smile, you decide to spare her by changing the topic. 

“Well thank you, again. It’s truly a privilege to cook for you girls.” The conversation continues from there, effortlessly moving from subject to subject, and you love how welcome they make you feel. Occasionally you excuse yourself to check on the other guests and ensure that they’re enjoying their dinner, and every time, Rosé finds herself sorely missing your presence. Despite only officially meeting tonight, she feels like she’s known you her whole life. The two of you clicked instantly, and she can’t seem to get enough of you.

After spending the better part of 2 hours chatting and getting to know one another better, you grow bold and ask the question that’s been rolling around in your head all night. 

“Would you guys like to come back to the kitchen for a bit? I could give you some tips and we could make a couple dishes, if you want.”

Rosé nearly interrupts you from how eager she is to accept the offer. The second that you’re done asking, she’s already saying yes. The others happily agree as well, and soon you’re leading them to the back to get prepped.

_________

“Just like this, everyone. Cut thinly here,” you inform, using your knife to point to the areas in question, “...then turn it and follow through with the slices. It should come out diced, like so.” The girls observed your swift motions, peeking over at the small cubes once you’re finished. Things continue on like this for a while, and soon you’re halfway done with the veggies while they’re barely done with the first part of their batches.

“Slow down, Y/N! You’re too fast for us grandmas.” Jisoo jests, her voice bouncy with amusement. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll wait, just let me know if you need help.” Your knife comes to rest against the cutting board, and you take the opportunity to lean back against the countertop to watch them work. Your eyes trail over to Rosé, only to find her already looking at you; she tenses once she realizes she’s been caught, and she returns to her previous duties. You decide to tease her.

“Everything alright, Rosé? You seem a little distracted…” She momentarily shuts her eyes at your words, trying to refocus her thoughts and collect herself. A subtle snicker from Lisa can be heard, and Rosé delivers a quick jab to her arm. The maknae lets out a little “oww” before setting her things down to rub away the newfound soreness of her arm. 

A little later, Jennie requests some assistance, prompting you to make your way over to her. The station that she’s working at just so happens to be next to Rosé’s, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t thrill you. 

“Do we peel this first or leave it on?” 

“Cut the ends first, then slice it in half and remove the outer layer.”

Under your watchful eye, she follows your instructions and is soon back on track. She thanks you, and you bring your hand up to give her a pat on the back. Although she feels childish for it, the action works to make Rosé the tiniest bit jealous; she wants your attention on her. 

The blonde clears her throat before speaking up. “Y/N, I need a little help, too.” Your heart jumps at her words, and you fight hard to keep yourself in check as you spin around to face her.

“Of course, Rosé.” She sighs at the way her name rolls off your tongue, and she’s completely convinced that you’ve secretly put her under some type of spell. Her thoughts of you and your mysterious ways are interrupted when you come to stand next to her, your hip lightly brushing against hers. 

“Oh, well there’s your problem: you’re holding the knife wrong. Here,” you start, reaching out to reposition her hand in a better spot. Now she’ll be able to control it better, and she won’t run the risk of cutting herself.

“Better?” You ask innocently, missing the way that she bites her lip. The close proximity of your bodies is making her head spin, and she can’t decide if she wants you to stay or go. “Yes, thank you.” She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t, so you take that as your cue to go check on the other girls. Rosé silently curses herself for missing that golden opportunity to flirt with you, but she takes solace in the fact that she catches you stealing glances her way fairly often. You feel the connection too, and she’s pleased with that -- maybe she was doing something right after all.

The next stint of the night is spent preparing and cooking the dishes you promised them while trading jokes, banter, and teasing remarks. A mini food fight also took place, but for the sake of professionalism you won’t mention that. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

---- 

“Goodnight girls. I hope you come by again sometime soon!” 

They all assure you that they’ll be back before you know it, and you believe them. After all, they gobbled those dishes down like they hadn’t eaten in days -- it’s safe to say that they enjoyed them.

Rosé lingers in the doorway, eyeing you as you work to clean off the counter. She doesn’t want to go; she’s loved getting to hang out with you. Contemplating her options, she decides to be brave; she tells the girls to go on ahead, that she’ll be there in a minute. 

“Rosé, did you forget something?” You ask, looking up at her as you reach forward to wipe any remaining debris off the sleek surface.

“Yeah, your number.” Somehow, she possesses all the confidence in the world now, her new demeanor completely opposite to its previously shy counterpart. 

You tilt your head at her, a dumbfounded smile parting your lips ever so slightly. “Bold, are we? Alright, I’ll bite.” You say, holding a hand out for her to give you her phone. Her eyes widen a bit -- was she not expecting you to say yes? There’s no way you could turn down a chance like this. She fumbles around in her bag until the smooth screen of her phone comes into contact with her fingers, letting her know she’s found it.

“Here you go,” she chuckles cutely, an adorable little pattern of blush rising to her cheeks again. 

After entering your number, making sure to save the contact and even take a goofy picture of yourself for it, you give it back to her. “Call me anytime, love.” Her smile spreads even farther at the pet name, and she ducks her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

As she slowly approaches the door, walking backwards, she says, “I will… love,” offering you a little awkward salute at the end of it. You giggle at her antics, and soon bid her goodnight. 

No more than 5 minutes later, your phone dings as it displays a notification from an unknown number. 

“I’m usually not that awkward 🤦‍♀️ pretty girls just make me nervous.” The message makes your heart flutter, and you quickly save her number to your contacts. 

“Really? We have yet another thing in common, then.” 

The girls watch as Rosé does a little victory dance in her seat, her movements a bit limited by the belt stretched across her body. She’s practically glowing with excitement, her fingers already firing off another reply.

________

3 Years Later -- Rome, Italy

Upon seeing Rosé saunter down the aisle, your emotions get the jump on you; before you can stop them, tears flow freely down your face, and you bring a hand up to your mouth to quiet yourself. She looks bruisingly beautiful: the natural curves of her body are accentuated by the silky material of her dress, and her shoulders are covered in lace. An angel cast down from the heavens above. 

She smiles at the audience that’s filled with your close friends and family, offering little greetings as she passes them. Once she and her father make it to the altar, he pulls you in for a big hug, a few tears escaping his eyes. After he takes a step back, he looks between the two of you with pure pride on his face, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

The song ends, signalling for the two of you to join hands and face each other, and he returns to his seat. 

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of Y/N L/N and Roseanne Park. Two souls destined to find their way to one another, travelling millions of miles in the process. We come together to revel in this fact and send them into their new life together with all of our support.” The officiator says into the microphone, smiling at the two of you. You can tell he loves his job, and he’s damn good at it. 

Rosé’s grip on your hand tightens as she tries to contain her tears, but you’re quick to assure her that it’s alright. “You can cry, baby.” At your words, her lip is released from between her teeth, and her tears begin to flow. You wipe them away, stepping closer to rest your forehead against hers. 

The ceremony continues on and the two of you recite the personal vows you wrote. Somehow, unbeknownst to you, there doesn’t seem to be a limit to how much you can cry in one sitting. Rosé is having the same problem, seeing as how her makeup is smudging some as the tears wash the substances away. You don’t care though, and you make it a point to remind her of that; she’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I do.” You choke out, beaming at her as you run your thumb across her knuckles.

“I do.” She responds, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for those final words from the officiator. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” 

Her lips are on yours before he even finishes the phrase, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulls you in closer. Your lips move with hers in perfect time, working to seal your union in the best way possible. “I love you, forever,” she whispers against your lips. 

____

Present Day, 1:17 AM

In order to spare you from the overwhelming sadness that you’re being subjected to now, your brain takes you back to those happy times from the past. When Rosé still made time for you; when she loved you. 

Even though you hate it, you still find her in everything. The bright sunshine of the early morning reminds you of all the times she would wake you up with kisses, holding you close. The songbirds outside of your window bring to mind when you’d come home to find her at the piano, alternating between striking the keys and strumming her guitar as her beautiful voice carried out across the house. 

You miss that Rosé, so, so much. The Rosé that would call you in between sessions at the studio, if only for 5 minutes. The Rosé that longed to hear your voice after a long day; who fell into your arms the second that she shuffled through the door after practice. 

As time has passed, though, she’s seemed to fade more and more from your life; missed calls and texts have become a given, and it takes everything in you to mask your sorrow. Anyone who knows you well at all can easily see through the facade: you’re now a shell of who you once were, your normally vibrant and cheery self gone. You attempt to hide your sadness behind a smile, but it never really works out; your eyes don’t shine like they used to, and your lips don’t quite tweak up at the corners in the special way they had before. 

But you’re getting ahead of yourself again. Your reason for crying tonight is simple: for the hundredth time this month, she’s cancelled your date night plans, opting to spend the time working instead. The argument that the two of you had earlier replays in your mind:

"I don't have a choice."

Except, she did. She could choose you, choose to take a break, if only for the evening. You never ask too much of her, knowing that she can't handle even more stress competing with what she already has from the company and media. Being an idol is hard enough, and you know you can never fully wrap your head around everything that's expected of her.

Though, that makes this all the more ridiculous. All you've asked for is a couple hours of her time -- for her to relax with you and get away from it all. Earlier that day you had gone to the store and picked up all the necessary materials to treat her to a little spa day, complete with bath and body oils, face masks, and even some bath bombs. 

"Asking my wife to spend an evening with me is not unreasonable, Rosé."

"I'm not having this argument again, Y/N. I get enough shit from everyone else; I don't need any extra from you."

Maybe it was something in how she said it, so final and hateful, her face coming to rest in a scowl. Her arms were crossed as she stood in front of you, and you could see the muscles in her jaw clench and release repeatedly. In some twisted way, part of you was glad to have this encounter; it hurt like hell, but at least she was paying attention to you. She hadn't looked at you for this long in a while.

Before you can even get another word out, she sighs, saying, "I don't have time for this. I have to go back to the studio." 

Just as she turns to go, you catch her wrist. With a slightly annoyed look, she turns to face you.

"If you walk out that door then I'm leaving; at least for the night. We need to talk about this, but if you don't care enough to even give me that, then…" you trail off, tilting your head slightly. You want her to apologize, to say how wrong she's been for doing all of this to you -- but she doesn't. Her expression is tired, irritation written plainly for you to see. She pulls her arm away, offering a petty, "Oh well," with a shrug before exiting the house. 

How could she be so cold? Maybe that's what hurt the most. Seeing the love of your life turn into someone completely different than who you fell for stung more than any argument ever could. The reality is that she's not the same person anymore. Accepting that would be half of the battle in and of itself. 

Your heart is betraying itself, stuck in a sticky situation: you're constantly struggling between your love for her and the respect you hold for yourself. Half of you wants to stay, to make her listen and fight for this; but the other half of you, perhaps the more rational side, knows that that won't work now. You've tried that already, you reason with yourself, racking your brain for any new way to get through to her. 

Sometimes it's like she forgets all of the sacrifices you make for the relationship. Despite having your own busy schedule to deal with, you always make time for her. So why could she never do the same for you?

It's obvious that in its current state, this relationship is only wrecking your mental health -- a testament to that is every night you've spent lying awake, sobbing into your pillow as your list of insecurities grows longer and longer. She used to be the person you'd run to when negative thoughts plagued your mind, her sweet words of love showing how much she valued you. But all of that's gone now, leaving you with a shattered heart and racing mind. When had you stopped being enough?

~~~~~~~

It’s late, well past 4AM when Rosé manages to make it home. Practice absolutely wrecked her today, leaving her body exhausted from dancing and throat sore from all the singing she had to do. She’s more than ready to collapse into bed and pass out. 

One thing that always stayed the same was your sleeping arrangement. No matter how much Rosé hurt you, you still slept in the same bed. Her subconscious was always kinder to you than she was, anyway; the two of you would cuddle in close like before, her arms wrapped around you as she slept peacefully. No arguments or yelling, you could always count on the nights to heal your heart a little bit. 

As she enters the empty bedroom, the memory of your argument from earlier that day comes flooding back. She remembers that you said you were leaving, but part of her didn't fully believe you. She should've known better -- you always keep your word. Guilt washes over her, and she gently taps her head against the wall as a sort of self-punishment for her previous actions. Why did she say that to you? The hurt look in your eyes broke her heart, but she couldn’t afford to skip practice, especially with the comeback quickly approaching. In retrospect, she should’ve just told you that she didn’t feel prepared, and that’s why this practice had been so important. Even though she doesn’t show it, you still mean the world to her. She just so happens to be her own worst enemy. 

With a heavy sigh, she makes her way to the bathroom; there she finds a cute little basket of goodies next to the tub, and a note on the counter of the sink. She approaches the basket first, quickly discovering that it holds some of her favorite self-care items from the local store. Yet again, a deep pang of guilt courses through her upon realizing that you had prepared that for her. Defeated, she picks up the note. 

Roseanne,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve already left. I don’t want you to worry, if you even still care enough to do that, so I decided to leave this letter for you. I’ll be staying with my friend for the next while. I don’t know how long, but that depends entirely on you. I’ve tried to communicate with you, but we’re getting nowhere; we both know it. We’re not who we used to be, Rosé, and I hate that. I want us to be happy again, but it seems that I can’t do that for you. If you want to end things, let me know. 

- Y/N

Rosé’s heart is breaking, splintering into a million different pieces and leaving her with no possible way to collect them all. How had she so royally fucked this up? She only has herself to blame, and she knows that; she can’t believe that she let things get like this. She had been so blinded by the stress that she lost sight of the most important thing in her life: you. It’s slowly sinking in that she very well might lose you for good this time, and she doesn’t know how to cope with that. She can survive without her career, but she knows she can’t go on without you.

-----  La Rêverie, 2 Weeks Later -----

She only intended to walk by -- to see if you were there and safe. But as she gazes through the windows, peeking into the place that houses so many of her dearest memories, she’s transfixed. Her eyes land on you, finding you hard at work in the kitchen. It’s always been where you go when you’re stressed or upset about something -- two things that Rosé knows she’s the cause of.

You’re in your element, face donning a look of pure concentration as you prepare what she assumes is a new dish. Your hair’s in a bun, a few strands coming down to fall around your face as you move about. Gravity takes its time in gently coaxing them out of the tie's hold, and Rosé’s breath hitches at how beautiful you look; it’s as if she’s falling for you all over again. She’s always admired your skills, but they hold a whole new meaning now, an unspoken tension in every movement you make. 

How had she been so selfish? You had been there for her all along, waiting patiently for the day that she would come to her senses. You would always have dinner ready -- usually one of her favorites, hoping that would spark something again -- but she always brushed you off. She never stayed long enough to see the crushed look on your face, or how the pain was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. She realizes now just how much of a toll her actions have taken on the both of you; you're still just as breathtaking as ever to her, but that special sparkle in your eye has long been eclipsed by something more dull. You're tired of being let down repeatedly, stuck in a constant loop of excuses and avoidance, and Rosé can't blame you for a second.  

The time apart hasn't been kind to her at all; there hasn't been a single day that's gone by where you haven't consumed her thoughts. She misses you so badly it hurts, and even now, despite being so close to you, separated only by the walls of the restaurant, you've never been further away. 

The distant sound of a car alarm cuts through the silence, simultaneously scaring her and drawing your attention. Before you can spot her, she ducks down; there’s no way that she can face you yet. Taking this as a sign, she decides to leave.

She’s spent the past 2 weeks attempting to spare you by not coming around; she thinks you need time away from her to deal with everything she’s put you through, and she doesn’t want to upset you anymore than she already has. Ever-torn, part of you is glad that she’s stayed away; however, another part of you just wants to see her again. You miss the nights more than you thought you would. 

--- A Few Days Later ---

Steady sheets of rain pound harshly against the window, vibrating the latches with each gust of wind. Times like these are always the worst, especially when you don’t have Rosé to calm you down. Violent thunderstorms never fail to frighten you, and this one in particular seems like it’ll be the worst one of the season. Swiftly padding over to the window, you sneak a quick peek outside, only to find the branches of the large oak tree that occupies the yard swaying in the wind with reckless abandon. The sight terrifies you, but you do your best to keep yourself from panicking, even having to do some breathing exercises. Your friend can sleep through anything, and you know she needs the rest; so, you stay in the spare bedroom that she’s so graciously allowing you to reside in, and lie awake. 

Across the city, Rosé is tossing and turning. The storm hasn’t fully reached its peak there yet, but she knows how worried you must be. Tears spring to her eyes at the thought of you huddled up under the covers, body trembling in fear as the storm rages on. The deep-rooted shame that she’s grown so accustomed to since you left plagues her conscience, making her even more disgusted with herself. 

After turning over yet again, her eyes land on the picture she has of the two of you propped up on the nightstand. It was taken on your wedding day, that stunning view of the venue paling in comparison to your beauty. A sense of determination washes over her -- determination to make you that happy again someday, in whatever way she can -- and she gets out of bed to collect a few materials. She’ll do whatever it takes.

----

The sound of a car door slamming perks your ears up, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quickly pulling the curtain back, you’re beyond shocked to see Rosé out there, holding something in her hand. Just as you lean in closer to the window to try and see what it is, her caller ID pops up on your phone. 

“Come downstairs, please.” 

Even with the vast array of emotions coursing through you at the moment, you’re only focused on getting her inside and out of harm’s way. 

You nearly knock the door off its hinges with how quickly you snap it open. To your surprise, she’s still standing by her car, but now you can see what she was holding before; a white sign with black writing on it. The words are barely legible with how much it's raining, the dye of the marker horribly smudged, but you can make out: “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot.” It’s like something out of romantic drama.

Before you can even comment on everything that’s happening, Rosé begins the speech that she’s been trying to piece together ever since you left. 

She has to raise her voice so you can hear her over the storm. You wonder why she doesn’t just come in, but you think that maybe she’s doing it to show you that she’s willing to punish herself by standing out in the elements. “No words that I say will ever be able to fix the pain that my actions caused. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, and I hate myself for being such a coward. I was too immature to look past my own struggles and just talk to you about them.” 

Now, she takes a few cautious steps towards the front door, testing the waters as she scans your face to gauge how you’re feeling. “I guess I just thought I could deal with it like I always do. But losing you showed me how wrong I was; I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t want to end things; I’ll never want that. You’re my world, baby; I’m so sorry that it took me this long to see what was right in front of me.” 

How are you to respond to that? Can you trust her? She looks more sincere in this moment than she has in a long time, and that puts you a little more at ease. Her eyes are begging -- pleading -- with you to believe her, and after a moment you step to the side, wordlessly telling her to come in. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until a few stray tears drip onto your shirt, leaving little marks in their wake. She has to restrain herself from reaching out and wiping them away; she has no idea when -- or if -- you’ll be able to forgive her. 

Soft pitter-patter of the water running off of her coat echoes lightly across the foyer, serving as white noise for the conversation you’re having. Her sniffles work in tandem with it, and she bites back her sobs in order to get the words out. 

“I know this won’t be fixed overnight, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. I won’t blame you for a second if you can’t forgive me, either. I just couldn’t let you get away without a fight.”

With each new fresh batch of tears that settle in your eyes, you have to work twice as hard to blink them away. “I-I don’t know what to say, Rose. You’re the only person in this world capable of hurting me that badly, because you mean more to me than anyone else. But I never thought you’d treat me like that. Do you know how many times I doubted myself, thinking I did something wrong?” Your tone is bitter now, voice conveying the pain from those months of anguish that you had to endure, and Rosé hangs her head. 

“I know that now, Y/N, and I know that I can never take it back. But God, how I wish I could. I’d do anything in my power to take that pain away. It was never your fault; none of it was.”

You know she’s being honest. After seeing the opposite for so long, it’s easy to spot when she’s telling the truth. You nod a couple times, deciding to pull her in for a long-overdue hug. She’s motionless at first, not quite knowing if you want her to return it or not, but the second that you quietly say, “Hold me, Rosé,” she’s scooping you up in her arms like her life depends on it. Her head rests in the crook of your neck, and the two of you cry together, letting all of the pent up frustration and sadness leave your bodies. 

After standing there, embracing one another for who knows how long, she pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. Her gaze subtly falls to your lips, but you don’t fail to notice. “Can I?” She asks gently, raising her eyes back up to yours. “Yes.” You utter, nearly swooning as her soft lips brush against your own. You’ve missed them. 

Her chilled hands cup your cheeks with purpose, and you can feel water running off the ends of her hair and onto your chest.

She kisses you in such a poetic way: softly, as if you might break at any moment, but urgently, like a lost soldier finally returning to the arms of their lover. She wants to make you feel how sorry she is, how much she loves you, and this seems like the perfect place to start.

“I love you, jerk,” you say through your tears, brushing your thumb along her cheek as you look into her eyes.

“And I love you, angel.” She picks you up, spinning you around a couple of times before setting you back down on your feet. 

After a moment, you glace at the window. “Shhhh, wait. Do you hear that?”

She cocks her head to the side as she listens closely for any potential noise that you might be talking about, but she hears nothing. “No? I don’t hear anything…” 

“Exactly; the rain stopped.”

“Huh. I guess it did its job, then.” She smiles, silently thanking the universe for working in its wonderful ways. It brought the two of you back to one another, and neither of you can contain your happiness. Maybe you don’t hate storms as much after all...

[lucemferto]

I wrote that Wilbur scene I talked about yesterday. I don't know if I captured any of the characters' voices, but I tried. It's around 1,800 words.

Sorry to spoil the surprise, but this scene has a twist!

„I’m not joining you.“

Wilbur’s eyes grew narrow. His cold gaze lingered on Tommy’s face. The boy’s expression was resolute; unwavering.

But there was this slight twitch in the left corner of his mouth. Just the faintest quiver in his lips. A weakness to be exploited.

“This burger van …” Tommy hesitated “… it’s just history repeating itself. It will end with us hurting people again …”

“’With us hurting people’?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow.

As he stepped closer, all the determination that Tommy had projected seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. Wilbur gave him a wide smile – a thinly-veiled threat behind the appearance of affability.

“Tommy, we never hurt anyone! L’Manburg was a grand old time, Tommy, don’t you remember? Me as president; you as—”

“Maybe it wasn’t, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s smile faltered. A glower displaced his once outwardly cheery disposition.

“You’re not making sense.”

“I’m not making sense?!” Tommy raised his voice, a blustering anger flaring up and painting over the insecurities that had been so apparent just moments before. “The presidency killed you, Wilbur! And it almost killed Tubbo! I can’t let that—”

“Tubbo?!” A hoarse laugh escaped Wilbur’s throat; more like the angry bellowing of a rabid dog. “Why the fuck should we care about Tubbo?! He betrayed us, Tommy!”

“T-That’s not true!”

Wilbur stepped closer; Tommy took a step back – but the walls of the van were already pressed up against his back. The older man was towering over him, casting him in shadow. A wild and manic energy was glinting in his eyes, bloodshot and red like sundown soon giving way to a dark night.

“He fucking teamed with the enemy, Tommy! What else would you call that?!”

“He still cares—”

Wilbur’s hand shot forward. Like the maw of an angry serpent, it closed itself around Tommy’s throat. All colour drained from the boy’s face – his complexion like that of a corpse.

“Don’t you fucking get it, Tommy?!” Little droplets of spittle rained on Tommy’s skin as Wilbur’s face inched ever closer to his. “Tubbo doesn’t care; he never cared! You were just a fucking tool to him, Tommy! Someone he could use and throw away once you were no longer useful!”

Wilbur’s dirty fingernails burrowed themselves into Tommy’s neck – soon trails of red were trickling down into the boy’s shirt.

“I’m the only who cares, Tommy! I’m the only one who ever cared about you!”

“Wilbur! Y-you’re hurting me!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy! I don’t ca—”

“STOP!”

The scene halted; as though time had frozen. A figure emerged from the darkness of the burger van.

It was Wilbur.

Though he and the Wilbur currently choking Tommy looked almost identical upon first glance, there were some striking differences: Gleaming red eyes contrasted against tired brown ones; demonic intensity against a dull exhaustion. The first Wilbur seemed almost unnaturally tall and imposing as he towered over Tommy; the second Wilbur carried himself smaller, more guarded.

“I d-don’t …” For a moment the voice of the second Wilbur seemed to falter; but soon he snapped back to a more confident bearing; all insecurity obscured behind a steadfast façade. “No more!”

A deafening silence fell upon the van. Then, slowly, as though unattached from his neck, Tommy’s head turned to Wilbur. Brilliant blue gave way to a searing crimson; fear to a wide, sharp-teethed grin.

“Whaaaat? You don’t enjoy the little play I put on just for you? And I thought you’d be impressed with all the cool ghost shit I can do now.”

With a sickening ratch, two horns ripped through Tommy’s temples. Shadow swallowed his blond locks, transforming them into dark, slicked back hair. Murky, unkempt facial hair sprout from his skin as his once lively complexion grew grey and translucent. Smokey tendrils enshrouded the red and white T-Shirt, before it emerged as a black business suit, the bloodred tie serving as the only blotch of colour.

The ghost of Schlatt had appeared before Wilbur.

“Guess it hit a little too close to home, huh?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. While the illusionary Tommy had disappeared upon Glatt’s arrival, the facsimile of himself was still standing there. Frozen in eternal wrath.

Wilbur’s mouth grew thin. “I wouldn’t do that to Tommy. I would never hurt him.”

Feigned shock contorted Glatt’s mouth into a darkly comical expression. “That’s not what he told me.”

Wilbur felt something icy sting in his chest “What?”

Glatt nodded. “Yeah, it was the strangest thing. I was in my gym doing reps, snorting creatine, you know how it goes, when suddenly I hear some … some whining.”

Wilbur immediately took notice. He knew what Glatt was talking about. The lump in his throat felt like it would soon suffocate him.

Glatt didn’t seem to notice.

“The sound of some low-T beta just letting it all out. And when I go take a look, who else should I find but—"

“Tommy …”

“Don’t interrupt me. Anyway, when I turn the corner, I see this real pathetic mess just sitting on the floor, sobbing. I told him to shut the fuck up, because he was throwing me off my game. But he just wouldn’t stop, so good guy that I am – you remember how great I am with kids!”

“You never were.”

“Oh no, I was! That Tubbo-kid, he had it good in Manberg.”

Wilbur flinched – whether it was because of the bastardized name of the country he had once loved and loathed or because Glatt’s words woke some memories in him that he’d soon rather forget; he did not know.

“You had him executed.”

Glatt nodded, a wistful smile curling his ashen lips. “Good times, good times. Anyway, the little ghost-brat … he tells me his name is Gommy.”

Glatt let out a harsh, bellowing laugh. Wilbur could not share his amusement. He had almost forgotten how much he hated Schlatt’s sneering.

The ghost still had not managed to fully compose himself. “Gommy, that’s such a dumb name! Gommy … you wanna know what a good name is?”

“Is it—?”

“GLATT!”

The sound came out like a bile-filled belch. Wilbur closed his eyes in exasperation; his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I figured … Does this story have a point or are you just here to waste my time?”

Glatt frowned. “What, am I not good enough company for you?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

For the first time in their conversation, Glatt’s face grew more serious. His red stare tore into Wilbur; almost drilled into his mind. Wilbur answered the ghost’s stare with what he hoped was a cold, unreadable expression.

But he knew that in Schlatt’s presence, there were no masks to wear. No intent to hide. That ram was the only man that could strip him bare.

Finally, Wilbur had to break eye contact. With a sound of exasperation, he spat out: “Get to the point!”

“‘Get to the point’” The false Wilbur moved his lips, but it was Glatt’s mocking voice that emerged from behind them. “Man, I liked it more when you were a little ghost bitch. You used to come to my gym actually; did some reps. Annoying accent, but damn, what a cute ass.”

Wilbur’s jaw tensed. He had enough of this.

“I’m leaving.”

With a few long strides he had reached the exit of the van. The cold, fresh night air was beckoning him; away from the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

Then that obnoxious voice called after him again: “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Ghost-boy didn’t have the nicest things to say about you …”

Wilbur froze. His hand was on the door handle, ready to release him from this dark, stuffy room. It would be so easy to just leave; to rid himself of this headache. He did not need to stay.

“… You’re lying.”

A wide grin stretched Glatt’s thin lips – Wilbur couldn’t see it; but he could hear it in that tone of his.

“I’m the one who’s lying? No, no, no, I’m merely recounting what 'Gommy' told me.”

Wilbur turned around. Glatt’s smug smirk was even more unbearable than he had imagined.

“You know, after he was done bawling his eyes out and blubbering like a little bitch –“

Glatt’s face shifted into warped replica of Tommy’s – big shimmering eyes and a little doll like mouth quivering with exaggerated sorrow: “‘D-D-Dweam, D-Dweam, h-h-he’— Anyway, he told me that while my cabinet was having a grand old time over in Manberg, you were being very mean to him.”

Wilbur shook his head. “I-I’ve changed. I apologized!”

Tommy-Glatt let out another bellowing laugh. It cut through Wilbur like a knife through a paper door.

“You think an apology could make this better!”

Wilbur jumped back. The fake Wilbur began to move once more. With a thundering roar, his fist made contact with the fake Tommy’s temple. A loud thud; Tommy impacted with the floor of the van. But before he could get up, the fake Wilbur began kicking him in the stomach; screaming obscenities and curses.

It wasn’t Wilbur’s voice – it was so clearly Glatt’s poor imitation of his accent. With each kick, Glatt-Tommy’s eyes bulged out of his skull; not like a person, but like a grotesque cartoon. It was a farcical display.

But Wilbur – the real Wilbur – was paralyzed. His mind was clouded with memories and nightmares; fears bloated and distorted by thirteen years of isolation

“That’s not … that’s not what happened!”

Schlatt’s piercing, high-pitched cackling erupted out of Tommy’s mouth once more.

“Boy, Limbo really did a number on you!”

With a jump Glatt-Tommy was up on his feet again – his nose bloody and broken, his skin coloured black and blue; his hateful grin revealing multiple missing teeth.

“Not that you were all that together beforehand – ‘Tommy, let’s be the bad guys!’ ‘No, Wilbur don’t blow up Manberg. If you blow up Manberg, I’m gonna piss my pants—’ ‘Shut up, Tommy!’”

“I never hit him!” Wilbur’s panicked exclamation interrupted the smear show. “I never hit him!”

Glatt-Tommy shook his head; the satisfied grin not leaving his face. “That’s not what he told me! And what’s worse, when that green guy – Dream, I think his name was? – while he was using Tommy as his own personal punching bag, your ghost was off in the woods jerking off or something. And now you're calling Dream your hero!”

Wilbur felt as all colour drained from his face. The van around him began to spin; darkness and alcohol and cigarette smoke choking even the last ounce of the outside air he could smell.

“I-I …”

Slowly the façade of Tommy began to melt once more. Slowly, deliberately. A nightmarish display. Glatt’s and Tommy’s voices spoke in unison; their echo a cacophony in Wilbur’s ears.

“Face it, loverboy. You will always be a bad guy. No number of apologies will change that. He will never forgive you.”

[damn-stark]

La vie en rose pt.2

Pietro Maximoff x reader

Requested by anon “I think this is a good idea. So Pietro didn’t die in Age Of Ultron but dies in endgame so afterwards reader has same powers as wanda btw makes her own reality sorta like wandavision and they live in the town together and it’s basically just wandavision plot and jimmy woo and darcy are trying to get in meanwhile. I really hope this isn’t to long for you! Maybe you could do 2 parts if you’d like that? I just had this idea for a while thanks! 🤍”

Warning- Angst, sadness and fluff

———-

“We can get married.”

“Huh?”

Pietro turns his head to meet your bewildered expression and he smirks and leans closer to talk in a softer voice so others around wouldn’t hear. “Think about it, we’ve known each other ever since we got our powers and we’ve been together since we joined the Avengers, it’s been long a time and we’ve gone through a lot. We should just get married.”

You narrow your gaze on him and try to hold back from getting lost in those deep blue eyes of his as you try to comprehend what he was proposing, as you tried to figure out if this was some joke, because the way he just said it out of the blue seemed like it.

“And,” Pietro continues nonchalantly as he looks at the horizon ahead, “we can get married in Las Vegas, just like this couple did in one of Wandas sitcoms. It seems like a lot of fun.”

“Hmm,” you nod slowly and tear your gaze away from him, feeling your mind spin with many different thoughts; one of the main ones being that this man couldn’t be serious. “And you want to do this while we’re on the run?”

“Yes,” Pietro nods as he pops a grape into his mouth, “I mean do you have a better idea? I don’t see ourselves being free people anytime soon.”

Yeah, right. You look down at your hands and delicately begin to twist the silver bracelet around your wrist, feeling a wave of sadness wash over you.

Was this really going to be your life? Running away and hiding? Not being able to have a stable home, or a taste of a normal life anymore? All because you didn’t want people controlling what you can’t, or can do with your own abilities?

It was stupid and unfair.

“Do you really think we’ll always be on the run?”

Pietro looks at you again and puts the fruit cup that he had in his hand down, turning more serious than he was expressing himself before. “Not always, there will come a time when we’ll be free again, where we won’t have to hide. The world—or should I say universe is a messed up place, the people will need our help again and we’ll be there to save them, that’s when we’ll be free.” Pietro wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. “So don’t worry your pretty head about that.”

You lift your gaze to meet his and you can’t contain the soft smile that spreads on your lips, he kisses the side of your head and his smile turns into a mischievous smirk again. “So about my plan, what do you say?”

Once again you narrow your gaze on him and drop your smile, pushing him aside and twisting your body to land on the pier and begin to walk back to the others, hearing Pietro follow quickly behind you and continue insisting on his “plan”. Which you just turned down, “no.”

“No, what? You won’t get married to me? Why? Do you not love me?”

You shove your hands in your (his) hoodie pocket and watch the perplexity in his eyes as he tried to solve what you had said.

It was an amusing sight, seeing him so lost, it made you want to let him figure it out on his own, but you couldn’t stand it. Instead you did a little jog to get in front of him and continue to walk backwards as you explain yourself in a relatively joking manner, perfectly copying his accent and his expression. “We can get married. Just like those people on tv. I won’t give my girlfriend that I love with all my heart a good proposal, I’ll just throw it at her all nonchalantly and not have a hint of romance behind it.”

“What are you talking about? It was romantic.” He plays along, mocking your own accent. “You're wearing my sweater and we’re on this pier that overlooks the ocean. It’s plenty romantic.”

You grin and go back to using your normal voice before shrugging and commenting, “no ring?”

Pietro narrows his gaze on you and his smirk widens as he digs his hand in his pants pocket to pull out a small simple, yet beautiful ring. “Oh this? I didn’t think you’d want it, so I didn’t offer it to you.”

“Aha, I see what you’re doing.”

Pietro shoots you a flashy smile and expresses a cocky expression, “you thought I forgot didn’t you, my little witch? Like I could ever. Plus Wanda and Natasha would’ve killed me if I did.”

You turn around and fall back to his side, grinning like a love struck idiot and hooking your arm around his while he continued. “So what do you say? Yes?”

——

“What do you two want?” You ask in a threatening voice as you block their path and stay glued at the entrance of your home.

“We just want to talk,” Agent Woo explained, “to you about what you’re doing here—”

“I’m not doing anything,” you defend yourself. “I’m not causing anyone any trouble, I’m here living my life in peace.”

“That’s what you want to believe, but what you’re doing here is wrong, y/n. You’re holding people hostage—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply as you tighten your grip around the doorknob and feel faint sparks of your magic emerging from your hands. “These people here are fine, they’re in peace, they’re living the lives they want. I am not causing them any type of pain. So if you both may please leave my property that will be great.” You narrow your gaze on them and feel the doorknob under your hand bend as your grip around it tightens when you try to push the door forward to close it. Finding that before you could shut it, Doctor Darcy stopped it and shoved it back to continue with this talk and look at you with a more serious look.

“You know after knowing what you went through, after finding out your history with Pietro, I understand why you’re doing this, keeping up with this facade. But it’s not right, all the people you’re keeping here are in pain—”

“I’m warning you,” you spat out, “stop before I actually try to hurt someone.”

“What’s going on here?”

You look over your shoulder at the sound of a new voice and see Wanda with an upset look already painted on her face. Pietro not understanding what was happening comes up behind you and begins to investigate for his sister. “What do you two want?”

“We just need to talk to your wife and sister,” Agent Woo answers, lifting the badge on his chest and showing it to Pietro. “I’m FBI. We just have a couple things we need to go over.”

Pietros hand on your shoulder tightens and the curiosity that he contained was gone, he doesn’t ask for an explanation from you, nor his sister and just instantly gets on your defense. “Well she has no right to talk to you if she doesn’t want to, neither of them have done anything wrong.”

“You may not see it, but they are. This, you it’s all—”

“That’s enough,” Wanda cuts him off while she joins Pietro and you by the front door, “I’ll tell you two this just once. Leave before I force you to leave.”

Agent Woo scoffs, “I came here to do my job, and I won’t leave until I see it through.”

“Fine,” you deadpan while you let the doorknob go and open the door wider. “I’ve had enough. I’m giving you five minutes to talk.”

Doctor Darcy blinks and raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, okay, unexpected.”

They try to come in, but you step up and block their path. “No. Not here. Outside.”

From the corner of your eye you see Wanda take a step after you, but before she could take another one, you look back and offer her an assuring look. “It’s okay, I’ve got this, wait for me here.”

“Are you sure?” She probes with concern.

You nod and smile, “I’m sure.” You look to Pietro and share a short lingering gaze that contains unspoken words. You knew he was itching to follow, but he trusted you more than anything and stayed behind with his sister while you walked with the two unexpected and unwelcome visitors.

“How did you get here? Inside?” You ask them once you’re at a good distance from your home.

“It’s a long story so we won’t bother.” Doctor Darcy replies, “all we will explain is that we know you’re not a bad person, y/n, we know you don’t want to hurt these people, moving on and accepting what happened is normal—”

“I’m not hurting them,” you repeat in a grumble, “they’re at peace, Wanda assured that.”

“You may think that but they feel your pain, your grief,” Agent Woo explains making you grow stiff and stop dead in your tracks to look at them with a narrowed and puzzled gaze. Something sparks in your brain, but you can’t and won’t comprehend what he really meant, you look down at your ring around your finger and sigh, clenching your fist and turning cold.

“Have either of you ever had a dream?” You interject as you look up at them with that same cold glare.

“I mean yes,” Doctor Darcy chuckles, “everyone does. But I don’t understand why you’re saying this because it doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about.”

You tilt your head slightly and feel your lips tug into a mischievous smile, “I can help achieve those dreams, you could live here and live the life you’ve always wanted, you’ll be happy, at peace. Just like these people, Wanda and I.”

“No. It’s not right.” Agent Woo protested as he took one cautious step towards you. “Understand before someone else forces you to understand.”

You sigh and clench your fists tighter. “Is that a threat?”

“No. But if you don’t stop this it might as well will be. You don’t understand what we’re going through so they don’t see you as the villain, so they don’t come attack you, or throw you in jail. And you wouldn’t want to share a cell with your father now would you?”

You scoff, “I’m not the villain of this story, I was never the villain of this story! But people don’t understand that! For as long as I had my powers I’ve fought against people like Hayward, people who try to keep me under lock and key, who try to cast me out and kill me!” You exclaim, feeling your power re-emerge from your hand and engulf your whole hand, causing a yellow hue to bask your face and your eyes. “You don’t understand, none of you have ever understood! All I’m trying to do is save the people I love and keep them safe, just like my father was before people like you took him away because he was a “threat”.”

“Your father killed—”

“No!” You growl sharply, “my father didn’t kill anyone, his actions were a by-product of what Stark weapons did, our family died because of his inventions. My father was never the villain, just like I’m not.” You raise both of your hands and elegantly wave your hand to change back to your suit, lifting yourself off the ground and looking down at them this time seeing the fear in their eyes and ignoring it. “I gave you a chance, now I’m giving you a warning, leave and don’t come again because if any of you do, I’ll become the villain you want me to be.”

Using your powers, you lift them both off the ground with ease and swiftly throw them out of town with no remorse, watching them fly out until you couldn’t see the hue of your powers anymore to gently land back on the ground, changing back to the same dress Pietro gave you with a flick of your wrist and quietly returning home. Stopping however at the entrance of your front door to look down at your silver bracelet and stroking the design engraved on it gently with the pad of your thumb. You let out a shaky sigh and feel your eyesight blur with the tears that were quick to emerge.

You swallow back the thick lump that formed in your throat though and kept yourself from giving in to such actions. Instead you draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale it out to open the door and greet Pietro with an assuring smile. When he saw you, he rushed to you and instantly as you predicted began to ask about the mysterious visitors. “What wrong, what did they want?”

“Just questions about my father,” you reassure him, discreetly using your powers to freeze him and join Wanda in the dining room with a gloomier expression set on your face.

“Let me guess, they want to get to you to make me stop this? To threaten you?” Wanda suggests in a bitter tone, whilst she takes a seat on the couch and rests her head in her hands. “This is not the first time they’ve tried to stop us, tried to kill us; first that woman and then they shot that missile.”

Slowly you join her on the couch and express a deep sigh. “We don’t want anything from them, we’re not threatening them, I don’t understand why they can’t leave us alone.”

“Because they’re afraid,” Wanda points out what you already knew but didn’t want to admit. “But this is our home, y/n, we can’t let them scare us, or let them take advantage of us. We have to protect our home.”

You meet her gaze and smile, “you’re right, they can’t take this from us. Not this.”

Wanda stands up and you don’t falter behind, standing up a couple seconds later and feeling more confident than before, feeling inspired and strong. Even more so with her words. “We’re going to fight for our home and our families.”

A smirk tugs on your lips and you offer her a nod, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, y/n,” Wanda smiles at you before she heads to the door, looking back at you and smiling wider, “you look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you.”

With one last smile, Wanda finally heads back to her own home and you’re left in the center of your living room, alone, watching Pietro's frozen figure, for some reason not instantly letting him go. Instead just taking in the silence and recalling what those two from before had told you.

Were they really in pain? All these people? Wanda said they weren’t and you trusted her more than you trusted them.

Yet why were you so bothered and confused.

What were you even doing?

You glance back at your wrist and then turn back to Pietro, releasing another sigh before going to him and releasing him from the frozen state he was in, also erasing the memory of what had just happened, only letting him remember what was happening before you got interrupted.

“Right,” Pietro speaks up happily, “so where were we?”

“Our date,” you remind him with a beaming grin, extending your hand out to him so he would gladly take it and pull you back to the table.

“So I was thinking,” Pietro begins mischievously, “we should have a kid of our own.”

“Huh?”

“Just think about it, we could give Billy and Tommy a cousin and a play date.”

You lick your lips and set down your utensils that you had just picked up. “You want a child? I thought you wanted to live life in the fast lane? Live life like if we were always in a vacation?”

Pietro shrugs, “we can do that with a kid. A little girl? We’re not on the run anymore, y/n, we have a nice home, it’s what you wanted no? I think we’re ready.”

A grin spreads on your lips and you feel an excitement wash over you and erase the stress you had gone under. You pick up your utensils again and take a bite out of your food that until this moment had been left untouched, leaving him in a small, tense waiting period until you swallowed and gave him your answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Good,” Pietro nodded, taking a bite out of his food and then continuing quite impatiently, “but don’t think about it too long.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you my answer by tomorrow.”

“Morning?” He finished for you.

“Mhmm, maybe.”

Pietro groans, “fine, fine.” He takes another bite of his food and just as you saw he was going to add something else, another knock sounds on your door. “Who could that be at this time?”

You shrug and this time feel yourself turn more nervous that you had gotten before. You hesitate to answer, but when you see Pietro move to open the door you get up faster. “I’ll open it.”

Before he could argue against it, you head to the door and swing it open, freezing completely at who was standing out the door this time.

He was familiar yet unfamiliar. He had the same white hair but that’s about it, his face was different and his body was built different. You should’ve been confused at his sudden appearance, but it just automatically made sense.

“Pietro?”

Said man out the door smiles and waves, “hello, little witch, you’re not going to let me in?”

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

[joaquinwhorres]

Treacherous Waters (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› After finals at Starfleet Academy all of the cadets flock to local bars in search of a good time. Which is exactly where you meet Leonard McCoy. And you are more than willing to show him a good time with the understanding that come Saturday morning he'll be gone, and you'll never see him again. Which is exactly what happens...until five years later your starship has a massive failure and the only ship around to save you is the Enterprise.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,072

WARNINGS ››››› Drinking and mentions of sexy times. 

A/N ››››› Sooooo originally this was just supposed to be a “dancing in a bar with Leonard McCoy” fic but then I got an idea and well, it’s this. 

Prefer OC’s? Read it on AO3.

Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion.

Or perhaps, more accurately, the Friday evening after Finals Week at Starfleet Academy was a glorious occasion. Because the Friday night of Finals Week was when the beautiful, young, pent up cadets flooded the local bars in desperate search for some unbridled fun.

Which Y/N was more than happy to provide

"Kirk's here," Kiesh hissed, her fingers digging into Y/N's arm in her excitement. Y/N flinched, and Kiesh released her quickly, but was too distracted to mutter an apology, her gaze fixated on the near mythical figure of San Francisco nightlife.

The tales that followed Jim Kirk were outlandish and obscene and wholly captivating.

There was the story of his birth aboard the USS Kelvin minutes before his father saved the lives of everyone who'd been aboard the ship.

There was the story of how he'd earned his spot in the Academy by taking on three security Lieutenants in a fist fight and walking away with no more than a bloody nose.

And of course there were the stories of his romantic conquests. Although romantic was probably not the right word for it. Carnal, sensual, lustful, and erotic all seemed a bit more descriptive of what transpired between Jim Kirk and the girls of San Francisco.

And like any mythical figure, these tales were enough to warn off a good number of girls from falling into his sheets...while prompting others to search for him to either worship or conquer themselves.

Kiesh fell firmly in the later category. She was no Kirk acolyte, but he had become a point of fixation for her because he was what no other man had been to her--unattainable.

Y/N scanned the crowd for the golden haired casanova, but the bar was too packed. It was an ocean of voices and species and color, all flowing to the electric undercurrent that ran throughout the bar. Y/N's eyes caught on the blood red uniforms of cadets too eager to indulge their youth to waste any time by going home and changing clothes.

Two palms pressed into either side of Y/N's face as her roommate turned her attention away from the cadets, past groups of people wearing the colorful and patterned designs native to their home planet, and to the end of the neon purple bar. There, just visible between the bodies of two friends having a chugging contest, was Jim Kirk with his head thrown back laughing.

"He's gorgeous," Y/N murmured. She'd figured he had to be, but it was one thing to hear about Adonis and another thing completely to see him in person. Kiesh's hands fell from Y/N's head, allowing the other girl to turn back to her. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"I might not make it to breakfast." A coy smile curled Kiesh's lips up as she started off through the crowd, disappearing amongst the crowd.

Y/N followed her progress, watching the other girl choose a space at the bar directly in Kirk's line of sight, sliding into the chair and tossing her long purple hair over one shoulder to reveal the expanse of skin from her neck to her chest, and then below the crop top.

And then she waited.

Watching Kiesh work was a sight to behold. Each trap was delicately set, carefully tailored to the man she'd picked on that given night. She planned each movement--the way she walked, the angle of her body against the bar, the look she painted on her face--to snag men like a siren, luring them into her dangerous waters.

As much as she wanted to see this play out, Y/N had other more important things to accomplish.  Like finding her own catch for the night. And she wasn't going to do that by standing in one spot all night.

If Kiesh was a siren, then Y/N was a shark, moving constantly throughout the room in search of the perfect prey. She weaved in and out of small groups, eyes scanning the members therein. There were groups of friends laughing together, cadets challenging each other to drinking games, girls who like her and Kiesh came with one purpose in mind, and others who came to have a good time by themselves, cadets be damned.

But it wasn't until her fourth slow, methodical lap that she saw him. Or rather, she saw Kirk slap him on the back with a large grin before making his way over to where Kiesh leaned on her elbows. More than the broadness of his shoulders, the tussle of dark hair, and the deep red color of his uniform, it was the scowl he was shooting at Kirk's back that caught her attention and drew her across the bar to him as if smelling blood in the water.

"You look like a man who doesn't dance," Y/N said, folding her arms on the back of what was once Kirk's chair. It took him almost three seconds to realize that she was talking to him, and when he did, he lifted his eyebrows--the look an interesting combination of amusement and apprehension.

"Well, that's a first," he remarked. There was just a trace of an accent under his words that Y/N couldn't quite place.

"I highly doubt I'm the first person to notice," Y/N said, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Unless of course I'm wrong, and you're constantly barraged with requests to hit the dance floor."

He exhaled a laugh, the sound sailing past his lips, and into the glass he lifted up to his mouth. "You're not wrong," he said, taking a sip of his liquor and then placing it back down on the bar in front of him.

"Didn't think so. I rarely am."

He gave her a cautious look out of the corner of his eye as if still unsure where this conversation was going and why she was talking to him. As if people chatted up strangers in bars just to pass the time.

"So, since you don't dance, that begs the obvious question…what's a man like you doing in a place like this?"

He cracked a smile then, slowly tilting his head to look at her, really look at her, for the first time. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"Only if you subscribe to archaic 20th century gender norms," Y/N shrugged, smiling back at him. "Besides," she leaned closer, tipping her head towards his conspiratorially, and he shifted closer as well. "I don't think it's much of a mystery for me. I mean, look at our clothes."

His eyes wandered down to her deep V halter before seeming to realize he was still in his reds. "Fair point," he conceded, pulling back a little to take another sip of his drink.

"So?"

"A friend dragged me out," he admitted, eyes sliding back over to her. She raised both of her eyebrows as if she was surprised and didn't see Kirk abandoning him just five minutes ago.

"And left you to fend for yourself in a dive like this?" She shook her head as if scandalized by the idea. "You need better friends."

The cadet snorted and nodded his head. "You've got that right."

"Well, you're very lucky I found you before another girl did," Y/N said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"That so?"

She nodded. "They may try to take advantage of you in such a defenseless state. All alone by the bar nursing a...what is that, whiskey?"

"Bourbon, actually." His eyes sparkled with an intoxicating warmth similar to the liquor he was drinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes lightly. "Same thing."

"Only technically."

"Technicalities are everything," she grinned. "Anyway, I'm willing to offer my protective services as a long time San Francisco resident to navigate these treacherous waters."

"You're from here?" he asked, genuine curiosity overtaking his features for the first time in their conversation. Y/N's smile turned a bit strained, but she nodded.

"Not quite. But I've been here for fifteen years. Just haven't figured out how to drop the accent," she shrugged.

"So are you from England then?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Next round's on me if you can guess where."

"Lon…" he started, and a grin grew across Y/N's face before he switched course. "Birmingham?"

She shook her head. "London."

"You tricked me," he accused lightly, his brow furrowing slightly but into more of mock offense and surprise at her cunning than anything else.

"You're highly suggestible," she shook her head, fighting to keep a smile down. "Which brings me back to the fact that you absolutely cannot remain alone in this bar tonight. It's far too dangerous for you."

"Guess I'll have to take you up on that offer then, darlin'." His smile was more subtle--apparently the fight to keep it off his face was going better for him.

"Y/N," she corrected, lifting her hand to offer it to him.

The man took it, his fingers surprisingly soft for a cadet. "Leonard," he answered.

Y/N let her hand linger in his, not pulling back until his grip loosened and his fingers trailed against hers to go back around his glass. She leaned her elbow on the back of the chair, placing her chin on top of her hand. "So Leonard," she asked. "Are you going to buy me a drink or am I working for free?"

He smirked, lifting a hand to call the bartender over as Y/N slid into the seat next to him, leaning her arms against the smooth chrome bar. The Tellarite bartender made his way over, and Leonard looked at Y/N.

"Well are you going to order or sit there staring at each other?" the bartender snapped. Leonard shot him a dirty look, and Y/N snorted.

"I'll have a Samarian Sunset on his tab," she ordered, pointing a finger at Leonard, and the man grunted. Leonard still looked rather displeased with the exchange but ordered himself another bourbon. The bartender walked away grumbling, and even Leonard looked rather grumpy.

"You know that's just his way of greeting right?" Y/N asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Tellarites consider it polite to attempt to start an argument when meeting someone. If he wasn't mildly insulting I would have been majorly insulted."

"And I thought you were kidding about being a guide."

"I would never," Y/N said with mock indignation, placing a hand over her heart. "Leonard, I take my promise to you very seriously. I will be at your side all night."

"All night?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"All night," Y/N repeated with a nod, keeping her eyes locked on Leonard. He met her gaze with an intensity that made her stomach twist with delight.  And of course it was right then that bartender reappeared.

He placed a martini glass full of clear liquid in front of Y/N, and a rocks glass with amber liquor in front of Leonard before making a derisive noise in his throat and walking away. Leonard didn't seem to mind as much this time.

"Cheers," Y/N said, reaching forward with her glass, and Leonard clinked his against hers, lifting it to his lips. She watched intently as she swirled her own drink so that a luminescent gold wisp spiraled out, turning the clear liquor the color of a burning sun. He pulled the glass from his lips, and she returned her attention to her own drink, taking a slow sip before placing it back down on the bar.

"So, Leonard," Y/N let the name roll off her tongue teasingly. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from? What are you studying?"

"I'm a medical student," he said, setting his own glass down. "And I'm from Georgia."

"Ooh, a doctor and a southern gentleman," Y/N teased, shimmying her shoulders. "My mother would be so proud of me."

"Who said I'm a gentleman?" he asked with raised eyebrows, leaning closer to her. Y/N's mouth fell open slightly before she caught herself, stopping her body from melting completely right there in the seat.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Leonard," she quipped, taking a sip of her drink.

"If you didn't want a good time then why did you come over here?" he asked, and Y/N grinned at him.

"Because you look like a man who doesn't dance."

"Well darlin," Leonard started, his eyes sparkling with the slightest bit of mischief and a look on his face that was enough to make something delicious twist in the pit of Y/N's stomach. "The night's still young."

The night grew in both the amount of time passed and the amount of drinks finished. It was hard to state exactly how much of either had slipped away from the two of them as their glasses had been cleared a few times, but the world was just a bit lighter and hazier at the edges than was usual and the crowd slightly thinner than it had been when Y/N entered.

"Well, darlin'," Leonard's accent had grown heavier with the liquor, words dripping like molasses from his lips. "I should be gettin' back before curfew."

Y/N exhaled, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Leonard," she said slowly, dragging out the word. Her own accent adding a richness to her words that had been precise and sharp earlier in the evening. "I thought I made it quite clear that I wasn't leaving your side all night, so you can't go running off to the dorms on me now."

"Need me to walk you home?" he asked, pausing from putting on his coat to settle the tab.

"Such a southern gentleman," the words rolled like waves from her, her voice rising and falling as he lifted an eyebrow at the screen he was signing. "Yes, I require an accompaniment home," she mocked. "And then I need you to pick a side you want me on for the next part of our night: top or bottom."

Leonard's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide before grabbing her hand and leaving the bar behind.

The cab ride to her apartment was...restrained. The two of them sat shoulder to shoulder in the backseat, eyes focused ahead through the windshield. Even as Y/N's hand drifted from her own lap into his, venturing up his thigh, both of them remained focused on the passing San Francisco streets. Leonard's hand came on top of her own. "Just wait, darlin'," he said, his words dripping with the richness of molasses as he folded his hand around hers.

"It's not polite to make a lady wait," Y/N quipped, shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye.

He snorted but made no attempt at a retort, instead patiently holding her hand until the cab stopped. Y/N opened her door, dragging Leonard by the hand and towards her apartment building.

The ride on the elevator was just as restrained as the cab drive, only instead of the beautiful lights of downtown, the pair stared at their distorted reflection in the sleek chrome doors.

There was a hum in the elevator though. Inaudible, but she could feel it singing across her skin, radiating from each part of her body that touched Leonard's. She bit her lip, and could feel Leonard look down at her. She allowed her gaze to slide over to him, drifting up to his face, meeting his eyes, already dark and boring into hers.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors slid open, pulling their attention away from each other and out of the elevator.

The pair walked down the hallway, stopping outside of her door so she could punch in the code. It took two tries for her to get it before the door clicked and she pushed it open, revealing her dark apartment. Y/N ventured in first, turning to invite Leonard in, but she'd barely opened her mouth before her face was in his hands, and he was walking her back into the wall.

The light switch jammed into her shoulder blade, and she felt a bit off balance, but his lips moved over hers with such a ferocity, it pushed everything else from her mind. Instead, all she could focus on was the feeling of his lips against hers, the taste of the sharp tang of alcohol he'd been drinking all evening. He invaded her senses, making it impossible to think of anything other than pulling him closer to her.

Y/N wound her fingers into his hair, urging him nearer to her, which he did, stepping forward, and moving a hand from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand wandered down to her chest as his lips began a journey down the curve of her neck. "I don't usually do this type of thing," he murmured against her skin.

"Go home with--ah--a strange woman from the--fu--the bar?" Y/N panted, pushing her hips into his for a taste of the friction she needed.

He pulled himself away from her collarbone to look up at her with hooded eyes. "Exactly."

"You're missing out," Y/N grinned, chest heaving. "Now take off your clothes so I can prove it to you."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of bare skin and desperate sounds and more pleasure than Y/N had gotten out of a night out in a while.

It almost made her sad to see him go in the morning. Almost.

But him leaving was always a part of her plan for Saturday morning. Whether it was before or after breakfast, he would walk out of her apartment, never to be seen again. Instead, he'd fade into a memory of lips trailing against skin, fingers tangling in hair, bed frame rattling into the wall.

At least that's what was supposed to happen.

She wasn't supposed to see him again.

And she especially wasn't supposed to see him in a starship's transporter room, rushing towards her as she pressed her hand into Kiesh's side, desperate to keep the blood inside of her friend's body and not spilling out onto the transporter pad. He wasn't supposed to be there. And neither was she.

[love-amihan]

CH. 5; THE DESIRED OUTCOME

← chapter 4 || epilogue →

an urgent meeting is called by manjiro causing an uproar in the headquarters, specifically to a man aliased as sanzu haruchiyo. “are we poppin champagne or what?” he says with a big grin as soon as he barges in the room.

“at least someone’s in a good mood,” ran mutters in slight annoyance still in his lounge clothes, his eyes forcing themselves shut. “someone shut him up please?” rindou mumbles from beside ran, head laying down at the top of the table.

haruchiyo brushes off the comments and sits down on his seat while humming a tune. the man who called the meeting finally arrives, the people inside immediately standing up to greet their leader.

hajime, who was behind manjiro, sits down beside kakucho, “what’s with meetings these past months?” the raven-haired questions which got a shrug in return.

“bonten is an eight man gang from now on,” manjiro’s news awakens the drowsy brothers while the rest didn’t bat an eye on the announcement. ran laughs at the information partnered with loud claps of his hands, rindou chuckling beside him.

“prepare yourself in a week,” the man leaned at the table in front of him, “in the end, a comrade can turn out to be an enemy.”

silence dawned upon the room, tension building up by the leader’s sentence, “dismissed.”

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

how often do you see eight men dressed in suits waiting outside an abandoned gulag? well not often if i were you, a first if i do spot them.

“we’re dressed in suits and here we are!” haruchiyo is the first to speak up and complain, “what a pleasant sight, gentlemen” he added with a mocking british accent, “looking fucking posh.”

takashi becomes visible in their sight, “well that was expected from you, mikey” he lets out an amused laugh. “guess the pinky was not enough?” he says while showing his left hand, pinky all bandaged up.

gasps and low whistles fills the quiet area together with howls of “ouchie~” and “such a sadist, boss”

manjiro just shrugs at the man, “this was expected because you threatened one of my men,” his hands shoved inside his pockets. takashi smiles at him and holds up a finger, “and that’s why we have a good friend of ours whom you’ll be glad to meet.”

the brothers perks up in amusement seeing the familiar dragon tattoo, “as much as i don’t like interfering with your life decisions. this meetup settles a score between two men. a life is at stake here and your gang had nothing to do with it.”

ken then continues, “you, yourself should know the drastic difference, mikey .”

manjiro keeps his gaze at ken, both having a hard time staring down the other, “let them have it their own way then.”

haruchiyo appears from behind all the bonten members, carrying a familiar black silk bag, “is the show finally starting?” his companions are staring at him and clears the path for him. “i have a bad feeling about this,” kakucho mumbles to hajime.

takashi looks at ken then at manjiro, “really now?” he says while pointing at the pinkette’s weapon. once again, bonten’s leader merely shrugs at him, finding a comfortable spot to rest on.

“are you seeing this?” the artist says, humorlessly laughing at the situation. “it’s man vs man, no rules were laid out” ken objectively points out. takashi sighs and scans the area for a weapon of some sort, luck must be on his side as he spots a rusty metal bat.

he gives the weapon a light spin, dusting off the dirt, his other hand keeping the weapon steady, “this should do, huh?” he raises a brow at haruchiyo, craning his head at the bat he have in hand, “could’ve pick something more useless.”

the pinkette pulls the string keeping the bag shut, a spine-chilling smile present on his scarred lips, “i’ll take the win, hidden gem.”

takashi tightens his grip on the bat, “what was your reason?” haruchiyo unsheathe his sword from its scabbard, “i already told you, i was curious.”

the pinkette is the first one to draw forward, eyes glinting in mischief, his actions read no remorse and full intention on harming his opponent, “ don’t get your knickers in a twist .”

“this is not the time to mess around, kid” the former member mutters, easily dodging the blade and getting some leverage on his bat to strike for his opponent’s knees. though, haruchiyo manages to dodge in time, letting the cold metal hit his thigh instead.

the haitani brothers are enjoying the scene before them as if they paid for a match in comparison to others who are watching intently. “yikes,” ran says, squinting his eyes to get a better look of the fight.

“aim for the head,” rindou yells, cupping his mouth for the former member to hear. “do you mind?!” haruchiyo calls out the younger haitani while hissing in pain. “don’t get cocky now~” the lavender-haired replies with a mocking smile.

“behind you,” takeomi says in a calm manner, taking the cigarette he has on hand. “yeah, behind you,” takashi chuckles, putting his strength on his weapon but due to its brittleness and haruchiyo’s swift movement, the top of the metal bat drops to the ground.

the silence making the drop echo the walls, some of the artist’s hair falling down his face. “huh, guess you live up to your title after all,” takashi utters while examining the remainder of his weapon.

haruchiyo clicks his tongue and lets out an irritated sigh, “let’s just get this over with. they’re already getting on my nerves, especially that old man,” takashi looks back at the pinkette’s eyes, a different aura greeting him.

bonten’s number 2 continued his advances, stepping forward and holding the hilt tight. haruchiyo prepares himself for another attack, aiming to put down the other. takashi’s eyes widened in shock.

having advantage when it comes to agility and fast thinking, takashi registers haruchiyo’s attack on time, barely evading the range of the sharp blade. fresh blood starts dripping down the side of the artist’s face, crimson red painting his porcelain skin.

the pinkette groans in frustration, he was sure that the other wouldn’t be able to counter his attack. takashi wipes the warm liquid from his face, inspecting the amount of blood accumulated on the back of his hand.

with both of his vision back, the former member brings his gaze back at his opponent, “i’ll make you regret being born,” he mutters while tossing his weapon away, hands forming a fist, “i already had,” haruchiyo replies, fixing his posture.

takashi’s form is known by the two audiences that they might as well claim this fight a loss for the pinkette. “he’s gonna lose,” manjiro mumbles to himself while ken crosses his arms uttering “i pity him.”

for the first time since the fight started, haruchiyo becomes fazed, the next thing he knows his katana is taken away from his hand. a whimper escaping his lips as his face meets the ground, takashi successfully pinning him down by his back.

“you lost,” takashi mutters under his breath, tightening his hold when haruchiyo tries to break free.

the bonten members are quick to throw their own side comments, “that was anticlimactic,” “as expected,” “that got my hopes up,” and “to think your bonten’s number 2” takes the cake.

the pinkette’s struggle made him see the disappointed look from his leader, “are you sure about that?” he gathers all the strength he has left and breaks free from takashi, haruchiyo instantaneously grabs the tanto hidden in his heel charging for the other’s vital part.

the artist manages to get ahold of the pinkette’s hand in favor of parrying the blade to penetrate haruchiyo’s shoulder. “i already told you that you lost , give it up” takashi’s tone holding some sympathy behind them.

as much as takashi is angered by the other’s selfish actions, it’s never his intention to take the man’s life.

“the duel is still on,” manjiro’s voice made the two look up at him, “one has to stop breathing or else we’ll be there all day.”

like what haruchiyo do best, he takes advantage of his distracted opponent and reaches for his katana, wincing as he holds the blade up high. albeit, takashi’s sixth sense gives him a more favorable win, dodging the half-hearted swing thrown his way.

takashi advances forward and pulls out the tanto from his shoulder, sinking the blade on haruchiyo’s heart in a flash. “this is the only time i’ll accept my defeat, t’was a fair fight,” the pinkette mumbles between coughs, hand losing grip on his tanto.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

days passed, takashi visits you in the hospital. he settled down beside you, reaching out for your hand that fits in his as if they’re the perfect puzzle pieces. “i’ve avenged you…” he whispers before bringing the back of your hand closer to his face.

takashi lips linger on the back of your hand, his gentle grip around your hand trembling at the thought of the recent event. “i know how you wouldn’t be in favor of my actions…”

the artist looks at your peaceful face, fondly tucking your hair behind your ears, “that’s why i’m letting you go.”

tears begin to stream down takashi’s cheeks, “i can’t have you going through this again—who knows what i’ll do the next time it does,” his soft sniffles accompany the steady beeps that comes from the machine once in a while.

“i want you to live a peaceful life,” takashi grips your hand tight, afraid of letting go, “it’s the life you deserve in the first place.”

he wipes his tears away and smiles at you, “i’m sorry, i should be happy letting you go because now… now you can enjoy your life with no worries,” takashi takes a few labored breaths and stands up to leave a kiss on your forehead.

a kiss that holds lots of meaning behind them, a kiss that feels like it was engraved on you, and of course, a kiss that feels like a part of you.

“i love you, my love. i’m wishing you nothing but happiness.”

with his last words uttered, takashi holds your face one last time. fingertips tracing your features as if memorizing and familiarizing them. once again, uttering the same three words that’s exchanged between you two, “i love you,” his voice shakes while releasing the hold he has on your hand.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

the first thing you see upon opening your eyes is a blurry white ceiling, you instinctively try to lift your hand to hold your head but pain starts to surge throughout your body. your visible pain and discomfort noise grabs takeomi’s attention.

“y/n?” he rushes to your side and checks if he’s not hallucinating, “w-water” you wrap your hand around his forearm, voice hoarse and raspy. takeomi immediately complies with your request, drinking the clear liquid from him, you breathe out of relief.

the last thing you remember was seeing takashi’s beautiful lavender eyes that’s full of tears, that reminded you of your past lover, “where’s takashi?” you grip takeomi’s arm in hopes of having the man safe.

“how long since i’ve been out?” you added as the older just looks at you in pity. “months…” takeomi replies in a whisper, “where’s takashi?” you repeat yourself, mind playing the worst case scenario.

the older hands the letter, “i’ll go and give you some privacy,” takeomi places his hand on top of your head, leaning in to give you a hug before leaving you alone.

yn, my love,

by the time you’re reading this i’ve most likely left the country. i know this is such a selfish act. i took your feelings into consideration but y/n… i can’t and will never wield a weapon at you… ever again. it’s better if we part ways after the incident, it’s the only choice. i can’t wait for you to regain your consciousness. i have to break and part ways with you through this letter.

i’m sorry. i’m sorry for the inconvenience i’ve cost you, may it be as small as helping me with my tie and be it as big as the recent incident. i never expected for that day to come…. y/n, i didn’t want to hurt you but with mikey in the picture? my mind was quick to play out the possible outcomes and all of them ended up with a bullet in your head, love… i never want that to happen.

i hope you understand why i’m doing this. if i had to walk to the ends of the world just to get back to you, i would do it. i guess we are not meant to be together but i know that somewhere in parallel universe, we’ll be together looking up at the sky with joy in our faces.

i love you and i always will, y/n. i hope you get the dream life we talked about.

unconditionally yours,

mitsuya takashi

the tears running down your face drops at the wrinkled paper you have in hand, the water spreading at the material of the paper, “takashi…”

copyright © 2021 by love-amihan all rights reserved. do not repost in other platforms. reblogs are welcome and highly appreciated! <33

[nocluewhatsupg]

Michael, Brahms, Jason, and Billy being dragged on a hiking trip

Michael Myers

What

Wack

Mildly amused by whatever he finds along the trail

Does not complain, somehow keeps that creepy speed-walk for the entire trip

You’ve got no clue how he feels, but you’re certain he’d rather be anywhere else

Might push you into the lake if he’s bored (and you’re around one)

Might try to trip you by suddenly walking both ahead of you and over you (he’s more important).

Doesn’t want to leave his signature jumpsuit no matter how much you nag, instantly regrets his decision once he’s covered in sweat and his clothes are scratched and covered in scrapes from thorns he wandered into. Won’t admit it, though.

Wears the fucking mask. You may be able to wrestle him into a short sleeved shirt and sweatpants with a lot of careful persuasion, but the mask is non negotiable. He also pours water from your bottle directly onto the mask. Maybe he drinks from the eye holes, who knows. You have no clue how it’s in such good condition.

Speaking of wandering into thorns, he’ll wander off the trail. No need to go after him or worry, he’s a real survivalist , and he’ll either find his way back to your car, or you’ll hear of a recent massacre in a nearby town...

Glares at anyone you may encounter, standing behind you menacingly. Funny, people are so rude to just hurry past you, and not greet you...

Drinks from the lake too, despite your protests. Should’ve brought him some fucking fruit juice or something.

Will find a squirrel, or whatever animal he can choke the life out of, and promptly place it in your hands.

Take him home now or you’re next.

The trip ends there, and went just as bad as you expected.

If there’s a visitor’s office, he’ll be fascinated by the trinkets for sale. He doesn’t want one, and might strangle you if you point out a magnet or key chain with his name on it. If you’re immortal, you might buy one just to fuck with him later. He shoplifts some food, mainly dried jerky, while making direct eye contact with the poor cashier (who is currently wondering if their job is really worth it).

Stares at the taxidermy animals stuffed on the walls. Idly wonders if he can get you stuffed when you eventually die. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll point to the morbid work of art, then to you until you get the point. He doesn’t want your opinion. He just wants you to know he’ll think about doing it. How sweet of him.

There are some cheap stamps on a table, meant for small passports you can buy to track where you’ve been (if it’s a large, government funded park). Michael will allow you to stamp (and maybe thirst over) his hand, but only after you’ve stamped your own hand first. Just in case. Mildly panicked when he couldn’t rub it off. There was obviously no emotional reaction, but his sharp blue eyes betrayed his fear. You quickly reassured him it would come off, and he relaxed. Looked very dead inside, and you would be dead on the outside and in if you mentioned it.

Next time, you hike by yourself, and find that he’s lurking in the shadows. How he got there before you is beyond you, but he’s there. Mission passed?

(Secretly enjoyed the outdoors, just doesn’t want to do what you tell him)

Brahms Heelshire

Props on you for getting him out of his mansion. You’re most likely walking around the estate’s vast property, the most you could convince him to go.

He is whining, tugging on your sleeve, begging to go back inside.

He is not tired, or sore, or uncomfortable. Going out was never part of the rules. There was no need to do so.

Brahms grows more and more irritated as you continue, and you realize why you never saw parents with small children on the trails.

Snap at him and he’ll snap right back, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. He takes you, screaming and kicking, back inside. You yell at him for a good long while, and by the time child-Brahms is back and begging for your forgiveness, you’ve lost the mood to hike. With a sigh, you leave him in the kitchen, and turn to lock yourself away in your room. He isn’t far, however..

Assuming you bit your tongue and stayed silent (as you did with many of his strange mannerisms), he just might shut up long enough for you to begin to enjoy the thick British forest. Mossy stones and vine covered trees, all much older than you could begin to imagine.

You might have a better chance at hiking in peace if you tie it into the schedule, opting to tell a fantasy story about goblins or fairies as you both walk through the very land the story could just take place in. Distracted, he’ll become enthralled in your story, and throwing you over his shoulder, taking you where he wants to be, will slowly slip out of his mind. You aren’t safe, though.

The sun dips below the trees, and you realized just how long you’ve been wandering around. There was still no sight of the fences that close the land off.

At the suggestion (or command, really. You are the one in charge. Maybe.) Brahms stands very still. The porcelain mask tilts upwards, to the multicolored sky, and he asks to sleep under the stars. The novel the two of you read back in the mansion had just been through a chapter where the characters slept outside, and it was only natural he wanted to experience it too.

You sigh. There aren’t any proper materials to really camp, but you didn’t want to let him down. So, you compromise. You’d start a small fire, and you’d both sit around it until it grew too cold and the flames weren’t enough. There was no sleeping on the ground, but it would be a curious idea to do in the summer.

Brahms lost interest in the fire faster than you thought. He stared at it for a good ten minutes, then began to pester you. He realized it was nothing special, it was just like the ones inside. Plus, he’s spent far too much time outside and a chill was beginning to crawl down his spine, shown to you when he’d swirl his head around to stare at the pitch black forest.

Whispering, as if to not wake the world around you, you urge him to sit still and enjoy. He doesn’t. It’s too cold. When he sits closer to the fire, it’s too hot. You throw another stick of wood into the orange flames and tell him to go inside. That won’t work either, because he wants you to go in with him.

Without a word, you place your face sharply into your palms. Your hot exhales warmed your hands, and accurately expressed the sparking embers of frustration inside your stomach. Brahms shuffles nervously, not wanting you to act out of normal, but also not wanting to do anything about it. He’s real complex, isn’t he?

Eventually, you agree to go inside. You always have to do what he wants in the end. You’re too tired to shout at him when he sheepishly asks you to sleep with him. You kiss the porcelain begrudgingly, and shuffle off to your room.

He watches you a little longer, from the walls. Just to make sure you’ve got no plans to leave.

Then maybe sneaks into your bed. What? Why are you upset? You looked cold. He’s doing you a favor. Thank him. No he won’t leave, you’ll freeze to death.

Billy Lenz

Actually having a good time.

He’s nervous, as always, but he was far too distracted by the sudden change in surroundings to care.

Of course he’d been outside before, gone to parks in his childhood just as everyone had, but they weren’t trips he could enjoy.

Here, it’s just you, him, and the great outdoors.

Things start off well, with him stopping occasionally to touch a weird plant, or to point out a bug that scuttled behind a tree.

He walked oddly, hands in his back pockets and he was rather hunched over his own figure. He seemed rather awkward, and when you’d remind him he was fine, he’d stand up straighter and give you an unsure smile. Most annoyingly, he’d swing his elbows with each step. They often smacked into yours, and you never earned an apology.

You told him he’d get tired like that, and all he did was shout “Hogwash!” at you in an accent you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and continue. He swung harder just because he could, nearly twisting himself around with intensity, and you earned a bruise or two when he’d lean closer to you.

Predictably, he grew tired, and complained.

Congrats, you’re walking with a human radio that never turns off.

Offers to take your water bottle, and drinks it all while you’re distracted by the scenery.

Speaking of scenery, he doesn’t care. Billy might point out how a mountain off in the distance looks like a certain shot in a movie he watched years ago, or suddenly begin rambling about a plot of another film whose setting reminded himself of where he walked now. It’s interesting to listen to, sure, but he goes on for hours. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to care if you don’t pay attention.

He will hiss and snarl at anyone you may encounter on the trail, either mocking them if they greet him (or you), or mock your response (or theirs). Please hope you don’t run into anyone with an accent, because he’ll speak in a poor reenactment of it for the rest of the trip.

Is incredibly hypocritical and will become upset if you cross paths with a group of loud hikers. Will scream how it’s rude to ruin the peace. Once the group silences, he will unconsciously begin to mumble or talk to you. Prepare for nasty stares.

Will stop to pee at least three times, both going and coming back. How many times he actually needed to was beyond you, but he did take an awful long time each stop. You do know for certain he flat out spat on the ground one time, then stood still for four minutes.

Secretly wants to go into the lake, but doesn’t say anything about it. You eventually pick up on the look in his wild eyes, and when you gesture to the deep blue water, he wastes no time jumping in. Will slip on a rock, misjudging just how slippery the lake bottom becomes, and is now completely drenched from head to toe. Billy refuses to get undressed, and becomes very uncomfortable if you do when/if you join him. That basically ends that if you are female, he’ll frown and carry a snarl in his words, mumbling something about appeal and trickery. He doesn’t discriminate either, the reaction is similar if you are male, although he doesn’t become nearly as upset. If you don’t go in (the best choice, really), sitting on the sandy shore and keeping your feet into the cool lake, he’ll throw water on you anyway. Rest in peace, your dry clothes. Refusing to surrender to your local attic rat, a playful fight ensues, and for that moment, you almost forget what a monster he is. Maybe it’s best you keep that locked away.

You win, and he bites your shoulder in bitter defeat. It’s not even in a sexy way or anything. He just fucking bites you. You’re lucky it doesn’t bleed much, the wound rather shallow, but it still hurt.

>:(

In his mind, he won, and that’s final. Will brag about his victory the entire ride home.

(shitpost: you cry about your wound, and get him to gingerly reach an arm out to touch it. You take this distraction to bite his wrist. Billy screams so loud all the windows in every car shatters instantly. He pulls away from you, clutching his injured wrist, and shouts every profanity he could think of. You both are not so kindly asked to never return to the park ever again.)

Jason Voorhees

Walking through Crystal Lake? No. You can’t do that. No, y/n, that’s his cursed campground. Go find your own.

You are, however, allowed to walk around the lake. Outside the parameters of the camp, he’s still a little on edge that you’re alive, but he’ll let you. Don’t say he never did anything for you.

He doesn’t make a single sound as he follows you from a slight distance, through bushes and low hanging branches, he’s silent. You turn around and see him standing there, machete in hand, watching.

A chill is constantly going down your spine, and no matter how much you trust him, your brain absolutely does not agree. About fifteen minutes into your hike, you swore you could hear a faint “ch ch ah ah” whispered through the trees.

If you call him out on it, he’ll simply shrug his broad shoulders, then turn his mask slowly to look ahead. He urges you to continue, so he can return to patrolling his beloved camp and slaughtering everything that breaths.

He isn’t being malicious, he cares about you, in some odd fashion. It is only natural for humans to long for companionship, and he is desperate for anything that returns him to a time when he was afraid of a hunter’s gun. You however, in all your beauty, are simply not enough to tear him away from his supernatural duty. Nothing is.

Returning home from the awkward hike, you invite him inside your house, a small two story cabin nestled just outside the camp grounds.

He agrees, shuffles into your living room, and stands there.

Jason parks himself just next to the small television, a spot he’d been to so often there was an outline of eternal mud and grime in the shape of perfect (and large) boots. 

He stares at you as you go through your daily routine, as you cook dinner and eat it. As you watch some television, or read a book, or catch up on your favorite hobby. Jason is aware he’s free to leave whenever he wants, do whatever he pleases, but he doesn’t want to. He’s perfectly content with just standing there, far too nervous to actually interact with you.

The sky gets darker, and the crickets begin to chirp loudly. You tell him goodnight, get no response, and head upstairs. He waits a few moments, turns off your living room lights, and vanishes back into the thick, New Jersey woods. Duty calls.