#it will never happen but a girl can dream

[helen-with-an-a]

Beautiful Girl - New Year’s Eve(18+)

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope all your dreams come true, and I wish you well for the next year. Here is a totally indulged, dirtier-than-I-intended New Year fic with Alexia to help you welcome the new year in the right way. Also, will I ever learn how to write short smutty things? Probably not. This is the fic that started the Beautiful Girl series and yet I've already released so much for it ahahaha. For the anon back in August who told me I need to make my fics less ambiguous, this is for you. R IS A WOMAN. Have the day u deserve anon 😘✌️

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Description: Thank god the New Year's party was cancelled.

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, strap (R giving - dom R; Sub Alexia)

You had never been more grateful for food poisoning. Watching Patri and the rest of the girls fall sick was hard, it seemed almost cruel to relish in their misfortune. Whilst is was undoubtedly horrific to feel so ill over Christmas, it did mean one thing. One thing you were so, overwhelmingly happy about.

Missing Patri's New Years' Eve party.

With so many of the team members now laid up with various degrees of illness, it was quickly decided that the party wouldn't be happening. Given the circumstances, it was the best choice for everyone, but it also meant you could spend the evening with Alexia alone.

It wasn’t your first year ringing in the New Year with Alexia – this would actually be the fifth you were welcoming in together. Up until now, each new year was brought in surrounded by friends, clinking glasses and a swift kiss at midnight before munching on some grapes. Whilst you loved the parties, the thought of just snuggling up at home was always niggling at the back of your mind.

This year, however, was different. For the first time, you had the chance to bring in the New Year alone.

“Ale,” you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper. She was engrossed in the countdown on the TV, her gaze locked on the screen as they ticked away the last minutes of the year.

“Hm?” she responded, lifting her head from where it had been nestled comfortably against your chest.

“Will you be my New Year's kiss?” you asked softly. It might have been a silly question – but it was something you asked each other every year, a small tradition of your own. It had started your first year together, when you were unsure about how the Catalan celebrated New Year's. The next year, she asked you - the pair of you celebrating in England this time, surrounded by your friends and family and Alexia had been unsure of whether you wanted to kiss in public. By Year 3, it felt strange not asking, even though you knew she would never say no, it felt odd, just assuming.

Alexia's heart softened as she met your gaze. A wide, warm smile spread across her lips, a dusting of pink settling on her cheeks.

“Sí, mi amor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will be your beso de año nuevos.” Her smile was radiant now, a wide, joyful grin that seemed to light up the room. She added, with a playful glint in her eye, “As long as I can be yours?”

“Of course, my beautiful girl,” you replied, your fingers carding through her hair. “No lo querría de otra manera.”

“Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the TV. She leaned closer, moving up your body with a grace that seemed almost dreamlike. As her lips brushed against yours, the world outside dissolved, leaving just the two of you, curled up in bed, without a care in the world.

She tasted like honey. Warm and smooth nectar that eased your soul. It was the perfect remedy for any issue. Her lips were soft as they worked in time with yours. A throaty hum bubbled up in her chest as you tightened your fingers in her hair.

As you finally pulled away from the kiss, the sudden burst of fireworks outside startled you, their vibrant explosions lighting up the night sky. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as Alexia's hand drew you back to face her.

“Feliz año nuevo, mi amor” Alexia whispered against your lips.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at you, her expression full of love. “Happy New Year, my beautiful girl,” you replied softly, tugging her back to you, your lips finding each other again with perfect ease.

When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged, deep gasps. She took a moment to let her gaze wander slowly over the length of your body, her eyes moving with deliberate slowness. You watched as she took in your form, bare legs intertwined with hers, a hoodie she was fairly sure used to belong to her on your top half. To Alexia, you had never looked more beautiful. You were the epitome of quiet beauty - a radiance from within that made you glow.

You gently lifted a hand to her chin, your touch tender and deliberate as you guided her back to face you. Her gaze met yours with an almost innocent intensity, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"T'estimo molt, Alèxia Putellas i Segura." You mumbled, your voice thick. It was true, you had never felt like this before. So loved, so safe, so happy.

"I love you, Y/N Y/S/N, so much." Alexia whispered back, her words just as emotional.

You didn't know how long you spent, lying there kissing Alexia. But you didn't really care. All that mattered was the woman above you, the way she rocked her hips against yours, the way her hands explored your body, the way she gasped and moaned as you tugged at her roots and trailed your fingers under her pyjama top.

“What do you need, Ale?” you asked gently in between kisses.

“Tú,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Te necesito.”

“What about me do you need, my beautiful girl?" You smoothed her hair away from her head, eyes searching hers. "How can I give you what you need?” Y

“I need … necesito … I …” Alexia’s words faltered. She was slipping into a state of mind that only you could bring out in her – a headspace where she shed all her external responsibilities. She wasn’t Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barça, or the face of Spanish football. She was simply Ale, your Ale, your Beautiful Girl.

“I need your cock, por favor.” Her eyes slid sideways, avoiding your gaze. You hated how she hated being vulnerable around you. It was something you had been working on together, her voicing her desires to you, whether it be as simple as what to make for dinner or as hard as voicing her deepest fantasies. She was doing a lot better, in the early days it had been exasperating to watch her flounder whenever you asked what she needed. But now, the pride welled in your chest as she spoke with relative confidence. You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Okay, beautiful,” you said softly, smoothing your hand against the skin on her hip. “Do you want me to get the strap? Or would you prefer to?” You reached up to push a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose.

Alexia's response came with a hint of hesitation. “You,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she made her choice, taking a steadying breath as she did so.

“Alright,” you acknowledged, nodding with a soft smile. “The big black one or the smaller purple one?”

“B-black one,” she whispered shyly. There was a noticeable blush on her cheeks. The black one was her favourite, the one that stung in the best way, the one that made her arch and squirm as you split her open, the one that could leave her limping for the next few days.

A smile spread across your face at her words, your heart swelling with affection. “Okay,” you said gently. “Take off your clothes while I get the strap.” You let your fingers wander underneath the hem of her joggers.

“When you're finished, lie back on the bed with your head on the pillows,” you continued.

Normally, you knew her favourite way to take any strap was on her knees, you lying back beneath her, taking in the glorious sight above you as she moved without restriction. The way she would roll and rock, bounce and shift. The way she seemed so free as she took what she needed from you, as your hands rested on her hips or trailed up her body to grope and squeeze as you pleased. But you had other plans for tonight.

You reached up and pressed your lips against hers in a deep kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate, you let your lips linger on hers a moment longer, savouring the taste of her before gently unwinding yourself from her embrace.

As you moved away, you went to the wardrobe, shedding your hoodie as you went. The cool air of the room met your skin as you tugged the material over your head, feeling her eyes follow your every movement as she went about her tasks. The sensation of her gaze on you made more goosebumps appear on your skin than any cool breeze ever could.

You opened the drawer and began to gather what was needed. You smiled as you looked down at the contents. The big, shiny black strap with a wider girth and a fake vein running underneath that she needed time to work up to glinted up at you in the dim glow of the lamp. You shuddered at the image of Alexia, hair splayed against the pillow, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you sunk into her again and again.

Turning back around, you were met with the sight of Alexia having perfectly followed your instructions. Her t-shirt was folded neatly on top of the dresser, the soft fabric arranged with meticulous care. Next to it, her joggers were laid out in a similar fashion, creating a small, organised pile. You couldn't help the smile, Alexia, ever the neat freak.

What immediately caught your eye, however, was the unmistakable sign of her arousal: her knickers had been removed and set aside. The grey fabric was marked by a noticeable wet patch. You hummed appreciatively as you clambered onto the bed next to her.

“Well done, beautiful,” you said, your voice filled with admiration. “Such a good girl for me."

Alexia’s response to the praise was immediate. She visibly preened, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction as her body relaxed into the bed below her.

“So pretty,” you cooed softly as you moved to position yourself above her. The warmth and tenderness in your voice made Alexia feel even more cherished and adored. As you spoke, your gaze lingered on her, your eyes raking down her body with reverence.

Your eyes took in every detail with a slow, deliberate appreciation. You started with the swell of her breasts, noting how they were perfectly shaped and inviting, their natural curve accentuated by the soft light of your bedroom. Your gaze then travelled down to the ridges of her abs, the defined muscles revealing the strength and dedication she put into caring for her body. Each contour and line told a story of her commitment and vitality, making her all the more captivating.

Continuing your exploration, your attention shifted to the strong muscles of her thighs. You observed the powerful yet graceful curves, appreciating the balance of strength and femininity they represented. The way her thighs connected with her hips and the subtle play of light on her skin added a golden glow to her already-tanned skin.

“G-gracias, mi amor,” she stuttered, her voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and shyness.

You responded with a warm, affirming smile, “look at you, using your manners. Una niña buena y bonita.”

You shifted closer, your face centimetres from hers. “Can I kiss you, Ale?” you asked, your voice laced with a tender reverence.

She met your gaze with a shy but eager nod, her eyes shimmering with anticipation . Her fingers, warm and reassuring, slipped around your hips, gripping them lightly. You slowly leaned down, your movements deliberate and unhurried, valuing the moment.

She hummed softly as your lips met hers, a contented sound that had your heart quickening. The warmth of your touch was immediately reciprocated, her hips pressing up against you eagerly. The contact of your lips made her skin tingle with anticipation.

As you continued to kiss her, you allowed yourself to ease more of your weight onto her. The gentle pressure of your body against hers helped ground you both. Alexia’s fingers, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly trying to draw you even closer. The world outside faded once again, leaving just the two of you.

You let your hands explore her body with thoughtful slowness. The touch was gentle yet deliberate as if you were memorising every curve and line of her form like you were discovering her for the first time. Each movement was tender and explorative, your fingertips lightly grazing her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in their path.

As your hands made their way across her skin, a delicate shiver of goosebumps followed in their wake, spreading out like a ripple of water. Her breath hitched slightly, a soft, involuntary sound that had you smiling against her lips.

“Por favor,” she whined softly as you parted, your lips trailing down from her mouth, moving with careful slowness down her jawline until they found their way to her collarbones. The touch of your lips on her skin was a teasing promise, making her shiver.

“Apresúrate,” she urged, her tone full of frustration and desire.

You leaned back slightly, a playful glint in your eye as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Patience, Ale,” you said. “If you’re going to rush me, I’ll stop.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed her face at your teasing warning. “Ho sento, ho sento,” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing.

You softened your expression, letting a reassuring smile light up your face. “It’s okay, beautiful,” you said soothingly. “Just relax for me.” Your touch was gentle as you placed a tender hand on her cheek, guiding her focus back to you. “Focus on what you’re feeling,” you continued, your voice warm and encouraging. You added a playful wink, watching as she nodded eagerly.

As she closed her eyes, settling into the sensation of your touch, you took a moment to appreciate her trust and vulnerability. With her eyes shut, you began your descent down her body again, your movements slow and sensual. You placed a series of delicate pecks along her skin, each touch a soft whisper of affection. Gradually, you shifted to sharper nips that made her breath hitch, and then to more fervent, intense sucks that drew out a deeper response from her.

You relished the way her chest heaved with each breath, the subtle quiver of her smooth stomach rippling beneath your touch. The contrasts between your tender pecks and the sharp bites you applied created a rhythm that had Alexia writhing beneath you. You cherished every reaction, every shiver, and every sigh as you made your loving way down her body.

“Mi amor,” Alexia gasped, her voice breathless. The sound of her voice sent a thrill through you as you settled between her thighs.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity that made your heart swell.

“Te amo,” you replied with a soft, heartfelt smile.

You watched with careful curiosity as Alexia moved her hand hesitantly, as if uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. Smiling, you took her hand, letting your thumb smooth over her knuckles. “Hand or hair?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Hand,” she answered, her voice slightly trembling. With a loving smile, you gripped her hand tightly. It always amazed Alexia that you knew exactly what she needed. She had never had a partner that understood her so well, that knew everything she could even want without her having to ask. It overwhelmed her sometimes, thinking about how much she loved you.

“Am I okay to carry on, or do you want a moment?” you asked. Your eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Un momento, por favor,” she replied, her voice a little unsure.

“Of course,” you said immediately. You nodded reassuringly, placing a gentle kiss against her thigh.

After a few heartbeats of shared silence, she gently squeezed your hand. Her eyes met yours with a shy but confident smile, a silent affirmation of her readiness.

“Are you sure?” you checked.

“Sí,” she replied with a definitive nod, her voice firm and steady.

“Ok,” you said, your face lighting up with a warm smile. You leaned in and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her hip bone, right above the little '66' tattoo. As your lips touched her skin, you let them linger for a moment longer. You took in a ragged breath, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin mingling with the coconut of her moisturiser. The smell was dizzying in the best way.

Leaning down, you took your time to savour the moment, your movements deliberate and tender. You placed a long, gentle stroke across the entire length of her pussy, your touch firm yet soft. The caress was slow and purposeful, your mind relishing in the taste of her against your tongue.

You repeated the action with careful speed. As you ghosted across her clit, you took a moment to appreciate the way her hand gripped yours, her fingers tightening as she sighed.

You decided to show a touch of mercy on Alexia, with a gentler approach, less teasing than you normally would. Your lips carefully enveloped her clit, the warmth of your mouth a welcomed contrast from the cool air outside. As you began to suck softly, your lips moved, alternating pressure and occasionally swiping over the nerves with your tongue.

Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped sharply, the sound escaping her in a breathless rush as her body responded to the new, more tender touch. Her hips bucked instinctively, lifting toward you as you continued your ministrations.

You loved eating Alexia out. The way she enveloped your senses, the mix of her arousal on your tongue and the softness of her thighs around your head as she twitched and writhed beneath you, succumbing to her body's desires. You had never had that before, the casual hookups you had had before Alexia weren't the same. Going down on them had felt like an expectation from you, an accompaniment with your fingers, or like you were returning the favour. But with Alexia ... with Alexia, you were more than happy to spend the rest of your life between her thighs.

It didn’t take long for Alexia to transform into a moaning, squirming mess. You revelled in the rich sounds that filled the room, each one a unique note in the melody that was her pleasure. The gasps that punctuated the air, the moans that rose and fell in rhythmic waves, and the soft, needy whines. You could feel the sticky mess growing between your own thighs. The warmth that spread through you was a deep, satisfying heat.

Carefully, you eased finger into her, your movements precise and slow. You took your time, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion You slowly drew it back out until just the tip was still inside, before pushing back in again, trying to find that perfect spot.

When you finally found it, her reaction was immediate and intense. She squeezed your other hand tightly. From your angle, it was difficult to see the full extent of her expression, but you could vividly imagine her face – her eyes tightly shut, her features contorted in a mix of bliss and focus. One hand clutched yours with a desperate grip, while the other twisted into the sheets, her head pressing down on the pillows beneath her as she succumbed to the pleasure filling her body.

Sensing her increasing need, you added a second finger with practised ease. You could sense that she was nearing the edge of climax when her body began to twist and turn. The way she started to clench around you more forcefully. Her breathing, once steady and controlled, became fast and shallow. The grip on your fingers tightened as well, her hand's clasp around yours becoming almost painful.

“Si us plau,” she begged, her voice strained and trembling as she fought to hold back the powerful wave of her impending orgasm. Her tone matched the tightrope she was walking between control and surrender.

You didn't stop, humming lightly as you continued to work your fingers against her. She shivered at the sensation, her toes curling as she teetered closer to the edge. Her body tensed and arched in response to the wave of ecstasy that swept over her in a series of shudders and spasms. "Amor," she moaned, her voice hoarse.

You guided her through the aftermath, your fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as you savoured the taste of her. The tanginess of her essence was a distinct and cherished flavour. It was one of your favourite tastes – something that only you got to experience.

“Good, my beautiful girl. So, so good for me,” you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate praise as her body finally stilled.

Her cheeks flushed deeply at your praise, the colour spreading across her face as she turned her head, avoiding your intense stay.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” you chuckled with a warm, encouraging smile, waiting for her to look back at you.

“Do you still want the strap?” you asked, your voice low as she locked her eyes with yours. The intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

She nodded eagerly, but you weren’t going to let her off that easily. You raised an eyebrow at her, she knew your rules.

“Sí, your cock, por favour,” she finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of that earlier shyness but also with the undeniable need that only you could satiate.

“You want my cock, Ale?” you teased, each word dripping with lust. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to put my dick in you? Split you open? Make you cum for me?”

As you spoke, you slipped into the harness with practised ease, the leather straps sliding smoothly around your hips. The click of the buckles echoed in the room, a final, satisfying sound.

“Sí, mi amor,” she replied with quiet confidence.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you positioned yourself between her legs. “Bend your knees for me, beautiful,” you instructed gently, hands rubbing gently up and down her thighs. She complied without hesitation, drawing her legs up and opening herself to you with a trust that made your heart swell.

With a careful hand, you lined yourself up, the smooth plastic gliding through her wet folds with ease. You took your time, dragging it up and down. The slickness made the movement easy, but you were in no rush – this was all about her.

“I’ll go nice and slowly,” you promised, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s the big one, remember? Take as much time as you need.”

You offered your spare hand to her once again. She gripped it eagerly, her fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of her hand in yours was grounding you both.

As you began to press forward, you kept your gaze fixed on her, every subtle change in her expression magnified in your focus. You moved with deliberate care, inching forward slowly, ensuring that every movement was as comfortable for her as possible. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her eyes widened as she adjusted to the sensation of the strap inside her, the stretch more intense than she had anticipated.

“Grande,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, you froze, your concern for her immediate and palpable.

“Do you want to stop? I can get the oth–” you began, already preparing to ease back, ready to swap out for something smaller, more manageable. Before you could finish, she interrupted, her hand tightening around yours in reassurance.

“No, no,” she insisted quickly, her voice a little firmer now, but still soft. “Me gusta,” she said conspiratorially.

“Is that so? You like being stretched out, Ale? You like feeling every inch of me?” you teased, relaxing at her words. Your voice was playful as you began to push forward again, ever so gently. You drifted your thumb up to brush against her clit, smiling as she sighed softly.

You could see the effect your teasing and actions had on her immediately. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the sensation, the deliberate, slow stretch filling her completely. The way her body responded, the subtle arching of her back, the way her hips shifted to accommodate you, was all the confirmation you needed.

As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.

You continued your slow movement, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction as you pulled back only to push straight back in again. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, making your breath hitch just as much as the way the strap rubbed against your own clit.

“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. A veces… when we’re both away… en el camp ... campamento…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw emotion. “Sometimes ... Yo tomo ... I take it with me so I can immmmmm" she broke off in a moan. "Imagine you're with me.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. You sped up your thrusts, torn between watching the pleasure on her face or where the plastic met her flesh, seeing her stretched out around you.

“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling, her legs moving to press against your arse. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, me hace feliz por dentro. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She pressed her heels into your arse again, urging you to go deeper and faster.

Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness, The image of her, away at camp as she worked herself up, so desperate for you, burned into your mind's eye. You thanked the lucky stars you were an athlete as you picked up your pace.

You dropped forward onto your hands, your chest pressing up against hers.

“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement pushing her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You smiled at the the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic with every stroke.

Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand twisting into your hair while the other squeezed your bicep. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.

“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice a commanding whisper. “I want to hear you. I want to know how good I make you feel.”

Her response was immediate, her hips bucking up to meet yours. The sounds she made were intoxicating, each moan, each gasp sending waves of pleasure through you as you continued to thrust, your movements precise and controlled, drawing out every bit of pleasure you could from her.

You could tell she was close. Her walls clenching around you tightly, her hips meeting yours with every thrust. You were close too, the strap providing just the right pressure against your clit. Her moans were breathier now, toes curling against the small of your back."So sexy, Ale," you breathed, your voice hitching at the wave of pleasure that buzzed through you.

You moved against her, you lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Now, Ale. Cum for me. Show me how much you need this. Cum with me.”

The effect was immediate. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her trembling beneath you. The sound of her release, the way she called out your name, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard, and it sent you spiralling into your own pleasure, the intensity searing itself into your memory.

You held her through it, your movements slowing but never stopping as you rode out the waves of your orgasms together, your bodies entwined. As the tremors of her release gradually subsided, you felt her body soften beneath you, her limbs going limp with exhaustion and the kind of satisfaction that made everything else fade away. The room was filled with the suddenly deafening silence; the only sounds were your mingled breaths as you both caught your breath.

You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, a kiss that was gentle and tender, a total 180 what had just happened.

Breaking the kiss, you hovered just above her and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy, content smile spreading across her face as she gazed up at you, her fingers still lightly tracing patterns on your back.

You pulled out gently, using one hand to release the snaps on the harness and throwing it somewhere in the room to be dealt with later. “If this is what it’s like every New Year,” you murmured, your voice playful but laced with sincerity, “We are never going to a party again.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a low, throaty hum that made your heart swell.

“I think I can live with that,” she replied, her voice sleepy but filled with contentment. “Sólo tú y yo, mi amor. That sounds ... maravillosa.”

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, your thumb gently caressing her cheek as you leaned in to place another soft kiss on her lips. “That sounds absolutamente perfecta,” you whispered against her mouth, your heart full of the quiet joy that only moments like these could bring.

She sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to you as you lay down, her body fitting perfectly against yours. “T'estimo,” she murmured, the words barely audible as sleep threatened to take her.

“I love you too, Ale,” you whispered back, holding her close as the world outside faded away once more, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Happy New Year, my beautiful girl.”

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (10)

Originally posted on my old account. Uploading twice weekly :)

The following morning I woke up to a pounding headache, Keira sleeping peacefully next to me. My eyes hurt, a tell tale sign that I’ve been crying. My suspicions were confirmed when I made my way to the bathroom. Red, swollen eyes. The memories were a little fuzzy, I remember dancing with Misa and Alba, Alexia pulling me outside, she was mad? I remember she said she loved me. 

Alexia loved me. I loved Alexia. 

As I paced back and forth in the bedroom, unable to stop because my brain was going so fast, Keira slowly woke up. 

“Milly what are you doing? What time is it?”

“Tell me she didn’t say she loved me outside the club last night?” 

Signing as Keira looked at her phone “it’s only 6am, please come back to bed. It’s too early for this.”

“No no no no. Keira this can not be happening. This is bad. Very very bad. I shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hey Mil. Stop. You love her. You always have, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem? The problem is that I can’t love her Keira! It’s not a fucking option. I need to go. “ 

“Milly wait!” keira got up as fast as she could. But it was too late. I was gone, out the door. I couldn’t go home, that was the first place she would go. The gym would be the next, the beach would be the last placed she go, especially considering it was raining now. 

After I had left, Keira rang Lucy panicking. Lucy rang Ona, who rang Claudia, who rang Patri, Patri rang Mapi and Mapi rang Alexia. It’s safe to say everyone started to panic. Thinking I was running away again, the thought was there but I couldn’t do that to the team. 

Surfing was freeing for me. Sitting on the board, pretty far out gave me a chance to think without anyone around. I loved Alexia, but this didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I had always dreamed about some fairytale ending for us but it never happened. Maybe if I had listened to her and not married Emily, things would be different. We only lasted a month, does that even count as being married? I wasn’t particularly interested in catching the waves, just wanted to think without anyone around to disturb me. As I made my way back to land, I noticed her. Drenched, sitting in the wet sand. 

“Everyone’s looking for you.” 

“Well tell them to stop. I’m not lost.” My tone was harsh, I didn’t mean for it to be. Not really. 

“Mil, we need to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what Alexia? You being jealous last night? You and Olga breaking up? You being in love with me? Me being in love with you? Pick a subject and I’ll talk.” 

“You love me back?” Whispering, She looked at me wide eyed, almost as if I’d take it back. I would. 

“Pick a different one.” 

“No. I want to talk about the fact that you’re in love with me too.” 

“I’m not doing this.” I tried to walk away. I couldn’t do this. 

“Don’t walk away from me Amelia!” I stopped. Not turning around to look at her, I couldn’t. “Please stop running away from me Mil.” The last few words came out broken. She was crying. 

“Why can’t you just let me love you? That’s all I want Mil!” 

“Because every time you say that all I see is her! I could’ve let you love me before Emily! But I didn’t. Instead I’m the reason she’s dead and the reason your heart was broken. All I see when I look at you is the pain and destruction I’ve caused but you look at me like I put the stars in the sky. So full of love and care. I can’t do that Alexia. It’s too much.” 

Suddenly arms wrap around me, not alexia’s because she’s standing in front of me. “Hija, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eli. The mother I never had. 

“It’s too much Eli please.” 

“Come. I will take you home. Alexia, let’s go please.” 

“Mami no.” 

“Now Alexia.” 

Alba was waiting at my apartment when we arrived. It was all too much. Alexia’s family treated me like their own, despite the pain I’ve caused, the devastation I’ve caused. They were soft, too soft. 

I headed straight for the shower. Ignoring the way Alba looked at me, or the way Eli called out to me. I needed to be alone. This isnt what I wanted to have happened. I hoped that after all this time Alexia wouldn’t love me and I could pretend to not love her. 

The shower was scolding hot. Even through my clothes which I didn’t bother to take off. I thought it would make me feel better, feel something. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Alba came in. 

“Mil? Are you okay?” Silence. “Milly?” No response. “Amelia I’m coming in.” The alarm in her voice got the attention of Eli and Alexia. 

“Milly can you hear me? Fuck this water is boiling.” Alba tried turning it off but it was too hot. 

“Move Alba. Get me a towel.” Alexia turned off the water, taking the towel from her sister. “Can you get me some clothes for her and give us some space please?” Without even realising it, Ale had picked me up and taken me to the counter. 

“I’m going to undress you now, okay? If you need me to stop tell me and I’ll stop straight away.” All I could muster was a nod. 

There was nothing sexual about it. She moved as quickly and carefully as she could. Removing my shirt and bather top, drying me then putting an old oversized shirt on, carefully lifting me up to remove my skirt and bather bottoms. I flinched when she did that, hoping she didn’t notice but she did. 

“Do you need me to stop?” She pulled away quickly, noticing my eyes screwed shut. Shaking my head, she continued. She quickly pulled my underwear up, then lifted me up and carried me to bed. As she was about to leave I stopped her. 

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” I begged. 

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.” 

She was right back, putting a water bottle on my side, plugging my phone into the charge, then making her way to the other side. Climbing in and pulling me onto her chest. That’s how I fell asleep. The exhaustion of what happened last night and today hitting me. 

[girlcrushart]

Kylin feels like an appropriate post for New Year's, and I themed the poster to have a bit of a festive party atmosphere with the big bubbles. It's like she's in a giant bottle of pink champagne. I think this image of Kylin kinda represents what in my mind is the ideal NYE party—a bunch of hot girls end up in their underwear and dance around flipping their glorious hair around. That has never happened at any New Year's for me, and considering tonight we're planning a pretty mellow night with a handful of friends that will involve things like board games and fondue, tonight is likely not going to be the night it happens lol. But, a girl can dream. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Kylin Milan.

[nmakii]

once upon a dream

— yukimiya’s been dreaming about a mysterious girl for a week and a half now. and, you haven’t been able to sleep. what happens when you finally talk? love at first sight.

stp i wrote this insane in like 7 hours icb this is 3.4k words!!! wtf i dont even like yukki that much 😭 this is j word vomit bro AHHAA

you were familiar with the mortal god known as kenyu yukimiya. he was everything your friends wanted in a boyfriend. he was kind, charismatic, gentlemanly, not to mention extremely handsome.

his status as a teenage model and athlete didn’t help his popularity either. girls were always asking him to hang out (hint: ‘hang out’ means ‘date’), to which he always agreed, even offering to pay for them.

that’s just how he was.

and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fallen under his siren spell too. not when his charming smile kept luring you closer to your death.

but, you could never pull him! not in a million years. with the status quo as it is, you two are in two different worlds.

at least, that’s what you think.

to yukimiya, you were familiar, perhaps even special. he saw you once in passing while you were leaving your classroom, and he suddenly had a sense of deja vu; it was as if he’s already lived this before. it could always just be nothing. it could just be stress since nationals is coming up soon.

but even so, you still catch his eye. he’s always wanted to talk to you, but he’s had the secret anxiety that you wouldn’t be too interested in talking to him. so, he enjoys the short times he see you pass him in the hallway, or coincidentally pick the lunch table beside his in the cafeteria.

but, he still feels as if there’s more to it than just a friend crush. the way you carry yourself, and the tone of your voice— it all makes him feel a familiar way.

his dreams as of late have revolved around a faceless girl. he can never recall her face after he wakes, but he always awakens with a sense that a part of him is missing.

it’s late in the day, 20 minutes before 6 PM. and, training has just finished. yukimiya catches his breath as he takes off his goggles, switching them out for his everyday glasses.

“…see you, guys!” he bids to the rest of his team, taking his leave with his school bag and training gear in hand.

the walk home is silent. before black spots begin to appear in his vision. ‘damn it…’ he thinks, ‘right now of all times..?’. he internally groans before hurrying his pace, quickly making it home.

he takes off his shoes and calls, “mom! i’m home!”.

his mother hums in acknowledgment and responds, “kenyu, we’re having katsu curry for dinner!” ah, that sounds delicious…

“alright..! i’m gonna go lie down for a bit though. my vision is a bit blurry again…” he comes into the kitchen, greeted with the salivating smell of his mother’s homemade curry.

“dear, if that’s the case, go rest for a while. i’ll save you a portion, alright?” his mother smiles. yukimiya frowns a bit but he nonetheless, obeys. “alright, mom. i’ll just take a nap.”

he sighs as he climbs the stairs up to his bedroom, and flops onto his bed. today was exhausting, he almost immediately falls asleep.

he looks around— he’s back at school. the sun outside looks as if it’s about to set, so classes must be over. but, he’s still in a classroom.

he leans on a desk, while the familiar faceless girl sits on one of the chairs. “…hm… so, blueberries improve your eyesight, huh..?” she hums. he’s not quite sure what got him in this moment, but he nods. “that’s right. they strengthen the blood vessels behind the eyes.”

something about her was ethereal, have it be the delicate way she presents herself, or the way her hair gracefully frames her blurred face. whatever it was, the only thing that could come to mind when he saw her painted orange and pink by the setting sun was, ‘divine’.

“hah, maybe you’d benefit better from chocolate-covered blueberries rather than chocolate-covered strawberries then.” she snickers.

“ahah, i wouldn’t hate that too much… why not?” he shrugs, laughing as well. there’s a scary tension in his shoulders, he feels pretty stiff. he feels pretty nervous— it feels like dread, but at the same time as if he has swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies, fluttering their way into his heart.

“really? maybe i’ll get you a box of chocolate-covered blueberries for valentines’ day then!” she innocuously proclaims this, unknown to the fact that yukimiya’s heart gets caught in his throat.

“i..is that so? i guess that just means i’ll have to return the favor on white day.” he hums, retrieving his school bag and training gear which had been thrown carelessly on a random desk.

his body was moving, but not to his mind’s command. why was he leaving?

he turned his back to face the mysterious girl again. a lithe hand moves to cover her mouth as she yawns, small pearlescent tears forming atop her lower eyelid.

her speech gets slurred. and his dream fades to black.

when yukimiya awakens, it’s 1:14 AM. talk about an after-school nap…

he scowls. his dream ended so suddenly, he has the desire for closure to give rest to the many ‘what if’ scenarios for what she could have said. ‘what was she going to say? was she asking why i was leaving?’ he wonders.

putting his disappointment aside, yukimiya decides to go and shower first. he leaves his room and goes into the bathroom beside the stairs to shower. all before changing into some clean clothes.

putting on a clean t-shirt, yukimiya sighs. clean clothes felt good. his stomach gurgles, and he groans at the sound. he did sleep for 7 hours. he shouldn’t be too shocked that he’s starved.

making his way down the stairway, he goes into the kitchen and finds a plate of katsu curry and rice being covered by one of his mother’s large baking bowls. there’s condensation of steam dripping from the metallic bowl from when the dish had been warm. the katsu by now has lost its’ crunch after absorbing the curry, and the rice isn’t quite as sticky anymore.

it’s not ideal, but yukimiya doesn’t have it in himself to complain. he can’t do anything about it anyways.

he throws the plate into the microwave to heat for two minutes. and as the dish spins on the microwave’s glass plate, his mind wanders back to his dream. now, he could only vaguely recall details, but he knew that it felt real. the sensation of his school bag’s rough fabric, and the sound of her melodic voice pouring into his ears— it all felt real.

the microwave beeps, and his train of thought is quickly stopped as he takes his food out of the microwave, and sits lonely at the dining table.

‘geez, this is depressing…’ he internally sighs. he might as well stay up until he has to get ready for school.

in another home however, you’ve only fallen asleep. you’d been closing your eyes, as well as tossing and turning in your bed for about 3 hours now, unable to fall asleep. you’ve tried everything— sleep ASMRs, melatonin candies… but, none of them have been able to help you sleep earlier.

it’s been like this for a week and a half now. you’ve noticed the dark circles under your eyes are much more pronounced now, making you resemble an undead creature, rather than a high school student.

your friends have been teasing you with a corny, deluded saying— “if you can’t sleep, then it’s probably because there’s someone dreaming about you.”, they say. what nonsense! it was more likely that it’s the stress of your projects, than someone dreaming about you.

nonetheless, you simply relish in the fact that you’re now asleep. not dreaming about anything in particular, just having a sort of good night’s sleep.

you groan when your alarm on your phone goes off. it sounds like an emergency alert system alarm. your father suggested after the first two times you were late last week due to oversleeping. your hand mindlessly moves, looking to turn off the irritating noise.

when it’s finally off, you lie in your bed for an extra minute or two. your body feels so stiff, everything hurts…

your heavy eyes open once again, and you turn your head far enough to see your phone and check the time. 6:18, did you oversleep for 20 minutes? you should get ready soon…

you reluctantly get out from your comfortable bed and stretch, cracking all the stiff bones in your body. you go about your daily routine and go on your way to school. you walk hurriedly, in hopes of taking a quick cat nap before classes start.

that hope is sadly not reached, as you only arrive just about a minute or two before the bell rings.

you manage to soldier through the day, staying up and diligently taking notes, as well as taking a very well-deserved nap during lunch. it really is a feat— for you, at least.

the day goes by horrifyingly slow, and having to stay late for club these days is a nightmare. as much as you want to say you’ve been putting all your effort into club activities, you really have been idling through until the time runs out.

sitting in one of the desks, you’re chatting with one of your club mates as your club president approaches you, “ah, sorry to bother you, but there’s a box on my desk in classroom 3-6, could you get it for me please..? i’m a bit busy to do it myself..” she explains.

“hm..? ah, sure. don’t worry.” you nod in response. she sighs, relieved that you aren’t too annoyed. “yay! thank you!” she hums, and you set on your way to classroom 3-6.

you climb your way up to the third floor, and let yourself inside the classroom. you quickly identify your president’s desk by the large box filled with goodies. “oh?” an airy yet warm voice hums. “what are you doing here?”

you turn your back and see yukimiya; bags in hand and everything..! “ah, hey..!” you awkwardly greet him. you’re not quite sure what you should say. ��just… doing a favor. what about you?”

“i just forgot my lunchbox before i went down for training.” he hums, quickly grabbing his aforementioned lunchbox. at the mention of a lunchbox, you perk up. you hadn’t eaten at lunch, so you were awfully hungry. “ah..! you looked at me the second i mentioned my lunchbox!” he chuckled. “are you hungry? all i have is some packaged snacks.” he warns. he carelessly drops his school bag and training gear on another desk, and starts to move in your direction. all whilst opening the lunchbox, looking for something that you could to snack on.

you awkwardly laugh, embarrassed that he caught you. “honestly, i’ll take anything… thanks, yukimiya.” you graciously take the packaged rice cracker snack from his hands. yukimiya hums, “call me yukki; my friends call me that, and it’s much less formal too.”

your eyes go down, downcast to avoid eye contact.

a popular boy just told you to call him a nickname his friends call him..! is this what it’s like to have a love life..?!

as your eyes remain low, you catch a glimpse of a stained container, it looks as if barney the dinosaur had died in it. “what did you have for your recess? it looks messy…” you bluntly ask, not even thinking that it was probably a bit weird to ask.

“oh? i just had some blueberries. they were pretty lukewarm by the time break time came, though..! some of them got crushed. hence, the mess…” he laughs.

“blueberries? …i’ve never really liked the taste. or… it’s more like the lack of taste…” you place the box on a random desk and sit on a chair. you could kill some time, club was technically over anyways. he raises an eyebrow at your words, “really? i think they’re pretty good. plus, they help with my eyesight.”

“your eyesight? is it that bad? i feel like i only started seeing you wear glasses about two months ago.” yukimiya looks hesitant to answer, you probably crossed some sensitive territory…

“ah… not exactly… i guess, i just want to maintain my vision as it is. so it won’t get worse, is all.” he explains, and you nod. “ah, that makes sense.”

there’s an awkward moment of silence. where do you go from this..?

“…hm… so, blueberries improve your eyesight, huh..?” you clarify, hoping that he’d go into further detail. he pauses for a second. his muscles grow tense, as if he has realized something. but, he nods. “that’s right. they strengthen the blood vessels behind the eyes.”

he’s lived this before. his nails claw on the desk, itching to ground himself to reality.

this isn’t a dream.

this is real life.

and, he’s finally talking to the faceless girl.

like in his dream, he turns his head, and sees you painted orange and pink by the fading sunset. you look even more exquisite now that he can see and recognize your face. your eyes shine in contrast to the setting sun, and your lips quiver, as you try to think of something to say.

your hair is a bit more messier than in his dream. and your posture is quite stiff— no, awkward is a better word. your frame is awkward and anxious, he thinks. but, you still look just as divine as he dreamed you to be.

“hah, maybe you’d benefit better from chocolate-covered blueberries rather than chocolate-covered strawberries then.” you laugh.

“ahah, i wouldn’t hate that too much… so, why not?” he shrugs. again, that pesky nervousness in his shoulders is back. seeing the girl he has, quite literally, dreamed of for a week and a half now is something he’s wanted for a while now. his rose-tinted view of the mysterious girl is makes him feel nervous now that he’s met you.

“ah..!” you audibly gasp, “really? maybe i’ll get you a box of chocolate-covered blueberries for valentines’ day then!” you joke.

he’s heard those exact words before already, but it still flustered him.

i..is that so? heh, i guess that just means i’ll have to return the favor on white day.” he laughs. it’s getting late. the teachers are gonna lock the classroom doors soon, so the two of you should probably leave. he grabs his school bag and training gear, as well as his lunchbox.

you seem to get the hint, and stand up as well. you yawn, covering your mouth to save yourself some dignity, and small tears form in your eyes. “ahh… anyway, i have to take this down to my club room… i’ll see you, yukki.” you bid goodbye, trying on the new nickname for size.

but, yukimiya’s not ready to say goodbye just yet.

“ahh.. do you want me to carry that for you..? you seem pretty tired, so…” he wanders off, “are you okay?”

you reluctantly let him carry the box, and the two of you begin to walk down the stairs to your clubroom. “yeah, i’m alright… i just haven’t been sleeping well.” you hum, “i’ve tried basically everything… but, i can’t seem to sleep.”, you sigh.

“ah, seems annoying… but, i can’t do much to fix that. sorry…” he responds. his response seems a bit absent-minded though, as if he wasn’t focusing on what he said.

that was because his attention was directed to the lack of distance between the two of you. he’s been this close to other girls before… but, being close to you seems to make his heart pound right outside of his chest.

“eh, it’s not your fault. don’t worry to much about it.” you wave it off, as if it was a minor inconvenience.

the rest of the walk was uncomfortably silent but soon enough, you’re at your club room. you graciously open the door for yukimiya, which lets him get inside easily and place the box on a nearby table.

“heh… thanks, superman.” you smile. and yukimiya’s eyes move to avoid contact, embarrassed by the nickname. “oh, uhh… it really wasn’t a problem, so don’t worry about it.” he awkwardly laughs.

“i didn’t keep you too long, did i?” you ask. he’s not too sure what else he could’ve been busy with, but he’s touched by your concern. “nope, don’t worry too much.” he chides.

“just a habit, hehe…” you explain yourself as you move to grab your own school bag. “a—anyways, i’ll see you, yukki..!” you bid him goodbye for the second time today, waving your hand goodbye.

but again, yukimiya still isn’t quite ready to say goodbye.

“oh— do you want me to walk you home..?” he offers, quite forwardly, at that.

your face scrunches at his offer, anxious to be taking up so much of his time today, “n..no, that’s asking too much now… it’s fine, don’t worry too, okay?” you laugh, throwing back his own advice.

yukimiya scoffs, recognizing his own hypocrisy. he’s a bit saddened by the fact that you rejected his offer, but he has to respect your decision. “alright… then, maybe you wanna… hang out sometime..?” he sounds nervous. he’s never had to be the one asking someone out, so he doesn’t know how to ask someone to ‘hang out’.

“i..i can pay too if money’s a concern. i’m the one who’s asking you out after all, it’s only fair.” he rationalized. you mull it over for a quick minute, and you finally respond, “sure, but you really don’t have to do all that..! it’s not like this would be a date…” you reassure him.

for some reason, that last part hurt. he wishes that it was a date. his shoulders visually slum down in disappointment, but there’s still a sense of hope to his expression.

he’s willing to put time into this. he wants to know more about you; know why you’re appearing in his dreams. he nods, “yeah, that’s fair enough… are you free this saturday? we can just go around the city.”

“mhm. sounds like a plan.” you nod.

he grins, “great. i’ll see you—,” he pauses. he never asked about your name..! here he was disappointed about dates, and wanting to know more about you, but he doesn’t even know what your name is..! he should probably just disappear, this is too embarrassing. there’s no recovering from this—

“s/o.”

what?

“my name is s/o.” you inform him.

yukimiya snaps out of his humiliated state long enough to respond, “ah, i see..! my mistake for not ever asking for your name. heh, i guess i just got a bit too comfortable.” you laugh at his scatterbrainedness, and wave it off. “it’s fine, i got a bit comfortable too, so i forgot to tell you my name.”

he’s glad that you also felt comfortable with him, but he has a feeling that you have a different meaning for comfortable…

he felt as if he’s already known you. but, you simply thought of him as a schoolmate that you’re familiar with. it was his mistake for thinking of you as the faceless girl from his dreams, rather than the much more lifelike girl that stood before him.

“right… well, i’ll see you, s/o.” he smiles as he waves goodbye, his smile much wider than it had been before he met you in that classroom. you nod, waving goodbye as well. “yeah! bye, yukki!”

the two of you walk toward the school exit together before finally parting ways, leaving yukimiya feeling as if he’s separated with a part of him.

it was odd that he’s already this attached to you. but, maybe that was just because of the fact that the two of you just naturally clicked. or, the fact that he’s seen and talked with your faceless self in ephemeral periods when time stood still— all of it in romantic, rose-tinted glasses.

the moment he came home, he has just been a ticking time bomb, waiting for the moment he can see you again. he’s never felt quite as nervous as he does right now.

his heart feels like a heavy weight in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. he can’t have a crush on you already… can he?

it’s a question that haunts yukimiya as he lies in bed, anxious and unable to sleep.

and for the first time in a while, you have a good night’s rest.

[merrybloomwrites]

It's Just a Game, But Really

Summary: When your brother starts dating Taylor Swift, you figure your wild dreams of dating Harry Styles are now definitely crushed. But some meddling from Jason, Travis, and Taylor may make some dreams come true after all.

Word Count: 3K

AN: This idea randomly popped into my head months ago and I couldn't get it out until I fully wrote it. I feel like this falls into the category of "Crack treated seriously" lol

Also, I understand this is niche, but as an Eagles fan (pls don't come for me) I've watched the entire Travis/Taylor relationship unfold and just thought this would be silly. Writing Jason and Travis was pretty fun too since I've been listening to their podcast for years and it was a cool challenge to write in their voices

Finally, I took creative liberty here and while I normally try to keep details as close to reality as possible, I've changed some things. So the Packers vs Eagles game that happened in Brazil now takes place in philly, and the Chiefs game on Christmas is now against Baltimore so it would be plausible to have the dinner scene in PA. None of this actually matters, this is fiction lol

Title from "So High School" by Taylor Swift

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Growing up with two athletic brothers had been quite an experience. Hundreds of hours were spent at sporting events, often bundled up to watch them play ice hockey or attend the late season football games. In your family, it was important that everyone supported each other.

It went the other way as well. Your brothers attended every spring concert, theater performance, and dance recital you were in. They were your biggest fans, always cheering you on and bringing flowers to give you.

They also took time to learn about your interests. Instead of getting annoyed when Taylor Swift’s music would play through the house, they started listening.

Especially Travis.

He liked the music, and thought she seemed pretty cool. He didn’t admit it, but you guessed that maybe he had a bit of a celebrity crush on her.

Life continued to change as your brothers left for college, then moved to different cities when they got signed to two different NFL teams. You missed them, but it was great seeing them succeed.

Jason and Travis still made time for family, even when Jason got married and started a family of his own. You and Kylie became friends right away, and you immediately loved having another girl in the family. You couldn’t wait for it to be Travis’s turn to find someone. But preferably not through his dating show.

When Taylor Swift announced her Eras Tour, you desperately wanted to go. So you were highly disappointed when you weren’t able to get tickets.

And then Travis surprised you with tickets to her show in Kansas City. By this point you had moved in with Jason and Kylie near Philly, but Travis assured you that he’d take care of all the travel logistics to get you to the concert.

You flew in the night before, getting to spend the day with your brother before heading to the stadium. It was weird to be there for a concert, having attended numerous games there before. It was cool to see how it was transformed into something almost unrecognizable.

Being there with Travis meant getting to be seated with a great view in a cordoned off section. It also meant Chiefs fans coming close to the barrier to talk to him before the show. Watching your brother trade friendship bracelets with these people was a strange moment, one you never would have imagined happening.

Through all that, there was one bracelet he had that you noticed he wouldn’t trade. Taking a closer glance you see what’s written on it and give him a confused look.

“Travis, what in the world is this?” you ask.

“Friendship bracelet,” he answers simply, dodging your true question.

“Obviously. But why is your number on here? Who is this for?”

He laughs nervously but before you can press it further another fan comes up to say hi. You can’t help but wonder what his plan is for that bracelet, even though you have a pretty good idea who its intended recipient is.

The concert begins and you have a wonderful time, dancing and singing along, Travis just as excited beside you. As it ends, Travis speaks with one of the staff members, looking slightly disappointed but not too bothered. Once again you’re left wondering what that was all about.

It’s a couple weeks later and you’re listening to the latest episode of Travis and Jason’s podcast when they bring up Travis attending the concert. Sure enough, he confirms he was trying to get that bracelet with his number to Taylor, and you have to commend him on his creativity and optimism.

What you don’t expect is for Taylor to find out about that and get in touch with Travis. Now a year later, your brother is in a happy, committed relationship with Taylor Swift. She’s come to family dinners, you’ve been next to her during Chiefs games, and she’s made it so you could come to a number of concerts on her tour. You cannot believe that this has become your life. And you have to give your brother credit for his powers of manifestation.

One afternoon you’re hanging in the living room while Jason records the podcast in the basement. He calls out for you and you go down to see what’s going on.

He hands you a set of headphones so you can hear Travis as well, and fills you in on the topic.

“So,” Jason begins. “Fans are starting to give you credit for Travis and Taylor getting together. Do you think that’s fair to say?”

You laugh for a moment that this is why you’re called to speak on what should be a sports podcast, before answering, “I think that’s fair. I mean, he did the work but I would say my childhood Swiftie obsession planted the seed.”

Travis replies, “You don’t think I would have found out about her on my own?”

“Oh you totally would have. But I got the ball rolling ages ago. Timing is everything, what if you’d been too late?”

“Alright, I’ll give you that. We can say you had a hand in this.”

“So that means you owe me,” you say.

Jason chimes in, “Yea Trav, your turn to manifest for Y/N.”

“You want me to manifest a boyfriend for our little sister?” Travis questions.

“Oh, right, wait, don’t actually do that. I forgot, Y/N’s not allowed to date until she’s forty,” Jason says, leading you to roll your eyes at his overprotectiveness.

“Ok, but if I were to try, who would it be? Y/N, who’s your celebrity crush?” Travis asks.

There’s no way you’re answering that on camera, especially with who the answer actually is. You clench your teeth and lift your eyebrows before cheekily saying, “Oh, no, I cannot answer that on the pod. That’s uhm. That’d be messy.” You then shrug and laugh, trying to play all of this off as a bit.

While Travis tries to dig and get you to answer, it clicks for Jason and he says, “Wait, I think I know who it is. Is it, uhm-”

“Don’t you dare say anything!” you exclaim to shut him up.

“Alright, alright. I won’t spill your secrets.”

“Well at least tell it to me later,” Travis says, to which you reply, “Absolutely not. I’m afraid you may actually try to meddle.”

“Who, me? No way,” he replies only to be met with an unimpressed look from you.

The boys drop the subject and you head back upstairs as they finally talk about football again.

You assume that they’ve moved on, and you’re happy when they don’t bring up your celebrity crush again.

You’re even happier when Jason tells you he’s taking you to the season opener Eagles vs Packers game in Philly. You’re super excited to be able to experience an Eagles game alongside your brother. You’re also glad you can be there for him in case it’s hard for him to watch them play without him for the first time since his retirement.

What you’re unaware of is the plan that Jason and Travis had made behind your back.

“So now you’re on board with trying to set up our little sister?” Jason had questioned during a phone call a couple weeks prior.

“Yes. And I have a way of making it happen,” Travis had answered.

“And you want me to help Y/N meet and potentially date a popstar who happens to be your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s a Packers fan?”

“Yea, that is the unfortunate part. And you’re not really helping them date. That’s all on them. But you could at least help her meet him at the game.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jason says. “But I’ll do it.”

And that’s how you find yourself walking through the tunnels of the Linc with Jason before the start of the game and bumping into Harry Styles.

“Hello, I’m Harry,” he says cheerfully, holding a hand out for you to shake.

Mustering up all of your chill, you smile in return while reaching out to clasp his hand and say, “I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.”

“Well, thank you for your support,” he says.

“You kids want a picture?” There are few times you want to kill your brother, but him butting in while you’re talking to Harry Styles is definitely one of them.

“That’s alright,” you say, trying not to impose on Harry too much. So you’re surprised when Harry says, “Of course, let’s get a photo!”

You stand next to him, and his arm wraps around your shoulder and you hope your expression doesn’t show how crazy fast your heart is beating while Jason takes the picture.

“It was so nice meeting you both, I’ll see you around!” Harry says as he walks away.

Before Jason can begin to tease you, you say, “Don’t even say a word.”

He listens to you and instead just laughs as you keep walking.

After some quick hellos to the stadium staff, you’re led up to a box.

“I thought we just had seats today?” You question.

“We did. But when I was talking to Mark he said we got upgraded.”

When you step into the box you’re once again surprised by the presence of Harry Styles.

“Okay, we are definitely in the wrong place,” you murmur to your brother.

“Oh good, you guys found us!” Harry says. You look to see who he’s talking to and get shocked to see it’s you and Jason. “There were some open spots so I asked if you two could join us,” he explains.

“Wow, thank you!” You manage to squeak out.

Suddenly you’re realizing what is about to happen. A four minute encounter in the hallway? Easy. An entire three hour football game? There’s no way you make it through without embarrassing yourself.

And yet, halftime comes and you’ve so far managed not to make a fool of yourself. In fact, you’re even impressed by your witty banter as the Eagles and Packers go back and forth taking the lead.

“So, I read about these botanical gardens nearby,” Harry says.

“Longwood?” You ask.

“Yea, have you ever been?”

“A couple times. I went with Jason, Kylie, and the kids earlier this summer. They’re really nice. If you’re thinking about going, I highly recommend.”

“I actually got a couple tickets for the fountain show tomorrow night. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

Quickly processing that Harry is asking you to hang out with him, possibly go on a date with him, you reply, “I’d love to!”

“Fantastic! I can pick you up in the afternoon?”

“Sounds good to me, thank you.”

You exchange phone numbers and give Harry your address, still in disbelief that all of this is actually happening.

The game resumes, and as the Eagles make their comeback you can’t help but cheer and get wrapped up in the game. And even as Harry’s team starts losing, he still stays happy and continues to joke around with you.

When the game ends and the Eagles fans celebrate, you say to Harry, “I hope this doesn’t affect us hanging out tomorrow.”

“Not a chance, in fact I think that will cheer me up,” he says with a smile.

“Hey Y/N, I’ve gotta go talk to a couple people. You hanging here or coming with me?” Of course, there’s your brother interrupting again. And while you’d rather stay with Harry, you don't really want to be separated from Jason in the post-game chaos. So you say goodbye to Harry with the promise to see him the next day.

On your way back home you put up with the teasing from your brother.

You beg him to be on his best behavior when Harry picks you up the next day.

You know he won’t.

So it’s no surprise that he gives Harry “the talk”, telling him that if he hurts you at all then he’ll have to face two NFL players.

You’re hanging in the living room with Kylie and the kids while this happens, and when the two boys come back Kylie asks,”He wasn’t too scary, was he?”

“No,” Harry replies. “Just scary enough I’d say. Shall we get going?” He addresses this last question to you and you agree, more than happy to get out of the house before Jason takes his big brother role too seriously.

When Harry drives away he lets out a deep breath and you say, “You good?”

“Yea, just- Your brother is scary.”

You start to laugh at the fact that Jason managed to actually shake up Harry Styles. But you decide to help him out by saying, “He seems scary, but it’s mostly all talk. Unless you do something to hurt me. Then you should be scared.”

“Oh I feel so much better,” he says, laughing along now.

The two of you have a wonderful time together at the gardens, especially since Harry manages to somehow fly under the radar. The fountain show is fascinating, and you stand together, Harry’s arm around your waist sending butterflies through your belly.

It’s late when you get home, and he walks you to the door like a gentleman.

When he asks if he can kiss you, of course you say yes. He leans in for a soft kiss before saying goodnight, not leaving until you’ve made it safely inside.

Jason is waiting up for you, and as you tell him about your night you watch his gruff exterior fade away. He looks truly pleased by all you have to report and you’re glad that he seems to approve of Harry.

For the next couple of months, it all goes well. Your relationship with Harry flourishes. You get to see him more than expected since he starts working out of a studio in NYC, only two hours away from where you are.

There is one mild bump in the road, occurring on a Friday evening when Jason and Kylie are supposed to be out at a party with the girls.

You’d been planning on a quiet night home alone. But then Harry had surprised you by showing up at your front door, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

One thing led to another, and before you know it you’re both on the couch. You’re straddling his lap, his hands sliding under your shirt as the two of you make out.

As much as Harry had surprised you, Jason surprises you even more by suddenly coming home and walking right into the living room.

Harry notices him first, and in an effort to save this interaction he pushes you off of him, luckily managing to shift you to the open spot next to him on the couch.

There’s a moment of oppressively awkward silence as Jason stares at the two of you, speechless. Without saying a word he walks to the mud room and grabs the diaper bag that had clearly been left behind earlier.

As he passes through the room to leave he says, “You are adults. Just- don’t be stupid. There are enough kids in this house already.”

Without waiting for a reply he leaves the house. After another moment you and Harry break into nervous laughter.

The mood is pretty much ruined but you still have a nice night watching a movie together. Harry stays with you but has to leave at lunchtime the next day.

That afternoon Jason knocks on your bedroom door, asking if he can talk for a minute.

“Sure, what’s up?” You say, not expecting the conversation that follows.

“I just wanted to ask how things are going between you and Harry,” he says.

“Oh! Good! Yea, things are going well. I really like him,” you answer.

“And you’re being safe?”

“Oh my god, Jason! We are not having this conversation,” you say as your cheeks warm at the implication.

“Well you’re living in my house, I just, you know. I feel responsible for your well being.”

“I’m safe. Very safe. You don’t have to worry.” You hope your words will convince him to drop the topic.

“And you trust him? Cause I mean, he’s a big time Popstar. Bet he’s broken a fair number of hearts before.”

You find yourself needing to defend Harry and ask, “Have you had this conversation with Travis about Taylor?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re sure about him?”

“I am.”

“Okay then. That’s what matters. I’m only looking out for you.”

“I know. But Harry and I are happy. I promise.”

With that smoothed over, the next few weeks continue drama free.

And then comes Christmas.

Due to scheduling, Harry had yet to meet Travis. You’ve talked to your brother about him, and you know Travis has talked about all of this with Taylor. So while you’ve been told that it’s no big deal that your boyfriend and your brother’s girlfriend are exes, you’re still a bit nervous for Christmas dinner.

It’s a late meal, since you have to wait for Travis to get there after the Chiefs vs Ravens game, and you spend the afternoon entertaining your nieces and helping prepare the food.

Finally Travis and Taylor arrive, and for a moment you can’t help but feel self conscious. The room is full of NFL players and international pop stars. You excuse yourself to the kitchen for a moment to collect yourself. When you walk back to the living room, Harry greets you with the biggest smile, and those feelings of self doubt melt away. Because those big accomplishments and accolades aren’t what matter to him. What he cares about is how kind you are, how fun and loving you are. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your head and you blush knowing your whole family is watching.

But looking up at them you see nothing but support. Your mom is practically glowing seeing all her children with their significant others, and quickly organizes a family picture.

It takes some time to get all three of the little girls to cooperate, and by the time the photo is taken, dinner is ready.

There is something surreal at seeing Harry and Taylor pass the potatoes or bread basket, never having imagined this is how your life would turn out.

But that night, as you all agree to break the internet by posting the family picture, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: I wrote the first half of this as the Eagles lost to the Commanders, thus breaking a 10 game win streak soooo that was a bummer.

I wrote the ending after watching the Eagles beat the Cowboys, so at least that turned back around!

I think this may be the silliest thing I’ve ever written.

[oldangryslytherin]

fanfic request: Tom asks Harry out for Valentine's via one of lockharts dwarfs and Harry beats the shit out of the dwarf bc it startled him or smth. Or maybe he beats up Tom. Or both! I just really want Harry beating people up recently.

Thx and have a nice day!

It had been a day of dodging, ducking, and weaving. Harry Potter had spent the better part of Valentine’s Day avoiding Lockhart’s blasted dwarves. He knew some of the girls in Huflepuffhad sent him cards and singing telegrams. The idea of being serenaded in the middle of the Great Hall was mortifying.

“They’re just trying to show you they care,” Hermione said as the trio made their way through the corridor after lunch.

“Yeah, well, I’d care more if they didn’t involve murderous dwarves in the process,” Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder for any signs of small, bearded ambushers.

Ron snorted. “They’re not murderous, mate.”

Harry was about to retort when it happened. From seemingly nowhere, a dwarf came hurtling down from a ledge above them, landing squarely in Harry’s path with a loud “thwa-thump!” Before Harry could process what was happening, the dwarf lunged toward him, clutching a scroll of parchment.

Instinct took over. With a startled yell, Harry’s fist shot out, connecting with the dwarf’s stout nose. The poor creature dropped like a sack of potatoes, the scroll slipping from its grasp as it crumpled to the floor.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Ron exclaimed, crouching to check on the unconscious dwarf.

“It jumped me!” Harry protested, his cheeks burning. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t attacking me?”

“It’s a dwarf, Harry! For delivering Valentine’s messages!” Hermione scolded, already conjuring a soft pillow to prop under the dwarf’s head.

Students had started to gather, drawn by the commotion. Harry’s embarrassment grew as he heard the murmurs and snickers spreading through the crowd.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Harry grumbled, bending down to retrieve the scroll. “But it shouldn’t have jumped out at me like that. I was—” He paused, unrolling the parchment and catching sight of the handwriting. It was elegant, looping, and… familiar.

The note read:

I’ve seen your soul, raw and untamed. It belongs to someone who can match its flame. Your green eyes, the last color I see before sleep, Haunt me, stirring dreams dark and deep. Let me show you a world you’ve never known, With you, Potter, I’ll build a kingdom for us.

Harry’s face went from pink to crimson. His hands clenched the parchment as his heart hammered in his chest. The words were so blatantly pretentious, so maddeningly confident, and yet… he couldn’t deny the flutter of something in his chest.

“What does it say?” Ron asked, craning his neck to peek at the note.

“Nothing,” Harry snapped, crumpling the parchment in his hand.

“Nothing? You’re blushing,” Hermione said, her tone accusatory. “Who sent it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry lied, though he had a sinking suspicion. The phrasing, the audacity—it could only be Tom Riddle. He’d caught the younger Slytherin watching him during practice more than once, a smirk playing on his lips like he knew something Harry didn’t.

“Whoever it is, they’ve got guts,” Ron said, grinning. “Asking you out through one of Lockhart’s dwarves? Bold move.”

“Yeah, well, next time they can send a bloody owl,” Harry muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. But even as he spoke, he couldn’t shake the heat rising to his cheeks or the way his stomach fluttered at the thought of Riddle’s intense gaze and self-assured smirk.

“Poor dwarf,” Hermione said, shaking her head as the creature stirred. “You really need to work on your anger issues, Harry.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he replied dryly, stuffing the crumpled note into his pocket.

------

Harry found Tom Riddle in the study hall. The Slytherin was seated at a table near the back, seemingly engrossed in a thick tome. His dark hair fell perfectly into place, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of control. As if he’d been expecting Harry, his gaze lifted the moment Harry stormed in, parchment in hand.

Harry slammed the crumpled scroll down onto the table, causing a few nearby students to look over in alarm. Tom didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a slow, infuriatingly charming smirk.

“Something on your mind, Potter?” he drawled, his voice smooth and unbothered.

“What the hell is this?” Harry demanded, jabbing a finger at the parchment. “If you wanted to ask me out, you could have done it like a normal person instead of sending—sending dwarves after me!”

Tom’s smirk widened as he stood, closing the distance between them with deliberate, unhurried steps. “And miss the opportunity to see you this flustered? Where would be the fun in that?”

Harry opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Tom’s confidence was maddening, and the way he was looking at him—like he was the only person in the room—was making his heart race.

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms. “What if I’d said no?”

“Oh, I was fairly certain you wouldn’t,” Tom replied, his tone light but his gaze piercing. “But I’ll admit, I did wonder how far I could push you before you snapped.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. “You’re a dick.”

Tom’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry stared at him, his resolve faltering under the intensity of Tom’s gaze. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. I’ll go out with you. Happy?”

Tom’s smile widened. “Ecstatic.” He reached out, gently taking Harry’s hand in his own. Before Harry could protest, Tom leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to his knuckles.

“I’ll pick you up from the Gryffindor Tower later,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet confidence. With that, he turned and strode out of the study hall, leaving Harry standing there, red-faced.

-

that was fun! now im going to bed it required all my braincells :3 ill post to ao3 in the morning

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 37 - Hibiscus 2

Summary: Time passes, and you settle in with your boys. Tomura meets his niece, and a certain ex-warlord calls Mihawk

*warnings* some smut. Lot of stuff happens this chapter. It's a big one!

*Note!* This will be the last official chapter of Peppermint Tea! I have an epilogue planned that will be posted later today, but it's more of a *where are they at after 10 years* lol. I want to thank all you lovely people who have come by and read and commented on this massive work. You guys are what drove me to finally come back and finish this. I really hope you guys have enjoyed the ride!

Peppermint Tea Masterlist-> HERE

“Oh, she’s so cute!” Perona squeals and Mihawk gives his older daughter a narrow-eyed look to quiet down. The ghost girl gives a sheepish grin as she floats closer to take a closer look at Joyeuse, her baby sister. The babe watches her with big, golden eyes, and Perona is hard-pressed to not snatch her up and run away with her. 

You are watching from the couch, Shanks stretched out beside you so that you can rest your head against his shoulder with a fond look. You feel full, content in a way that you’ve never been before to have your most precious people all in the same room. All you were missing now was your brother, but according to Shanks, he would be here soon. 

Joyeuse gurgles and drools against her father’s chest, eyes watching the way the pinkett's hair bounces whenever she shakes her head. A hand is suddenly in reach, and Joy happily snuggles into the warmth it provides when it’s lain over her chest. She always knew who was holding her by their warmth. Mother was always cool, Father was almost scorching at times, but Papa. He was perfect.

“Do you want to hold her?” you ask Perona and laugh when the girl sits down faster than you’ve ever seen the other woman move, “Just make sure you support her head.” 

Mihawk steps over to Perona and walks her through the best way to hold Joyeuse. He’d become rather protective to the point it was overbearing lately if you were honest with yourself. If you didn’t have your daughter, then Mihawk was the one holding her 80% of the time. You’d mentioned it to Shanks, but the redhead didn’t seem to have a problem with it, stating that he had far less dirty diapers to change. 

“Stop squirming, girl,” Mihawk grumbles and then slowly transfers his daughter over when Perona stills. He watches the young woman coo over the babe, chest feeling tight at the display before him. Both of his girls so close together, the swordsman only wished that Zoro were here to see this. He would need to write to the young man soon and tell him the good news. 

Mihawk relaxes once he is confident that Perona has a good hold on Joy, and makes his way to the couch where he sits on your other side. You snake a hand into his lap and he indulges you by threading his fingers with your own, the edges of his lips curling into a tiny smile. 

“When is my brother supposed to be here?” you ask quietly. You’re beyond nervous to see him again, but terribly excited at the same time. It’s been over twenty years since you’ve seen your brother, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed from the boy you remember from your dreams. 

“Another day or so, most likely, sweetheart,” Shanks says and turns to press a kiss to the top of your head, “He left the same day I called.” 

Shanks had gotten in trouble with Mihawk for not telling the other man about his decision to call Tomura, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. The older man would keep you away from your brother if he had it his way, if only to avoid any awkward conversions, or a fight breaking out. The redhead can’t imagine that Delemur would be too happy to find out that his little sister had gotten knocked up by an ex-warlord and emperor of the sea. 

His eyes find their daughter and a smile lights up his face. Well, after Tomura meets his lovely niece, Shanks doesn’t see any kind of confrontation happening. Joyeuse had a smile that could melt the coldest man’s heart. 

----

Tomura is practically vibrating on the spot when he finally spots Sphinx in the distance. He had swapped out of his Vice-Admiral uniform and left the massive navy cruiser behind on their last stop at port. He didn’t want to show up on the island Whitebeard was born looking like he planned on starting something, especially since he knew that Newgate’s first mate now lived there. It was only himself and a few select members of his crew, the ones who Tomura knew wouldn’t breathe a word about this place. 

“Nervous, Vice-Admiral?” Nitchell asked. His commander was gripping the rails of the ship hard enough his knuckles had turned white, his face set into an even deeper scowl than usual. He gave a little shrug when Delemur cut his eyes at him, lips pulling into a frown. 

“My little sister has been in the company of dangerous pirates for the past two and a half years. Of course, I’m nervous,” He snaps at the younger man. Tomura had let his imagination run rampant. Were you still the darling sister that he doted on all those years ago, or had you changed into something harder? He almost didn’t want to find out. 

Delemur didn’t care that Shanks and Mihawk had told him that they loved you. That you had apparently become important to them. He was your big brother, so he would trust your word on the matter, and if you even looked uncomfortable in their presence then he would scoop you up and run. 

It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time they had docked and made it to shore. The tiny port town was bustling with locals going about their business, and only spared him and his men a passing glance. Shanks had told them that there would be someone waiting for them at the edge of town, but once he got there, he wasn't expecting to see Marco the Phoenix waiting for them.

“Vice-Admeral Delemur,” Marco drawls almost lazily. He doesn’t like seeing the navy man on his island, but he knows that Tomura is one of the better marines and most likely wouldn’t try to cause any trouble for the locals. They’d never officially met before, since Tomura had never ventured too far into Whitebeard’s territory. 

“Marco the Phoenix,” Tomura rumbled back, “Where’s my sister?” 

The pirate doctor quirks his lips and crosses his arms. “Just up the hill a ways. Are you ready?”  

Tomura swallows and dips his head in a nod, forcing his hands to stop shaking, “As I’ll ever be.” 

He orders his men to disperse within the town. Delemur didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many people, after all, before he followed Marco up the hill. They walk for a while, passing by homey cottages until they come to a house that faces the sea. It’s small, though bigger than the cottage Tomura remembers from your island and looks freshly painted. There is a big shaggy dog lounging on the porch that perks up whenever they get closer, brown eyes looking them over before he barks to get the attention of his humans inside. 

Tomura waits, and then the door opens. He can’t help but scowl when the redheaded emperor struts out followed by the smarmy ex-warlord, but the look on his face morphs into astonishment when you follow the two men out. He wants to close the distance between the two of you and wrap you up in a hug so tight that you’d never escape from. Instead, he stands frozen, looking at you like one might a ghost. 

You flick your eyes over the man, taking in that white hair that makes you ache, the familiar shape of his jaw, and the brilliant green of his eyes. There is a vertical scar on the right side of his mouth that you don’t remember being there before. There are dark bags under his eyes, and you wonder if your brother had gotten any sleep while traveling here. You step off the porch, thankful that you’ve healed enough in the past three weeks that it took for him to get here. 

“Tomura?’ you say quietly, and that’s all it takes for the dam to break. The man is striding forward in an instant, sweeping you up into a hug and you wrap your own arms around him, hugging your brother as tightly as you can. Snow sprouts around you, your devil fruit reacting to the surge of emotions that make your head spin. 

“Gods, princess, It’s good to see you,” Tomura rasps against your hair, and you tear up, the old nickname a soft reminder that makes tears well up in your eyes. Your brother plows on before you can even think about getting a word in. 

“After I heard those rumors about you I had to come back, had to make sure that you were safe, but none of us got there in time. Did they hurt you? Have they hurt you?” 

You pull away at that, not liking what Tomura was trying to insinuate, and shake your head at him, a frown on your lips. 

“I’m fine, Tomura. I was with Big Mom only a couple of days and Katakuri made sure that I was comfortable,” you assure him, and then look behind you at your boys who stand ready to intervene if need be, “And those two would never hurt me.” 

Tomura frowns down at you, brows creased, “They're pirates, princess, dangerous ones. You never should have met them to begin with.” 

Shanks steps up, his usual friendly aura replaced by one of annoyance. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. He didn't think that Tomura would try and turn you against them, not that he thought it would work, mind you, but still, it chafed at the redhead. 

“Well, she did, so stop trying to make us out to be the bad guys. We're the ones who kept her company while you were too busy playing marine.” 

The tension in the air skyrocketed at that, and Tomura pulls his sister away from the redhead, stepping between them, “And she would have stayed safe if you'd not opened your fat mouth, you fuck.”

Mihawk narrows his eyes, about to step in and put a stop to his farce of a reunion, when you speak up, voice full of such disappointment that it makes his own heart race. 

“That is enough, Tomura. I wanted you here so that I could get to know you again, not so you could spit and argue like a damn cat. I might have stayed safe if Mihawk had never found me, but I would have stayed alone and hidden from the world until I died. You had twenty years to come and visit me, but you never did. You left me alone, stranded on that island with no one to talk to, no one to comfort me, and I was six! You don’t get to have a say in who I keep company with. You lost that privilege a long time ago.” 

Tomura stares at his little sister in shock, guilt eating at him. You weren’t wrong. He’d left you there and hadn’t even thought about paying you a visit, far too worried that the military would find out about you. Before he can try and defend himself, you soften and reach out to take his hand in your own, your fingers ice cold. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, big brother,” You say, and any ill intent that Tomura has deflated when you call him that, “I want to be a family, and you need to accept that they are a part of that.” 

Tomura takes a second to collect himself. It’s been over two decades, but he is still wrapped around your little finger. He deflates and smooths a hand over his face, giving you a weary smile that you return, “Okay, princess. No more fighting.” 

Mihawk saunters forward, taking up the space just behind you, “Glad to see that you’ve come to your senses, Vice-Admiral. Now, do you want to meet your niece or not?” 

You and Shanks cackle at the gob-smacked look that paints your brother’s face, only laughing harder when he looks at his sister for confirmation, and she nods her head, a smile stretching across her face. Marco steps up behind him and slaps his shoulder, grinning at the stunned man. 

“Don’t worry. You weren’t the only one surprised to know that these two powerhouses were having a baby. I’ll have to tell you about the first time Shanks tried to change her diaper.” 

Tomura grimaces at the imagery, and then he is being tugged inside the house, led through the living room, and to the nursery that’s been set up in the back. The room is painted a soft purple, and a rocking chair in the corner, and there, in the center of the room is a wooden bassinet. You lead him over to it, and Tomura stares down at the new member of his family. 

She is beautiful, her hair a fluffy red just a shade darker than her father’s, those eyes an exact copy of the ex-warlord’s, but everything else was you. Tomura still remembered what you looked like as a babe, the joy on mother's face when she had shown you to him for the first time. There would be no argument over who her parents would be. 

“What’s her name?” He asks and reaches out, trailing his fingertips over the red fluff of her hair, and smiling when the babe gurgles at him. 

“Joyeuse,” you murmur beside him, and lean into his side, your hand joining his own, “Mihawk came up with it.” 

“It’s a fitting name,” Tomura says, and you beam at your big brother. It gladdened you to see that Joy already had her uncle wrapped around her pinky. You knew that any bad blood between him and your lovers would settle in time, though you could still foresee some tense moments happening. But even with the tension, having your brother here makes you happy, your family finally all together. 

----

The next couple of weeks are filled with getting to know your brother again, and after a while, Tomura grudgingly begins to get along with Shanks and Mihawk. The three men could be found playing cards with some of the redhead’s crew on lazy days, you watching from the front porch and entertaining Joyeuse with your devil fruit. However, at some point, Tomura needs to leave, to go back to the navy. 

Joyeuse had cried that day on the docks when your family had gathered to say goodbye to her uncle, and you had given him a teary-eyed hug, the babe pressed between the two of you. 

“I promise to visit, princess,” Tomura swears quietly and presses a kiss to Joy’s brow who fusses and scowls up at him like it was his fault that she was upset. 

“You better,” You grumble at him, and then he is pulling away with a wave of his hand. You watched him board the small ship he’d arrived on, and then he was gone, disappearing as the waves pushed him further away from you. 

Mihawk steps close behind you, his hand coming up to cup your waist as he bends to press a kiss to the side of your head, “He’ll be back, my love.” 

You press into his side with a sigh, “I know. I just miss him already.” 

The ex-warlord hums and leads you back through town and up the hill to home where Shanks is waiting for the three of them. Perona takes Joyeuse, assuring them that she can keep the babe entertained while they have some alone time. Tomura wasn’t the only one who would need to leave soon. 

You find Shanks packing a small bag in the bedroom, and your heart lurches at the knowledge that the redhead had to leave as well. Benn had gotten a call last week, and some of the islands under their protection had been raided by an upstart pirate crew thinking that they had found easy pickings. Shanks and his crew were to leave the next morning to go take care of the other pirates. It would be the first time that the redhead would be gone for more than a few hours. 

Shanks smiles when he spots you and stands, opening his arm for you to fall into his side, pressing your face into his chest. Mihawk sits on the bed, watching his two lovers with heavy eyes. He did not wish for Shanks to leave, either, but he knew that with being an emperor, Shanks would always have a responsibility to the people that he claimed under his flag. 

They were still working on finding proper accommodations for you and Joyeuse to call home. While Sphinx was peaceful, you weren’t a fan of the history behind it. Even though it stayed a poor island, people far and wide on the Grand Line would come to visit the island where Edward Newgate was born. He had hoped that Shanks would find a suitable island to stay at.

“I don’t want you to go,” You whine softly against the redhead and clutch him tightly. Everything was perfect right now. You and Joy were safe where you could lavish in your boys’ attention whenever you wanted, and the three of you had just grown closer over the weeks that you were all together.

Shanks sighs and pulls you over to the bed where he flops back, taking you with him and laying his head on Mihawk’s thigh. The other man cards a hand through that red hair, gently scratching his scalp with blunt nails. You shift so that you are draped over him, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

“I know baby, and I wouldn’t if this wasn’t important,” Shanks murmurs softly. He hates that he has to leave you right after your brother, but he can’t let some rando pirate crew think that they could encroach on his territory, “You’ll have Mihawk to keep you company, though, and Perona.” 

You know that Mihawk and the pinkette would be here, but it doesn’t make you any less upset that Shanks has to go. You’ve gotten used to having everyone around you, and it hurts to see them leave. You feel him adjust under you, his lips finding the side of your throat and nipping the sensitive skin there lightly. You shiver and rise up to see Shanks looking at you with half-lidded dark eyes, a mischievous smirk on his face, “How about I give you something to remember me by while I’m gone, sweetheart?” 

You flush, heat burning your lower stomach, and you move to sit up, eager for his attention. This was the first time that you’d have the chance to be intimate with either man, for if it wasn’t Tomura stealing your attention, then it was Joyeuse crying for you. You hadn’t minded either, but it had left little time for the three of you to have any kind of alone time. 

“Please?”

Shanks shuffles off of Mihawk so that he lays at the head of the bed. His cock is already hard and aching for you, and he quickly shucks his pants off with an excited grin. The other man shifts to lay on his side, content with watching his two lovers play with one another. You stand to strip off your pants and shirt before you shuffle back up the bed, thighs pressing in on either side of Shanks’ hips. You lean down, lips meeting the redhead's with a soft sigh. 

His tongue presses forward, stroking against your lips and you happily open up for him, tongue meeting his own in a dance of slick muscles. His hand grips your hip, pulling you down as he rocks up into your awaiting heat. You groan and nip his bottom lip, pulling away to smirk down at your lover.  

“Ride his face, darling,” Mihawk rumbles beside the two of you, and you shudder at the thought, pussy clenching around nothing. Shanks makes an eager sound and shuffles a bit down the bed so that you would have more room. Carefully, you scoot forward, knees resting around his head as you hover over him. Mihawk leans forward to watch, eyes bright with interest when Shanks curls his arm around your hip and jerks you down.

“Sit, baby. I'm not gonna break,” Shanks rumbles and you gasp when he licks up your folds, tongue swirling around your clit and making you see stars. Your hands grip the bed frame, head hanging low as your hips snap forward, seeking that delicious pleasure. The redhead groans, pointing his tongue so that he can pierce your leaking cunt. 

The ex-warlord watches in rapt attention, watching Shanks tongue fuck you, watching the way you shake and shiver above the emperor, back arching from pleasure when the redhead suctions his lips around your clit and sucks harshly. You wail, thighs shaking as you come from the suddenness of it, slick coating your folds that Shanks happily licks away with a whine of his own. 

You pull away from the redhead when it becomes too much, and thankfully Shanks allows it. You shift back down the bed, taking his aching length in hand and stroking it from base to tip, free hand pressing against his chest as you lift yourself and then slide down with a hiss through clenched teeth, stuffing yourself with his cock. You don't give yourself much time to adjust, the sting of his girth still present when you roll your hips, groaning when he slips that much deeper. 

“That's it darling rock your hips, make him come undone,” Mihawk rumbles to your left, and you dip your head in a distracted nod, your legs and core working to bounce you up and down the pulsing length inside of you. You crack your eyes open, looking down to see the redhead reach out to grip your hip, his teeth clenched shut as if he was holding himself back from taking control. 

“Fuck, baby,” Shanks croons and he adjusts his legs, scooting his feet up to put you at an angle so that he can snap his hips up, making you gasp and whine when the tip of his cock nudges against that sensitive deep inside of you. He feels you clench around him, feather-soft walls fluttering around his cock and dragging him deeper when you bend forward, resting your brow against his collarbone. He wraps his arm around your lower back, keeping you close as he pistons his hips up, slamming home at a breakneck pace until you are crying out, clenching and shuttering against him as you come. 

Shanks isn't far behind, teeth bared in a snarl, and he pushes as deep as he can go, spilling inside of you and filling your cunt to the brim. You are panting above him, brow furrowed as you slowly sit up, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest. You feel hands gently pushing your hair away from your sweaty brow, and give Mihawk a weak, sappy little grin in return. Carefully, you crawl off your lover and fall to the side with a grunt, your body feeling rung out and exhausted. Shanks rolls so that he can cuddle against you, and Mihawk eases from the bed, a satisfied smirk on his face at seeing his darlings curled up together. 

---

Three weeks after Shanks leaves, you and Mihawk are out on the front porch enjoying cups of steaming tea while Joyeuse naps, when he hears his snail transponder ringing. The two of you share a look, one bemused and the other annoyed before the ex-warlord sighs heavily and stands to go and retrieve the transponder before it wakes Joyeuse. He doesn’t answer the phone until he is back outside, leg crossed over the other. 

Ca-lick

“Mihawk speaking.”

“Mihawk, it’s Crocodile. I heard what happened to your island, bad business that.” 

You perk up, brows going to your hairline as you listen in on the conversation. Mihawk cocks a brow at the transponder. Out of everyone who could have called, he hadn’t expected his fellow ex-warlord to be one of them. 

“Yes, it was rather unfortunate. I was fond of the place, but luckily I wasn’t there when the navy raided the island. Is there a reason why you’re calling?” 

They hear Crocodile laugh on the other end, and then the sound of a strangled squawk that sounds oddly familiar. 

“No beating around the bush with you, eh Hawkeye. Anyway, with the warlords being disbanded, it’s come to my attention that you and I are one in the same. Neither of us trusts easily, so I think that it would be beneficial for us to work together.”

You look at Mihawk in slight alarm. While you weren’t about to ban him from doing what he wanted, you refused to put your daughter into harm's way, and working with Crocodile sounded like it would bring more attention to you and yours than you wanted. Mihawk catches your look and waves a hand, silently telling you to calm down, which you scowl at. 

“And why would I even want to consider that?” 

Crocodile huffs on the other end, the snail rolling its eyes. 

“To create our perfect utopia, of course. The Navy wouldn’t take an organization headed by us lightly. After all, they used to call you ‘Marine Hunter’.” 

Mihawk huffs at the usage of the old name. It’s been years since he had gone by that title, but he can’t deny that the other man speaks the truth. They would make a very formidable pair even without the influence Shanks would inevitably have, “I have better things to do than play at being leader to some ramshackle organization, Crocodile. All I desire is a peaceful life, you know this.” 

“And that’s what the clown is for. He’s been made emperor, so we already have a figurehead to fall back on if things don’t go our way. I’ve got it all planned out.” 

In the back ground they hear another squawk, and this time a voice comes through. 

“Don’t listen to this maniac, Hawkeye! He’s crazy!” 

You can’t help but snort at the sudden interruption, eyes going wide, and you can’t help but wonder if this clown is the same one that Shanks likes to talk about. You couldn’t deny that you wanted to meet him, especially since he was connected to one of your boys.

“Oh, have I interrupted something, Hawkeye?” 

There is a teasing edge to the other man’s voice, and Mihawk narrows his eyes at the snail transponder, “You have actually. I-”

Crocodile cuts him off. 

“This something must be why you continued to disappear for weeks at a time, hmm? Rumors spread like wildfire, Hawkeye, and I’ve heard all about the woman you and Red-Haired Shanks absconded with. Quite the scandal, really.”  

Your heart goes still in your chest, and you share a wide-eyed look with your lover. You knew that it was a possibility that your presence would become more prominent, your lover's were very prominent people after all, but you didn't think it would be so soon. It's only been three months since they found you, and Joy was only around nine weeks. Why couldn't this have come up later, maybe when Joy wasn't an infant? You tune back in when Crocodile speaks again. 

“I'm not threatening you, Hawkeye. I'm simply stating that if I know, then surely the Navy knows as well. What's the saying? Strength in numbers and all that.” 

Mihawk is silent, expression shuddering into a furious expression that makes you shiver. It's rare that anything gets under the ex-warlord’s skin, and this obviously has. He can tell that he is being manipulated by the other man, but at the same time, Crocodile has given nothing but good points so far. As much as he would like, he wouldn't be able to stay here indefinitely, there were still things that he was responsible for, and that would leave you alone. Which was unacceptable after the last time you were left alone. Would he rather risk you being taken again, this time you and his daughter, or would he rather be surrounded by like-minded individuals who would most likely keep the two of you safe? 

Before he can come up with an answer, Crocodile speaks up, tone unusually soft and understanding. 

“Think about it, Hawkeye. You have my number once you come to a decision.”

Ca-lick

The silence is deafening between you, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from saying anything when Mihawk stands, drops the snail, and begins to pace back and forth. You watch him, leg jiggling in anxiousness, and you want more than anything to ask if he is okay, but anyone at that moment could tell that the answer would be no. You are tempted to go inside and retrieve Joyeuse, just to bring yourself some comfort with her soft skin and grabby hands, but the babe doesn't deserve to be in the middle of whatever this is. 

Mihawk is currently in the throes of a mental war. This… organization would keep you and Joyeuse safe, if he was willing to trust Crocodile, Buggy the Clown of all people. Which, granted, he was more inclined to trust the clown on the principle of him having grown up with Shanks on Roger's crew. They were brothers, and if there was one person that Buggy wouldn't betray, it was the redhead. 

But would you be okay with moving to an island filled with unknown pirates? Surrounded by criminals who most likely came from Impel Down? He didn't like the thought of it, but at least there would be others beside him there that could offer you protection, offer you companionship beyond what he and Shanks could provide. It'd also have the added bonus of pissing your brother off, and Mihawk lived for that. 

“Mihawk?” 

Your voice cuts through his internal conflict, and he turns to you, marching forward and kneeling at your side, taking both your hands in his own, “Darling, what do you think?” 

You chew your lip, brow furrowed in thought. Would it be something bad to be surrounded by other people? To have a community, that safety in numbers like Crocodile mentioned? You didn't know, but there wouldn't be a final decision until Shanks was in the know, too.

“Call Shanks. I want his opinion. He's talked about Buggy before, so I'm inclined to trust him, but I don't know anything about Crocodile.”

Mihawk reaches over and snags the snail, rattling off the number for Shanks. It doesn’t take long for the redhead to answer.

Ca-lick

“Mihawk? Everything okay?” 

Mihawk rolls his eyes and shares a fond look with you at the concern the two of you can hear in the emperor’s voice. 

“Everything is fine, Red. Something has come up, however, and we needed to speak with you about it.” 

You listen as Mihawk tells him about Crocodile calling him and the offer to head this organization with the other ex-warlord. He makes sure to mention that Buggy was there in the background but hadn’t said much on account of Crocodile hogging the call. Shanks is quiet on the other end, and if they were with him, you would see the excitement that lingered in his eyes. 

To Shanks, to know that the man, who was his brother in everything but blood, becoming part of his steadily growing family was something that he didn’t realize that he even wanted. 

“Well, I don't think it's a bad idea. I trust Buggy, and Crocodile has always had a soft spot for children. I think it should be up to _, though. She'd be the one alone with them when neither of us can be there.” 

You swallow harshly and then put on a brave face. If Shanks thought it wasn't a bad idea, and Mihawk seemed rather fond of it anyway, then the least you could do was try. 

“I- okay. If that's what you two think is best. I trust my boys to make the right call for me and Joyeuse,” you say and squeeze Mihawk's hand, sending him a tight-lipped smile. 

“We wouldn't do anything to put either of you in danger, baby. I think this will be good for all of us.” 

It certainly took a weight off of Shanks to know that someone he trusted would be able to look after you when he or Mihawk wasn't there with you. And for as much damage Crocodile had done to Luffy when the strawhats had made it to Alabasta, the ex-warlord had helped him escape Impel Down and even protected the boy he cared so much for during the Summit War. 

“He's right for once, darling. If you are ever uncomfortable or don't feel safe enough, then we'll find somewhere else,” Mihawk murmurs and ignores the indignant Hey! on the other end of the line. 

You laugh, easily imagining the pout that Shanks is no doubt wearing. You feel more relaxed at your decision now that you've spoken to both of them more about this, the easy teasing between the three of you settling something in your chest. You talk with Shanks and while longer, the redhead tells you about how easily he'd dealt with the upstart pirates and how he would most likely be home in the next week. 

After Shanks hangs up, Mihawk dials Crocodile's transponder snail. While you listen to them talk, you feel like this is a new chapter in your life, a new beginning to share with your boys and the little girl they have given you. You couldn't wait to see what happened next.

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

[damthosefandoms]

Hard as a rock and about as human.

(ao3 link) (wip post)

Summary:

Soda & Darry want to know where their brother is.

---

The clock is ticking in the kitchen. Ponyboy is out past curfew. With Dally. The door creaks open, and Darry stands up so fast he nearly falls over. Sodapop walks in, and if he wasn’t freaking out so badly about Pony, maybe Darry would’ve caught the look on his brother’s face.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me?” Soda says. His eyes are red and puffy. He’s been crying again. “Why’re you makin’ that face?”

“Pony ain’t back yet,” Darry mutters. “Close the door, you’ll let in bugs.”

Soda does, slowly. He walks over, kinda keeping his head down. Looking anywhere but at Darry.

“Normally I’d be worried too, but actually that kind of works out, ‘cause I have to tell you something I don’t want him to know about yet. I mean…”

He kicks at the throw rug with his foot. “I told him a little last night, but he prolly thinks I was just daydreamin’ and that’s for the best.”

Darry watches him carefully. Oh, so now he’s paying attention. 

“What’s goin’ on? You went out with Steve and the girls tonight, didn’t you? Did something happen?”

“I asked Sandy to marry me tonight.”

Darry laughs, a quick, sharp thing. It stings. He doesn’t get it. Ponyboy didn’t either, but he’s fourteen, only been fourteen for a month. He didn’t need to yet.

“You’re dreamin’ Sodapop. You might’ve dropped outta school this year, but you two are way too young for—”

“She’s pregnant.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute, the only sound the clock ticking in the background and the crickets outside. Just the two of them standing there processing the information.

Darry starts to raise a hand, to hold up a finger in a “wait a minute” kind of gesture, and he moves his mouth like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out. Soda’s heart hurts in his chest and he tries not to start bawling right there in front of his big brother.

“Well, it don’t matter, anyway. Sandy doesn’t know if it’s mine or not. And if it is it still don’t matter ‘cause her folks are livid. They’re makin’ her move to Florida to live with her grandmother or somethin’, and she dumped me so I’ll never get to see her again, or the baby at all, and she’s leavin’ tomorrow afternoon, and if you could not lose your mind at me I’d really ‘preciate it ‘cause I feel like worse than garbage already.”

He really fights not to let the tears spill over, and granted he does a good job of not breaking down, but some do fall. Darry looks like he will blow any second now, but he just breathes in, breathes out, closes his eyes, and says in a very calculated and careful voice:

“Ponyboy went out with Dally tonight and he is not back yet. We will talk about this later when I know he is not dead.”

They do not get a chance to talk about it later, and they do not find out for a week if their baby brother is or isn’t dead.

---

“Don’t, Dare. The last thing he wants right now is you chasing after him.”

“He got jumped yesterday! He got jumped yesterday and you’re just gonna let him go out there alone?”

“He probably just went back to find Johnny. He’s probably just out in the lot. Look, it’s not like you never slept out there, and don’t give me that look because I know you’ve done so much worse.”

“He wasn’t wearing a coat. He’ll freeze to death, Soda.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m going to look for him. You stay here in case he calls.”

Soda goes to grab his coat, and grabs an extra one for Ponyboy. He heads out to the empty lot first; it’s right across the street from their house. There’s an old backstop and the remnants of a baseball diamond, and Soda can just picture Two-Bit and Steve bitching at each other about whose fault it is Steve hit their last baseball over the fence into the junkyard. 

“Johnny was supposed to catch it!” 

“You hit a fly ball to a kid who’s never even dreamed of playing little league, what do you MEAN he was supposed to catch it?”

“The hell are you talkin’ about? None of us can afford little league!”

All he finds are the smoldering embers of a long-since-abandoned fire, but no sign of his brother or Johnny and that starts to worry him. He heads up the street to Johnny’s house, and can hear Mr. and Mrs. Cade screaming at each other. It’s no wonder they went to the lot instead. No way his boys are in there, so he pulls his jacket on tighter and keeps walking.

Two-Bit’s not home yet, but his mother answers the door and after chiding him for waking up her daughter this late by ringing the doorbell, she tells Soda she hasn’t seen the boys.

“I’m sorry, hun. I’ll let you know if I hear anything in the morning, alright?”

She won’t. She’s got three jobs, the only person he knows that tops Darry’s record for working their ass off to support a family. She’ll forget to call. He can’t blame her though; most parents on this side of town aren’t willing to help in the slightest.

He walks another block down and checks Steve’s bedroom window, just in case the boys went in. He and Two-Bit usually leave their windows unlocked just in case Dally or Johnny need a place to stay the night, just like how Darry leaves the door unlocked for anyone who needs it. They’re not there, and neither is Steve, but Soda knew that he wouldn’t. He went home earlier in the night with Evie and probably slept over there. 

Sodapop checks his watch. If it’s working right (and there’s a good chance it’s not), then it’s almost three in the morning now, he’s dead tired, and he’s starting to freak out. He thinks Dally taught Johnny how to pick locks once; he heads towards the DX. Maybe they snuck into the store for food or something. Neither of them know how to drive; they can’t have gotten that far. And god, it’s not only his little brother missing now. It’s the other kid they all made an unspoken promise to protect. 

Real shit job he’s doing of that, he thinks, as a late-night freight train blares its horn in the distance. Soda can’t help but shudder at the sound.

He finds Tim Shepard parked there at the gas station, sitting on the hood of his car with the puffy beginnings of a black eye and poking at his bloody nose with a paper towel. Soda asks if he’s seen his brother around.

“Ponyboy or Darrel?”

“Pony.”

“Yeah, I saw him earlier at the drive-in. He was with Two-Bit and that Johnny kid, an’ a couple of soc girls. Can’t imagine that went well.”

“Whaddya mean? I thought they went there with Dally.”

“Didn’t ya hear me? Soc girls. That spells trouble.”

Sodapop rolls his eyes. Girls are girls. Unless they’re Sandy…

He tries not to think about how his own night had just gone.

“It isn’t yours. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, I’ll marry you anyway. I love you, Sandy.”

“I’m leaving, Sodapop, and there isn’t a thing you or I or anyone can do about it, do you hear me?” 

“Do you know where they are now or not?”

“Nah. But I can tell you they ain’t with Dallas. Jackass slashed my tires tonight ‘cause they all told him to screw off or somethin’. I got ‘im back, though. Pretty sure I busted his ribs. You need anythin’ else, Sodapop, or can I go back to licking my wounds?”

Soda thanks Tim for nothing and heads for the nearest payphone, to call Darry for a ride.

Darry picks him up ten minutes later and they drive around for a bit, eventually finding Two-Bit wandering around in the dark, drunk as a skunk. From what they can get out of him, he dropped the boys off by Johnny’s house around midnight, and he figured they were going home. Everything else that comes out of his mouth is slurred gibberish, so they give him a ride back to his house and watch to make sure he gets inside alright.

The only person they can’t seem to track down is Dally.

He shows up at their house late the next afternoon, walking right in without a care in the world, rubbing his wrists. They’re a little cut up.

“Hey Darry, where’s the first aid kit? Damn cuffs always leave a mark on me.”

“That’s ‘cause you make ‘em, Dal,” Darry says, but he goes to find it, anyway. “You’re not supposed to struggle in ‘em. Kind of the whole point. Why’d the cops take you in?”

“Yeah, Dal, you do anythin’ last night ‘sides piss off Tim Shepard and lose our little brother?” Soda calls from the kitchen, where he’s been sitting with Steve and Two-Bit. 

“You took him and Johnny out. Now we find out Two-Bit walked them and some soc girls home and nearly got jumped in the process.” 

Darry comes back out with the first aid kit. He pulls Dally into the kitchen and drags him right to the sink so he can clean his wrists up. He’s Soda and Pony’s big brother first, but these days, he’s everyone else’s big brother second.

Dally looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Soda. He doesn’t exactly answer the question. “They dragged me in for questioning, man. You guys… you ain’t seen the news yet?”

“Why?” Darry asks. “What’s—”

But Steve’s reaching over and pulling the folded-up newspaper out of Dally’s back pocket, and he opens it up, scanning the page a little. Soda can’t see the front from this angle, but Steve’s eyes go wide and he reads aloud,

“Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis are wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Robert Shel—”

“MURDER?!?”

As he yells, Darry accidentally squeezes Dally’s wrist so hard the scrapes from the handcuffs start to bleed again.

“You got my kid brother wrapped up in a murder?!?” 

“I didn’t do shit!” Dally shouts, yanking his hand away. He gives Darry a look, and grabs a towel for his arm. Darry just stares down at the sink, but he’s clearly still listening.

His hands are shaking. Soda rips the paper from his best friend’s hands and stares at the pictures on the front—the one of Johnny is blurry and Soda has no idea where it came from. Pony’s picture is the same as the one taped up on their fridge—it’s from school picture day last fall, before their parents died, the last time they could afford to have that done.

“I just got brought in for questioning! I had no clue what was goin’ on ‘til this morning! I spent the night at Buck Merrill’s after I got into that scrap with Tim,” Dally says, and then he winces in pain. 

“You know, you oughta watch your strength there, Darrel. You could really hurt somebody without meanin’ to.”

That catches Soda’s attention. 

“What do you know, Dallas?” he asks.

“Whaddya mean, what do I know? I just told ya what I know.”

Except Soda and Darry aren’t humoring him anymore. They’re tired, they’re scared, and they’ve had enough of this shit.

“Where’s our brother?” Darry says in an eerily calm tone, and suddenly everybody in the room remembers Dally isn’t the only really scary one in the gang. “What the hell do you know about where Ponyboy was last night?”

Dally can take it, though. He didn’t spent three years on the streets of New York for nothing. He sneers at Darry.

“Your kid brother an’ Johnny Cade were out at the park when a buncha socs showed up drunk an’ it started to get messy. You wanna tell me why the hell Ponyboy was out that late when you’re s’posed to have him on a tight leash?”

“I don’t think that’s important anymore,” Darry lies.

“I sure as hell do.” 

Dally takes a step forward. Darry balls his fists.

“Darrel, c’mon,” Soda pleads. Don’t let them fight here, not now. “Please. You tell him what you did or I will. It’s not like we can take it back anyway.”

Darry blinks, and he looks around the room at all of his friends and his little brother, and Soda’s right. He ducks his head low. All the fight drains out of him.

“I… I hit him. I didn’t mean it.”

“You hit him.”

Darry nods. Soda can’t look at him. 

“You hit him. You didn’t mean it. You—” Dally barks out a laugh. 

“You think you’re so high and mighty, Darrel Curtis, but you’re just shit grease just like everyone else, just like Johnny’s parents. No wonder those boys chose to run rather than face the fact that Johnny killed a guy tryna save Pony’s life.”

Two-Bit’s the one to say it. 

“Johnny did what?”

It’s suddenly all real. It takes a couple minutes to sink in. And then Soda stands up and goes to grab his coat and the car keys, and Steve asks where he’s going.

“I’m going after them. Dare?”

His brother doesn’t hesitate. 

“Right behind you.” 

Darry lets the door slam shut behind them.

---

After hours of driving and phone calls and finding absolutely nothing, it’s well past midnight and Darry pulls the car over, puts his head down on the wheel, and tries not to scream. Sodapop glances over at him and sighs.

“You okay?”

“What the hell do you think?” Darry snaps, but he apologizes immediately. Soda forgives him. Forty-eight hours of not knowing what happened to your baby brother tends to wear on you.

“I can’t stop thinking. I know Ponyboy’s got a damn good heart. And there’s something… if we could just keep him on the right track he could go far, get out of the East Side. But no matter what I do, he just fights back and pushes me away. It feels like I've run this whole family right into the ground. Maybe… maybe you’d both be better off without me.” 

“Dare—”

“I don’t know what else to do, Soda! I lost our brother. I hit him! I’m no better than Johnny’s old man. I’m not cut out for this shit, and it’s harder now than ever. The cops are looking for him. If we find him, or if he comes back now, they’ll come for him. Even if he gets off easy, they’ll take him away from us. They’ll take you, too, Soda. And I don’t want to be… Pepsi, I can’t do this. I oughta just throw in the towel.”

“Don’t talk like that. There ain’t no way of knowin’ what’s gonna happen. You think I can’t see everything you’re doin’? Making dinner, paying overdue bills we can’t afford just to keep the lights on… I don’t know what we’d do if you weren’t around. Look, I need you, Darrel. And anyone could see that Pony does too. You’re our brother. You’re our damn lifeline.”

Darry tries to shake him off, but Soda persists, refusing to back down from his older brother. 

“I already lost Sandy this week, and now Ponyboy, and I can’t lose my big brother too. I know you love him, no matter what he thinks. We’ve just gotta get him home and show him that. We can deal with the rest when it comes.”

 “What if it—”

“You know what Mama would say right now?”

“What?”

“That you’ve got a horrible case of the what-ifs.”

That makes Darry smile, even just a little. He buries his face into Soda’s shoulder and they both do their best not to cry.

[hyunjinswrld]

Serendipity — hyunjin smau

04. reunion

(mini flashback)

Y/n had always dreamed of becoming a K-pop idol. The rigorous training, the dazzling performances, the adoration of fans it all seemed so perfect.

But as she stepped deeper into the world of stardom, something unexpected began to happen. She started to drift away from the people she loved the most her three best friends, Chaewon, Kazuha, and Sakura.

It hadn’t been intentional, not at first. At first, it was just late night rehearsals, early morning schedules, and a growing list of commitments.

But soon, Y/n found herself pushing them away, canceling plans, and making excuses. She started spending more time with her new idols-turned-friends, leaving behind the girls who had once been her constants.

The last straw was when Chaewon, Kazuha, and Sakura reached out, trying to reconnect, but Y/n snapped at them.

In that moment, she didn’t recognize the person she had become. The coldness in her voice, the sharpness in her words it all felt like a lifetime ago, but in that instant, it was real.

Years had passed since the fight. Y/n's heart weighed heavy with regret, and her isolation from them felt unbearable. She missed them, more than she cared to admit. But the pride in her heart kept her from reaching out. The walls she built around herself had become too high, too thick.

(end of flashback)

Y/n found herself walking into the small, cozy coffee shop. The familiar scent of coffee and pastries filled the air, and as she stood by the counter, her eyes landed on three familiar figures sitting by the window. Chaewon, Kazuha, and Sakura. They hadn’t changed much, though there was a quiet sadness in their expressions as they glanced up and saw her standing there.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Y/n’s heart raced. She had been dreading this moment, yet now that it was here, all the anger and resentment from before seemed distant. The silence between them felt heavier than the weight of her guilt.

Sakura stood up first, her expression soft, though her eyes betrayed the hurt she felt. "Y/n..." she said softly, almost unsure.

Kazuha followed, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion. "We’ve missed you," she said, her gaze holding Y/n’s.

Y/n swallowed hard. The words she had rehearsed in her head vanished. There was no grand apology, no perfect explanation. Just raw, unfiltered emotion. "I’m sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I... I don’t know what happened. I just got caught up in everything, and I—"

Chaewon’s eyes softened, and she shook her head. "It’s okay. We’re not mad anymore. But it hurt... a lot." Her voice was quiet, but there was a certain warmth there now, a willingness to move past it.

Y/n took a tentative step toward them, her eyes stinging with tears. "I never meant to hurt any of you. You were my family. You were always there for me when I had nothing. But I... I thought that if I focused on my career, I’d be enough. I thought I didn’t need anyone."

Kazuha reached out and placed a gentle hand on Y/n’s. "You didn’t have to choose, Y/n. We can be a part of your life, too. We always will be, no matter what. But you need to let us in. We wanted to support you, not just from the sidelines."

The words hung in the air, and Y/n felt the weight of them sink into her chest. For the first time in so long, she felt a sense of relief. She wasn’t alone. She had made mistakes, but they were willing to forgive her. She could rebuild what she had broken.

Sakura smiled softly, her eyes glistening. "We’re not perfect either, Y/n we all make mistakes but we’re here, right now, because we want to make things right."

Y/n felt a lump form in her throat as she looked at her friends her real friends who were still standing here, still wanting her in their lives. She took a deep breath, then smiled. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

Chaewon, Kazuha, and Sakura all smiled back at her, and in that moment, all the distance, the hurt, the silence, seemed to fade away.

It was a new beginning, one that would require time, effort, and understanding but it was worth it.

prev - main - next

SYNOPSIS : after y/n quits life as an idol to find herself what she doesn’t expect to find is great friends and….. love.

Taglist (open) - @estella-novella @fackeraccount @bookishcaptain @qwonyoung23 @circus-of-thoughts @hwangrfrnd @ddroh @emilywjinnie @lisaswifey @sellomaybe @dylanobr1ens @hanniesbubuwife

@hyunjinswrld do not steal, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[candiedspit]

In the afternoons, I taste blue.

A deep itch in my mouth as the hills roll back their beautiful white eyes, the lashes of hay are vibrant and young. A young girl in the bay hales and grabs ropes of straw, full of dreams. Another swig of ale. The soft breaststroke of sunlight against the canvas as my hand goes numb, the dumbest horse on the racetrack, the palest of moons. I await sunset that atomic soundless bloodbath, a weightless aria of reds and the high tone of orange mingled in the stomach of the big mother; the vast spectrum of colors awash in heat. I reach for the beer again. I dazzle the stripes.

A portrait of the scene, the afternoon plastered there like a photograph of which does not exist yet.

I can’t explain it. There are no words. But sometimes, I can see beyond the plains, beyond the fragrant sweeping hills, beyond the mumbling skyline into a world built around a tweaking electric pulse, the shimmering and crackling blues of the future. So many colors there. Here, a sleepy cabin lost in the tendrils of deep yellow and the sirens of green.

At times like these, I think about Sien; her deep brood, the fragility of her movements, even the fabric of her dress weighing her down as did everything. She was an angel lost to the elements, her head burning like a candle. We had that fire in common. When I would paint, she would sit across from me knitting and hunched into her own personal void. I favored her company over the brutalist scoundrels at the bars, slinging paint like axes, hoping to make pictures but never getting the angle quite right. The ghettos of black and the righteousness of lilac. The dark roast of red. How red can speed.

Once, a thunderstorm passed through. The rain fell like commandments. I wrangled my things and tried to capture the fits of grayed, violent clouds that seemed to grow enormously into massive, angered knots. The grumbling of thunder following attacks of white striking the ground.

I always wondered what would happen if you got struck by the bolt. If perhaps for a moment, as the light punctures your naked flesh, made an artifact of you, you might realize the smallness of your gifts, the rudeness of your light, the littleness of your love.

You loved her and it was not enough; the river held her in ways you could not and perhaps, you realize, God would not take you. Perhaps you could be an angel, pristine and kind and unmoving and modest and still, the light would not take you. Christ would not save you. And you were to be left on Earth, to witness the buds and knolls and dark bunches of dirt. You were the witness and the lifts of mood and descents were all for the goodness of your witnessing, necessary even. To see the arches in the grass, the folds in the skies, the gorgeous kneeling of the clouds.

And perhaps it was you all along. You, the servant of the marigolds. You, the alcoholic florist, the smeared man, the scream in the street, the tender criminal. You, the man soaked in his clothes, living on granules of tobacco and green ale and infrequent toasts. When the incoherent passages of blistering madness come over you and when, at long last, the world makes some sense and when the strangers conform to pretty blurs and the pictures come as fists come in fluorescent and exact, absolute clarity and when the words rain out of your livid mouth and when you are standing in a field reciting verses and feeling the great vibrations of songs in the ground and all around you and when you are alone and the walls begin to shrink and wobble like drunken sailors and when the fine and perfect colors combat your vision, rapture your pupils and replace your void, when the love grows larger than what you are capable of holding—you must turn to the brush, you must keep the details, you must be witness to what it is you are seeing! — Time passes like grazing sheep; the days are long and the nights are cold.

You hum along to the persistent conversations. You drink ale. You smoke pipes. You meander to the bars when the grouch of loneliness hangs on your back like a spider monkey; you mother the loneliness. Sometimes, you cannot understand what it is you are doing on Earth. You grind your fingernails down. You swallow the pulp. You beckon the sunrise like a maestro and the process is laborious and difficult. But the colors keep you awake.

Theo worries, lingers in the doorways and lays in your bed, touches your cold sweat, calls your childhood names. He knows the storms you stand in. But he also sees the colors, too. Sometimes, a mere glance. Other times, he is swarmed by the metallic and operatic blues and the sullen orange.

It is winter when you lose your ear; all the snow outside erases the buildings and hides the architecture. The wind is brittle. And you are lost in a white current. The hospital calms you. A few days afterward, you know not to fiddle with the bandage. Sometimes, you do not understand a thing. — A motherhood of daisies. — The gun is a horrid black. The boys are young, still pink and bird-like but brimming with a meanness. A hard shove. A toss of limbs. And I am on the ground where I remain when the shot brims out, as my body braces for the impact. I merge into the strange light as the blood urges from my side.

I saw the braids of stars, once. A collection of pinpricks. The same light I see when I see the future. I taste iron. The skies are tackled with a disease of huge blues. The grass is quiet.

I merge into the blood, the red like a stream of poppies.

[lunalivvy]

listen, LISTEN- i will forever be a sydcarmy truther, sydcarmy endgame is my main priority BUT.. sydluca do have me clutching my pearls a little i’m not gonna lie, im kind of all for it 😭😭

[bluebeardsfinalgirl]

i need them to get megan thee stallion to play akasha on amc iwtv

[paparoach]

i want david powers in dbd so bad.

[maxdibert]

But she manages to spark socially with a pureblood marriage, which can be seen as her being a social climber. Snape would not have to escape even through marriage, as his Muggle name would be propagated.

This is incredibly interesting because it ties into the patriarchal view of society in which women are objects whose value is determined through the male gaze. If a man (who holds the economic, social, and political power within the class society) chooses you, then you gain value despite your origins. In fact, precisely because men hold this power, they could make exceptions and marry women of lower social rank, as they were the ones to pass down the surname, titles, and inheritances. This wasn’t the case for women. Women’s primary goal was to find husbands of equal or higher social status, first because their validity depended on their ability to become “eligible” and be “good matches,” but also because their social position depended entirely on their husbands.

Thus, choosing a partner of lower status meant social ruin. Women were not active subjects in marriage but passive participants; the only choice they had was the “least bad” husband who could provide them with a comfortable and secure future—but above all, social and economic stability. This is a dynamic we can extrapolate to Lily and James, and it makes sense because, despite Lily coming from a working-class, industrial area, she is clearly above Severus socially. He belonged to a strata so low that he couldn’t even afford his own clothes. Let’s not forget that Petunia refers to him disparagingly as “that Snape boy from Spinner’s End.” This might go unnoticed by many readers, but in a class society influenced by the Industrial Revolution, a comment like that highlights a stark differentiation between him and the girls.

The only way he could spark socially would be through his intelligence and it is implied in the books how difficult this is without the sponsorship of the right people.

Another super interesting point: if you look closely, the narrative imposed on us in recent years through the neoliberal influence of the U.S. reflects their vision of the self-made man and the American Dream. The idea of a guy who starts with nothing, builds a ranch in the desert, and ends up a billionaire. That romanticization of wealth:

is completely inapplicable to European contexts, and

doesn’t happen in Europe because wealth here is associated with aristocracy, and aristocracy is never viewed favorably by politically aware working classes.

That said, both in Britain and the rest of Europe, the American Dream doesn’t exist. In societies divided by rigid class structures, the only way to climb socially was through having a sponsor, protector, or benefactor. This is something we see very clearly in Dickens’ Great Expectations, in Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, and even in Jane Austen’s novels, where wealthier characters act as guarantors for poorer ones within society’s events.

If you wanted to climb the social ladder, it wasn’t enough to be intelligent or earn money. It wasn’t enough to be “self-made,” because even then, you couldn’t access high society without someone inside those circles vouching for you, letting you in, and standing up for you. Jean-Jacques Rousseau literally built his philosophy on the idea that society corrupts people, precisely because he was a French bourgeois who was never accepted into aristocratic high society due to his lack of a noble surname or lineage. This is deeply ingrained in most European countries: there are only two ways to climb the social ladder—through marriage or, after working hard, by being lucky enough to have someone from generations of wealth decide to introduce you into that world.

Failing to understand these cultural mechanisms and how they operate means missing a crucial aspect of analyzing any work of fiction set in similar contexts, as it prevents you from grasping the full picture of what’s happening.

I’m a Brit and think that’s pretty spot on about James trying to put Snape back in his place…Snape doesn’t just offend their sensibilities because he’s working class, but because he doesn’t consider himself inferior and because he’s visibly trying to social climb through academics and connections, the ambition oozes from him (good for him! wish he’d had better mentors!) there is literally *nothing* a British snob disdains more than a social climber. Not getting above your station is considered the ultimate virtue. There’s a bit of this in Lily’s objections to Snape’s Slytherin friends too…obviously her main issue is that they’re bigoted cunts, but there’s definitely also a hint of unflattering disbelief about him being accepted (however conditionally) by well-connected scions.

Whenever I think about class analysis in Harry Potter, I do so fully aware of how intense the topic of social class has always been in Britain. It’s something I’ve always known, but when I lived there, it became much clearer, so for me, the issue of classism in this context is pretty obvious. I also think the issue of social class and the expectation from the upper echelons (especially the aristocracy) that those from below should stay below and know their place is something very common across Europe—especially in countries where monarchies and, therefore, aristocratic elites still persist today. This means that society isn’t entirely shaped by the neoliberal capitalist perception of class seen in countries like the United States, where the “self-made millionaire” is glorified. Instead, there is a deeply ingrained perception that above the self-made millionaire stands the aristocrat, the name, the old money. The name often matters more than the money because a name represents prestige, pedigree—it’s part of the DNA of a society built on the foundations of an old regime whose pillars haven’t fallen but simply modernized. This is something that also happens in Spain, which, like England, is a monarchy, or in other European countries where monarchies may no longer exist but held significant power over the past two centuries. These nations still retain a strong legacy of social hierarchies rooted in aristocracy within their societal structures.

James and Sirius weren’t just wealthy—translated into a real-world context, they would be aristocrats. They were people of family names and lineages stretching back hundreds of generations. They weren’t just boys from good families; their families were at the pinnacle of the social scale. Severus ended up in a Hogwarts house where not only were the students from high social classes, they were also ARISTOCRATS. He was a working-class kid, but not just that—he came from an industrial area, which on the social scale is just one step above peasants. The only thing that positions an industrial worker above a peasant is that industrial workers are located in cities, and within the web of social classes, cities rank above rural areas. This is something we understand very well in Europe.

From a practical standpoint and from a class perspective, Severus was already at the bottom in the Muggle world. But on top of that, in the wizarding world, he was a half-blood—not because he had parents who were magical but Muggle-born, but because one of his parents was a Muggle, the same parent who gave him his surname. The difference in status between him and Lily in that sense was practically nonexistent. Severus wasn’t just poor from a neoliberal perspective; from the traditionalist perspective of how social classes interact, he came from the very bottom, both in terms of his social position and his blood status. Ignoring that basically disregards not only the lens of class and the significant power imbalance between the characters but also reveals an immense level of cultural ignorance—not just about British culture but about European culture as a whole.

[lotus-pear]

hngghh domestic......

[pistachi0art]

The collab that will never happen 🐾